“Fuck me,” Patrick said, voice tinged with a desperation Jono hated to hear.
His shields were down, scent a mess of emotion Jono didn’t have the time to pick apart, not with the way Patrick moved beneath him. He dipped his head low to lick across the scars on Patrick’s chest, teeth scraping over unmarked skin and scar tissue alike. He slid a hand beneath the pillow, searching for the bottle of lube until he found it, pulling it free.
“Whatever you want.”
Jono would never deny Patrick anything, especially not tonight. So he kissed his way down Patrick’s chest until he reached his cock, taking the half-hard length down to the root. Patrick arched against him, and Jono pinned him down, swallowing hard around his cock. Jono only pulled off when he needed to breathe, sucking at the crown and tonguing the slit as he slicked up his fingers.
When Jono swallowed Patrick back down, he pushed one slick finger into his hole, feeling Patrick’s groan as much as hearing it. Fingers grabbed his hair and pulled, but Jono ignored the sting in his scalp as he worked Patrick open until he could slip another finger inside. The weight of the cock on his tongue couldn’t distract him from seeking out Patrick’s prostate, pressing his fingers against it hard enough to make Patrick cry out.
“Fuck, Jono,” Patrick ground out. “Stop teasing and just fuck me.”
The needy edge to his tone was matched by the hard length in Jono’s mouth and the way Patrick lifted a leg over Jono’s shoulder to dig his heel into his back. The pressure might have bruised anyone else, but Jono pushed back against it as he pulled his mouth off Patrick’s cock. He kept his fingers where they were, still pushing in deep, watching as Patrick tossed his head back, sweat sliding down the line of his throat. He had one hand pressed flat against the headboard, using it as leverage to push back against Jono’s touch.
The salt didn’t diminish in the air, lingering on Patrick’s skin, dampening his lashes. Jono leaned over to kiss him, tasting it on his lips, the bitter flavor washing through Jono’s mouth.
The grief in their bed was born of guilt and war, and Jono did his best to kiss it away, to fuck it out of Patrick when he pushed his cock in sooner than he’d have liked but giving in to Patrick’s want. The hiss of discomfort that escaped Patrick’s mouth was muffled against Jono’s throat where he hid his face. His hands dug into Jono’s shoulders, legs locked around his waist, touch desperate in a way Jono couldn’t soothe.
He still tried.
Jono withdrew from that tight heat partway before pushing back in again, hips flexing with a strength he didn’t try to temper. Patrick bit his whimper into Jono’s skin, and Jono did it again, reminding him they were both alive, both still there.
“I’m right here,” Jono grunted, holding Patrick down as he fucked him with a sureness that left him keening.
Patrick never looked him in the eye, taking what Jono gave him while subsumed in grief and regret, and all Jono could do was love him.
When Patrick came, it was with a full-body shudder, teeth sunk into Jono’s shoulder to stifle his cry, one hand wrapped around his own cock. Jono didn’t stop until he came as well, spilling into Patrick with a groan. He caught Patrick’s mouth in a deep kiss, leaving a wordless apology for the bruises he’d pressed into freckled skin on trembling lips.
“I love you,” Jono murmured, still in him, still holding on.
Patrick wrapped his arms around Jono, face pressed against his throat, breathing raggedly. In the quiet of their bedroom, Jono could hear Patrick’s heartbeat and the hitch of his breath as he struggled to hold back tears.
Jono closed his eyes, wishing he could promise Patrick that everything would be all right, but he’d never liked lying to the man he loved.
11
Jono was checking inventory behind the bar when Emma lifted her head off her arms, perking up. “I think someone’s arrived.”
She slipped off the stool, hiding a yawn behind one hand. She’d worked late with Leon and some of their project managers at PreterWorld and hadn’t got much sleep. Her massive to-go coffee cup was empty, so Jono tossed it in the bin. The meeting with outside packs had been set in the afternoon on Friday to account for the people coming this week from the West Coast.
