Jono thought it was cruel of the goddess to not disclose to her followers that they were basically being conscripted into a fight they weren’t prepared for. He and Patrick had done all they could over the months to shore up their position, and Jono knew they couldn’t possibly have accounted for every threat clawing its way through the veil.
“It would’ve been helpful if we had more than a couple weeks’ notice for this fight,” Angelina said pointedly.
“I couldn’t be sure any of you would agree to help when it wasn’t your fight.”
“It is now.”
Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and sighed tiredly. “You aren’t trained for what’s coming, so whoever doesn’t leave the city needs to stick to defense.”
“Best offense is a good defense,” Casale said.
“Yeah. Get your people to stretch your protective wards to cover as many buildings as you can. Working alone won’t help anyone survive. It needs to be a team effort if we want to keep the casualty count down.”
Casale’s expression became troubled as he shared a look with Angelina. “We’ll pass on the warning.”
“Just don’t say you heard it from me.”
Casale and Angelina didn’t stay much longer after that, though Jono escorted them to the door only so he could lock it behind them. When he turned back around, Patrick had linked his hands together behind his neck, staring down at the floor with a grimace.
“It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Patrick said.
Jono went to him, wrapping his arms around Patrick and leading him over to the sofa. He sat down, pulling Patrick into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Jono settled his hands on Patrick’s hips, anchoring him there.
“The gods will be fighting with us. That has to be enough of a difference to matter,” Jono murmured.
Patrick framed Jono’s face with cool hands, leaning down to kiss him with a fierceness that Jono would never turn away from. “I have you this time.”
Jono dragged his lips over the edge of Patrick’s jaw, down his throat, and scraped his teeth over the pulse there. “You’ll always have me, love.”
The bitter scent of him was thick with a multitude of emotions that resonated through the soulbond. Having Patrick in his arms was comforting, even if the next words out of his lover’s mouth made Jono freeze.
“I’m taking the piece of the Morrígan’s staff with me tomorrow,” Patrick said.
Jono raised his head, staring Patrick in the eye. “Why?”
Patrick lifted a hand to stroke back some of Jono’s hair, his touch gentle, before he pressed their foreheads together. “Because I can’t leave it behind anymore.”
“Patrick.”
“I don’t have a choice. I never did. But I can’t drag you down with me.”
“You have to know I’ll follow wherever you go.”
Jono meant it with every last fiber of his being, the soulbond humming between them with a truth that might not be enough to see them through this whole nightmare.
When Patrick spoke again, his voice was tight, the words bitten off. “I can’t let Ethan win.”
Jono tightened his grip on Patrick. “Then don’t give him what he wants.”
Unspoken went Jono’s fear that Patrick would givehimselfup, and Jono would lose him, maybe for good. It was a recurring nightmare that had woken him up too many times to count lately.
Patrick pulled back just enough so he could gently brush his lips over Jono’s, the touch electric. “I’ll come back.”
The promise in his words was one Jono desperately wanted to believe, but he knew, deep down, it might get broken through no fault of their own.
Because there were always sacrifices needed to win a war, and Jono knew Patrick was all too willing to give himself up to the gods if it kept everyone he cared about safe.
Jono chased after his mouth with a single-mindedness that had Patrick dragging both hands through Jono’s hair and yanking on it to keep him in place. Jono let Patrick ravage his mouth, sliding his fingers beneath soft cotton to find warm skin. He gripped Patrick’s hips with a strength that could bruise or break, a strength Patrick had never flinched from, only leaned into.
