The plan in question turned out to be to get cannoli first, and no amount of protesting could get Wade to change his mind.
“Look,” Wade said with a loud sigh after they’d parked the car in a lot. “Niall has his business in a pocket of fae territory that everyone ceded to him before I was even born. We’re going to trespass, but I’m not trespassing without a snack.”
“Don’t god packs all make a big deal about not trespassing? As in, don’t do it?” Riordan asked dubiously.
Wade smirked, reaching out to pat Riordan on the shoulder too quick for him to pull away, but Wade didn’t try to grab his leather jacket. “Only when we don’t want to piss people off. Now, come on. I want cannoli.”
Riordan watched Wade walk off, gaze lingering on his trim waist and nice, denim-clad ass. “You know, I asked for help, not trouble.”
“Lucky for you, I’m both.”
Riordan huffed out a quiet laugh despite the situation. Wade seemed sure of himself, despite his age. But if he’d survived the Battle of Samhain, then Riordan supposed he knew how to handle himself in a fight—something they were bound to find if they went hunting after Niall.
He flexed his hands, absently wishing he had claws like Casey for when they came across other fae during their exploration today. Selkies in their seal form came with sharp teeth that could rend flesh from bone and blunt claws that couldn’t do damage the way werecreatures were capable of. What magic Riordan had was tied to his sealskin—water magic when in the sea, glamour to hide his fae ancestry when walking amongst mundane humans, shapeshifting, and loyalty. Not much good on dry land, and loyalty was a double-edged sword if it wasn’t given willingly.
Riordan easily caught up with Wade, the smell of sugar and yeast thick to the point of cloying in the air the closer they got to the cannoli shop, something mundane humans wouldn’t really notice. The line outside of Mike’s Pastry was already long, and he dreaded waiting in it. Being surrounded by tourists was never his idea of fun.
Wade didn’t care, lining up with phone in hand. Riordan glanced at the screen since Wade clearly wasn’t hiding it, raising an eyebrow at the number of unanswered texts he was scrolling through. “Something happen back in New York?”
“Nope. I hung up on Patrick back at Ella’s,” Wade said.
“And everyone’s calling you for that?”
“They’re a little overprotective sometimes.”
Riordan made a mental note to make sure Wade didn’t get a mark on him while in Boston. Donal’s warning was sound; he didnotwant to deal with the New York City god pack any more than necessary. Wade was enough.
Wade was fine, in more ways than one.
His skin prickled, being so close to the younger man, an itch Riordan forced himself to ignore. He knew what it meant, but he didn’t have the time or the right to pursue it, not when Saoirse was still at risk. Besides, he’d promised himself long ago he’d never give his sealskin to a mundane human, fixation or no fixation.
It didn’t matter if it meant he’d be giving up the one person who could be his mate.
Wade ignored him for the most part as the line inched its way to the inside counter with all its many cannoli on display. Only when Wade was called to the counter did he finally look up from his phone. He ignored the marzipan cookies and other pastries, clearly on a mission, and Riordan could only follow him.
“One of each flavor of cannoli,” Wade said, pocketing his phone so he could pull out his wallet instead. The woman working the counter grabbed multiple blue-and-white boxes and set about filling them.
“Are you bringing some back to Ella’s?” Riordan asked.
“These are all for me.”
“All twenty of them?”
“If you want any, get your own. I don’t share my snacks except with my niece.”
Riordan shook his head in disbelief, not in the mood for something so sweet. He stood back while Wade got his order and paid for it. He saw the dilemma when Wade turned around carrying three boxes of cannoli and no free hands to eat them with. “Give me the boxes.”
Wade narrowed his eyes at him. “I said buy your own.”
Riordan sighed in exasperation. “I’m going to hold them so you can eat while we head back to the car.”
Wade thought about it for the amount of time it took them to leave the shop before handing the boxes over, already digging a cannoli out of the top one. “Thanks.”
“Didn’t you eat breakfast?”
“It was a while ago,” Wade said, eyeing the pistachio cannoli in his hand. “And these have been on my to-eat list for a few years now.”
“I’m pretty sure you can get the same things in Little Italy back in Manhattan.”