Patrick couldn’t make it because he was working at the SOA field office. Sage was spending all day offloading her case deadlines for the next week onto other desks with Tiarnán’s approval so she’d be available without needing to worry about her job. Wade was spending the day in Sage’s office after the stunt he’d pulled flying to DC.
Jono hadn’t wanted to let Patrick out of his sight that morning, especially not with the media camped outside the apartment building again. Setsuna’s death was the top breaking news story of the day, and everyone wanted a comment from Patrick. Running the gamut of reporters and cameras again was not how they’d wanted to start the morning.
At least no one had camped out in front of the bar. Jono hadn’t smelled anything out of the ordinary when he and Emma had arrived, and none of the protective wards had been tripped.
Jono watched as Emma unlocked the door and opened it to allow their guests to enter. The woman who came through first gave Jono a polite smile, her amber eyes bright in her face.
“Nice place,” Monica Woodard said in greeting.
“Want a drink?” Jono offered.
“Dirty martini if it’s not too much trouble.”
The Chicago god pack had sent their dire and a decent number of volunteers, as had other god packs scattered across the country. While the alphas wouldn’t leave their territory, they’d all sent the next best thing in terms of rank. Jono and Patrick had promised everyone pass-through rights, and they didn’t need to stand on ceremony. Jono appreciated the respect shown his god pack by those chosen to come and started taking drink orders.
Emma slipped behind the bar to help him out, her attention on everyone milling about and getting comfortable. The majority of people weren’t god pack, and the mix of regional accents came from all corners of the country.
Jono set Monica’s dirty martini down in front of her before moving on to the next drink. Between him and Emma, they got the drinks poured and mixed within fifteen minutes, quick introductions happening with the hand-offs.
Monica eyed them over the rim of her delicate glass, gaze lingering on Emma. “Your dire?”
Emma flashed her a tempered smile. “No. I’ve acted as proxy when Jono needs me to though. I’m Emma Zhang, alpha of the Tempest pack.”
Monica nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve heard of you.”
Emma shrugged. “Been a lot of rumors running through the packs in this country over the last year. Hopefully that doesn’t color your opinion.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with throwing your support behind any alpha who wasn’t Estelle and Youssef. Neither do my alphas.” Monica looked at Jono. “They say hello, by the way, and want you to know I speak for them in full. We’ve brought willing fighters from a dozen Chicago packs.”
“We appreciate the support,” Jono said.
Other dires spoke up, representatives of god packs who’d thrown their lot in with Jono’s: San Francisco, Los Angeles, Houston, Miami, and New Orleans to name a few. The bar was teeming with werecreatures who wouldn’t have set foot in New York City if Estelle and Youssef had still been in charge.
“Not everyone is here with us. We thought the bar would get too crowded, so most of the people we brought are all back at the hotel. We’ll inform them of what our orders are,” Ava Jepsen said.
A couple of other dires murmured they’d done the same, which made sense. Jono poured himself a beer, opting to stay behind the bar. Emma remained with him, though she poured herself a cider to sip at.
“I know the request was out of the ordinary, but we appreciate the aid your alphas sent us,” Jono said.
“Would’ve been bad form to say no to a patron animal-god,” Calvin Tran said. He was dire to the LA god pack, a man in his late twenties with thick black hair and wol
f-bright amber eyes.
Jono shrugged. “I asked, not Fenrir.”
Calvin smiled thinly. “You’re favored by him. My alphas treated your words as his.”
It was still strange to know that Fenrir was a presence other packs were aware of. It lent their tiny god pack standing they wouldn’t otherwise have, but Jono had spent years letting no one know Fenrir had teeth and claws sunk into his mind and soul. The god might not have a physical form, but that’s what Jono was for, and everyone in the bar seemed aware of that.
