“Can your sealskin turn into anything?” Wade asked.
“Usually, we keep it as some kind of coat.”
“Makes sense.”
Wade hadn’t made any move toward the bed, still standing in the middle of the bedroom. Riordan tilted his head, studying Wade. “You don’t have to stay while I heal if you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Wade said swiftly, which might have been sheer bravado on his part if Riordan was reading his reactions right. “I just, uh, I might elbow you?”
“Wade. You don’t have to stay.”
Wade’s lips twisted, some of his nervous energy causing him to shift on his feet. “I really do want to.”
“It’s just sleeping. I promise. I will always ask for what you want.”
Wade stared at him, eyes unblinking, before drawing a steeling sort of breath. “Thanks.”
Riordan throttled the urge to commit murder on Wade’s behalf, knowing that someone, at some point, had violated Wade’s boundaries in a way that still reverberated through his reactions. But he wasn’t going to ask, and Wade would hopefully tell him if he pushed for too much at any point.
Instead of giving voice to anger that had no place in the bedroom, Riordan coaxed Wade to lie down with him, wrapping the younger man up in his arms and burrowing his nose in dark hair, breathing him in.
“You’re better than medicine,” Riordan muttered.
Wade let out a slightly choked-out laugh, hands hesitantly plucking at Riordan’s sealskin in fabric form. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
And he meant it. The nap that afternoon was one of the best Riordan had experienced in decades.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“This remindsme of the Upper East Side,” Wade said as he got out of the car.
Riordan shoved open his door and got out as well, squinting against the sunlight. “Because it’s a rich neighborhood?”
“Yeah. I bet my condo goes for more than these though.”
“Maybe one day, I’ll see it.”
Wade beamed in a way that made him look younger than he was. But then Riordan was reminded of the way he’d backtalked Carmen yesterday. Wade might seem younger, but he’d definitely gone through a lot in his twenty-three years. His confidence was why Riordan found himself standing in front of the home belonging to the Faneuil Coven’s high priestess on a Friday morning. Gwen Cattaneo had agreed to a meeting today at Wade’s insistence, something Riordan doubted she’d have granted his clan if they’d been the ones asking.
Riordan was tagging along because he wasn’t leaving Wade alone. He’d brought his sealskin with him in the form of his usual leather jacket. The weather wasn’t so hot yet that he’d get strange looks for his choice of attire. After getting tailed by one of Niall’s fae yesterday when running errands in the afternoon, he and Donal had decided not to leave their sealskins behind.They didn’t want to risk Niall trying to steal them from their home while they were out.
Riordan and his clan typically steered clear of magic users. Boston was an epicenter for magic, with witches being the predominant type of magic users calling the city and its surrounding towns home. Their numbers had risen and fallen over the decades, with one stretch of history where they’d all gone to ground during the Salem Witch Trials. Territory borders had fluctuated during that time, one of the reasons his clan had been able to claim the shoreline and keep it when they’d arrived in Boston.
The kin kept to themselves and rarely made overtures to the other supernatural and preternatural communities in Boston. He didn’t know Gwen personally, only knew the retired major through press releases. She’d taken over the Faneuil Coven two years ago, having been ready to retire when the Battle of Samhain had happened and staying on for the fight and a bit after to see things settled. That was the sort of commitment to duty and people Riordan understood, and he hoped their meeting wouldn’t become antagonistic, even with Wade to smooth things over.
Riordan followed Wade up the steps to the porch of the redbrick building that probably went for a cool million dollars easy. Back Bay was an expensive neighborhood to call home, though not as expensive as Beacon Hill. Wade rapped his knuckles on the door, and it opened almost instantly. The young man who answered it seemed to be expecting them.
“Mr. Espinoza,” the greeter said politely.
“That makes me sound old. Just Wade is fine,” Wade said.
“Wade, then. And is your companion part of your god pack?”
“I’m Bostonian at this point,” Riordan said. “Fae if that matters to any of the wards in your home.”
He could sense the magic in the walls of the building, a deep well of it that meant the wards were probably laid into the foundation and at least a few decades old. That sort of magic came with a strength he’d rather not be on the wrong side of.
