Wade tore off a piece of bread and dunked it in his bowl. “We have alliances with other god packs, way more after the Battle of Samhain than before. But no, generally, we don’t. Other cities aren’t our territories, and there are some we steer clear of because Sage doesn’t want the headache of a lawsuit.”
“A lawsuit?”
“Uh, well, Patrick sort of was the catalyst for some property destruction in New York City, Chicago, London, and Paris some years ago.”
Riordan stared at him. “The zombies in Paris was your pack?”
“No! I mean, we fought them, but we didn’t raise them.”
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to risk being arrested.”
“I miss the macarons and croissants. Sage says I can’t go visit even if I fly there myself.”
“I don’t know about macarons. I like cannoli better.”
They debated their favorite desserts, which devolved into arguing over the best snacks. Between Wade’s passionate defense of Pop-Tarts and Riordan’s love of Boston cream pie, by the time they finished the entire pot of beef bourguignon, Wade was ready for dessert while Riordan was ready for a shower.
“I’ll clean up,” Wade said.
Riordan disappeared into the bedroom, and Wade heard the shower turn on a minute later. He closed all the curtains first before carrying the dirty dishes to the sink, where he gave them a quick rinse before shoving everything into the dishwasher. He left the empty Dutch oven to soak in the sink and wiped down the table with one hand while he called Jono with the other.
“Hey,” he said when Jono picked up. “I’m checking in.”
“How are things going in Boston?” Jono asked.
“Fine. I found Harper.”
Wade proceeded to update Jono with the day’s events, glossing over what he had planned for tomorrow. He knew Jono and the rest of his pack would hate that he was going to hand himself over to Niall. If they knew, they would probably all fly up to Boston, and no one needed the mess that would cause.
Wade loved them, but his pack could be so overprotective sometimes.
“I’ll call again tomorrow,” he said, hoping he could keep that promise. Maybe if he called in the morning, his pack wouldn’t think anything was wrong.
“Patrick should be home soon. One of us can come out to you once he’s free.”
“No, it’s fine. I got this.”
“We know you do, but it’s okay to ask for help if you need it.”
“I know. Talk to you later.” He ended the call, setting his phone on the kitchen island as he tossed the sponge in the sink and washed his hands really quick.
“Hey, I know you said the concierge bought some clothes, but I didn’t see them, and I didn’t want to go through your things. Are they in the closet?”
Wade looked over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom and nearly swallowed his tongue. It seemed to be his usual reaction whenever he saw Riordan without clothes. Granted, that was only a couple of times, but still, the selkie was really,reallyhot.
Riordan had a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off all the muscles in his abdomen and chest and arms, and it was a crime he kept all that skin hidden under clothes. Wade’s brain short-circuited a little at the sight Riordan presented, fresh from the shower, looking like a literal wet dream and no longersmelling like smoke and magic. All Wade could smell was the hotel soap he’d used to wash up and that intrinsic salt-ocean scent that he’d first noticed in Ella’s home.
It still smelled like the best thing ever.
“Uh,” Wade managed to get out, tongue a little unwieldy in his mouth.
Riordan left the doorway and crossed the living space, coming to where Wade stood in the open kitchen. He let himself be pushed up against the kitchen island, hands gripping the edge so hard he had to consciously think about his strength so he didn’t crack the marble. Riordan stepped in close, the heat from his skin something Wade wanted to burrow into as Riordan’s hands settled on his waist, grip surprisingly gentle.
“Or would you rather I didn’t get dressed?” Riordan asked in a low voice, the words rumbling in his chest. His pointed ears parted through his damp hair, and Wade had the sudden urge to follow the droplets of water slowly sliding down Riordan’s throat with his tongue.
“Yes,” Wade said in a voice that was only slightly strangled. “That.”
He wanted, in that moment, to have Riordan close. To know what it felt like for someone else’s skin to press against his own because he wanted them to. Desire was a foreign sensation, but Wade rather thought this was what it should always feel like—an aching kind of need that buried itself deep in every inch of his body.