In reality, they couldn’t have kept the god a secret, not after the fight in Central Park, not with the way packs talked. In the end, the god’s favor had enabled Jono to bring in more packs for the fight ahead. The logistics of getting the packs situated would be easier if they knew where the bloody hell Ethan was.
“Any hunter troubles where you’re from?” Jono asked.
“Here and there. Your warning about the demons was appreciated. What do we need to know about what’s going on here?” Monica asked.
Jono mulled over what he could say without giving away the secrets they still had to keep. “Do you know what happened in Paris?”
Monica arched an eyebrow as she swirled the toothpick with the olives speared on it in her drink. “The zombie attack? Who hasn’t?”
“We expect something similar to happen. Odds are it’ll start here in New York City on Samhain.”
“How sure are you about that?”
Jono leaned his weight against the counter, gaze drifting over the crowd. “This city is an altar more so than others. The government is treating it as ground zero, even if that isn’t public knowledge. It’s why we needed more support. Paris was nearly overrun, even with the preternatural community coming out in force to push back. We’re trying to make sure that doesn’t happen here.”
“The news has been talking about the Dominion Sect lately, especially after what happened last night. Is that who we’ll be facing?”
Jono nodded. “It won’t just be the packs. We have alliances with local covens, the fae, and the Night Courts. They’ll all be fighting alongside us.”
Monica seemed surprised about that, as were others in the crowd. “Vampires?”
“They’re annoying but useful sometimes,” Emma drawled.
“True,” Jono said with a snort. “There will be others, we hope. Some of the support is run through the SOA, so I can’t disclose that information right now, but Patrick has made the agency aware of the werecreature community’s support.”
Some in the crowd appeared uneasy at that statement. Those werecreatures who weren’t god pack members risked their anonymity in the fight ahead, but Jono had to believe they were aware of the risk when they volunteered to come here.
“How do you plan to fight the Dominion Sect?” Monica asked.
Jono shrugged and spread his hands. “Block by block.”
He and Patrick had worked out the framework of a defense drawn from their experience in Paris. They’d taken input from their allies, and they had a rough plan. He only hoped it would work when the fighting started.
Monica nodded slowly, gaze thoughtful. “We’ll trust your lead.”
More like they’d trust Fenrir. Jono was willing to leverage the god’s presence as much as he needed to if it would gain them more people for their side of the fight. They couldn’t trust that the gods of heaven would come when called. They needed to act like they had no cavalry waiting in the wings, because they didn’t.
“Anyone need another drink?” Jono asked.
A few people piped up with their requests, and he went about making them some.
“Hey,” Marek said from the sofa, not looking up from his laptop.
Jono shut the door to Marek and Sage’s flat, Emma having stopped off on the floor below where she and Leon lived. The Art Deco building was quite large, the center of a mix of Tempest pack territory and god pack territory.
Hamilton Heights was the traditional territory Jono had no desire to live in right now. He wondered if they could offer it up to any of the packs joining the fight who needed a place to stay. He’d need to take it up with Sage.
“Is Sage still at work?” Jono asked.
Marek nodded. “She’s planning to stay late. She has a lot on her desk to offload, and it doesn’t even include pack issues. Deadlines can’t wait, no matter what gods want.”
Jono grimaced, hoping they weren’t stretching Sage too thin. Tiarnán was a name partner at Gentry & Thyme, a duine sídhe, and one of their fae allies. Jono doubted Tiarnán would fire her, but it was a balance they’d have to work on in the future.
Jono went to the kitchen and rummaged in the refrigerator for any leftovers that could make up a very late lunch. He went through the Chinese takeout cartons he found and carried the plate of food back to the living area once it was heated up.
Only when half the food was gone did he speak. “Have you seen anything?”
Marek’s fingers stilled on his laptop, hazel eyes meeting Jono’s. “If I had, you and Patrick would be the first to know. Right now, everything is just black. Empty.”
“Empty?”
Marek set his laptop on the coffee table and slouched on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. Being a seer might be financially lucrative and come with federal security support when needed, but the cost was brutal. Jono still felt guilty for Marek’s loss of color when it came to everything surrounding Patrick.
“Ever since Patrick came to New York, it’s been difficult to see anything, but I could always feel the Norns looking at the future when I searched for a vision. Lately it’s as if nothing is there, not even a wall. It’s a void.”
Jono thought about Ginnungagap and the beginning it represented, and the end Fenrir had embodied once before, laid down in a story become myth, lost to history. He didn’t know which way they were careening toward, but he hoped it was where they were all alive when it was all over.
“Don’t look,” Jono said.
Marek dropped his hands to his lap, giving Jono a wan smile. “I already promised Sage I wouldn’t.”
“Good.”
“How did the meeting go with the outside packs?”
“As expected. I don’t know if they’ll be enough in the end, or even if we had them come to the right city, but they’re here.”
“More is always better when fighting the hells.”
Jono could only agree.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Marek got to his feet with a heavy sigh, heading to the kitchen. When he came back, he had two beers in hand, one of which he offered to Jono. Despite the amount of alcohol he’d had at the bar, Jono didn’t turn it down.
“You’re worried,” Marek said, retaking his seat on the sofa.
“I’d be a bloody fool not to be.” Jono picked at the label stuck to the bottle, staring blankly at the opaque glass. “Patrick thinks whoever killed Setsuna was aiming for him.”
“Are you surprised?”
Jono grimaced, taking a swallow of beer. “No. They’ve been after him since before I met him. This was different.”
“How so?”
“If they weren’t aiming for him and were aiming for Setsuna, then Ethan’s going after the people close to him.”
Marek frowned, the spike of worry in his scent making Jono’s nose itch. “Do you think your pack is in danger?”
“That’s our general status right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jono slouched in the armchair and stretched out his legs. “Ethan was after Patrick’s blood for that fertility rite Cernunnos most likely did. If he got what he wanted, then he has no need to keep Patrick around.”
“So you do think the shooter was targeting him.”
Jono closed his eyes and dredged up the old, violent memory of when he was Ethan’s prisoner last year, how the mage had reveled in torture. How pleased he’d looked in the face of Jono’s agony.
“I think Ethan wants to hurt Patrick before killing
him. Patrick doesn’t care about his own skin, but he’s proven he cares about us,” Jono said slowly.
“That makes you a target.”
“Us. I’m sure Ethan knows the lot of you are allies, and he’s the sort of bloke to salt and burn.”
Marek brought his beer to his mouth and chugged it. When he finished, he let out a burp. “Well, we have a week until we’re either all dead or all alive. I’ll tell Emma to have our pack double up how we did when the hunters were in town and implement some check-in requirements.”
“That’s what I was going to suggest to Pat and Sage for all the packs to do. We’re a week out until Samhain. Hunters are probably already in town.”
“If they are, they’re lying low like the Sluagh, unless they’ve all fucked off to some other city.”
Jono grunted agreement before finishing off his beer and leftovers. “I’d wager the bar that the whole bloody mess happens here.”
Marek smiled wanly at him. “Don’t tell me you’re a seer now.”
“Not in the least.”
The future might not be knowable beyond the upcoming fight, but Jono was determined to make sure it wouldn’t end how Marek had seen it before—with a graveyard.
12
Patrick was lying on the couch, sprawled against Jono as they watched the Saturday night news, when his phone rang. He reached for where it sat on the coffee table, fingers scrabbling at it. He finally got a grip and lifted it to eye level. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen, but he answered anyway. He knew too many people who used burner numbers these days to send it to voicemail.
“Special Agent Patrick Collins. Line and—”
“Get to Ginnungagap,” Lucien snarled, his voice difficult to hear over the music on his side of the line.
Patrick shoved himself to a sitting position, swinging his legs around so he could plant his feet on the floor. “What happened?”
A Veiled & Hallowed Eve Page 11