“Different company than I thought you’d bring, Collins,” Casale said.
“Jono’s god pack and I need the victim identified,” Patrick replied.
Casale’s gaze flickered to Sage, but he didn’t say anything about her status. “All right. I take it Estelle and Youssef weren’t available?”
“Something like that.” Patrick eyed the teenager lying on the slab for a few seconds before looking at Geoffrey. “You got the form we need for identification?”
“Yeah, right over here,” Geoffrey said.
He walked over to a nearby worktable and picked up a folder sitting on top of a metal field case that doubled as a clipboard, and a pen. He carried both back to where everyone was gathered around the body, clicking the pen into use.
“Andre Scott,” Jono said after a moment. “Independent werejackal. No one has seen him in weeks.”
Geoffrey furiously wrote down the information before handing the form and pen over to Jono to sign in the statement’s signature line. Jono scrawled his name in the small box.
“What’s going to happen to him?” Jono asked.
“Well, since he’s an independent with no pack, we’ll try to get in touch with his family. If we can’t reach them, or if we can and they refuse to claim the body, we’ll wait the requisite time period for the god pack to accept the body. Doubtful that they will, so he’ll most likely be sent out for cremation and interred in one of the city’s burial plots for the unclaimed,” Geoffrey said, taking the form back.
“What do you mean it’s doubtful the god pack will claim the body?” Sage asked, careful to keep her tone curious instead of accusatory.
Geoffrey shrugged, not paying any attention to them as he finished filling out the rest of the form. “They haven’t for years when we get unclaimed werecreatures showing up in the morgue. We’ve had a few that have come through this summer, and the god pack refused to claim them.”
Jono clenched his jaw. Patrick wasn’t surprised when he spoke up in defense of the dead.
“If they don’t claim Andre, call me,” Jono said. “I will.”
Geoffrey raised his head and blinked at Jono. “Sure. You want the burial information now or later?”
“Now, please. I can take a look at the paperwork for my client,” Sage said.
“It’s in a different office. I’m not supposed to leave anyone alone with the body, but if the chief is here, I don’t think it should be a problem.”
Casale waved him off. “Go. It’s fine.”
Geoffrey left, giving them a short window of privacy Patrick pounced on. “How many other werecreatures have turned up dead this summer, Casale?”
“Only a couple. I didn’t think anything of it because the god pack delivered the bodies. We were told the deceased died during a pack challenge and wouldn’t be claimed. It’s not considered murder when it’s a pack challenge, and the number of dead wasn’t egregious,” Casale said.
Patrick glanced at Jono, who grimly shook his head. “No way to know for certain without asking Estelle and Youssef. But I haven’t heard any rumors about pack challenges going down and those spread like wildfire.”
As much as Patrick didn’t want to deal with the god pack alphas, that was beginning to look like a task that needed doing. If more than one independent werecreature was missing, they needed to know. Whether or not Estelle and Youssef would come clean about that was a different story entirely.
Geoffrey came back into the workroom and passed the burial information packet to Sage, who tucked it away in her purse.
Casale gestured for them to follow him outside. “Store the body, Geoffrey. Thanks for your help.”
The four of them left the workroom for the hallway. Casale led them toward the elevator bank.
“Vampires and werecreatures don’t mix, Collins,” Casale said.
“I know,” Patrick replied. “I’m working on it.”
“You say that and it’s enough to give me nightmares for a week.”
“Not my fault.”
“My therapy bill says otherwise. Keep me updated.”
Patrick shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”
The case was his now, and as a federal agent, Patrick was in charge. But he wasn’t going to step on Casale’s toes unless he absolutely needed to.
Casale took one elevator up, and they took another. Patrick walked Jono and Sage out of the PCB, squinting at the sunlight. He’d left his sunglasses in the car, but Jono had remembered his own pair to hide his distinctive wolf-bright eyes in public.
“I’ll take a taxi back to the office,” Sage said, already lifting her arm to flag one down.
“I could drive you,” Jono said.
“I need to work. You need to sleep.”
“Think we could both do with a bit of a kip.” Jono winked at Patrick. “You up for working from home? I sleep better with you around, Pat.”
They both slept better with the other around. Whether it was the soulbond or not, Patrick had yet to figure it out.
“I go home with you now, we both aren’t getting any work or sleep done,” Patrick said.
“What a bloody shame.”
A taxi pulled up to the curb and Jono opened the door for Sage, helping her into the back seat. The taxi sped off, taking her with it, and Patrick tilted his head at the adjacent parking garage. “I’ll walk you back to the car. You can drive it home.”
Jono smiled at him. “Lead on.”
They were nearly to the pedestrian entrance to the garage when a spark of recognition burned through Patrick’s magic. He rocked to a halt as that familiar warning hit low in his gut.
“Bloody hell,” Jono swore under his breath.
Patrick’s hand strayed to the handgun holstered to his hip out of habit before he shook that reaction off. Shooting Lucien’s partner would start a fight he really didn’t want to join.
“You could have called before showing up where I don’t want you,” Patrick said, raising his voice to be heard over the rumble of cars on the street as they went to meet Carmen halfway. “For that matter, how did you know where to find me?”
“Now where’s the fun in telling you all my secrets?” Carmen responded in a sultry voice as she sauntered down the sidewalk.
Carmen smiled widely at them as she approached, her brown eyes narrowed against the sunlight. Her long black curls hung loose down her back, and the diamond necklace she wore sparkled, drawing the eye to her ample cleavage. The white linen, off-the-shoulder jumpsuit she wore left little to the imagination. Her hips swayed from side to side as the punch of sexual energy hit against Patrick’s personal shields. The glamour that kept her skin human never flickered, but Patrick’s eyes traced the air above her skull where her horns would be anyway.
Carmen was a succubus, and while sex kept her alive, she lived for Lucien. She was his proxy when he wasn’t around, and just as annoying as her master.
“I’m busy, Carmen. I don’t have time for your games.”
“You are never too busy for us.” She came to a stop before both of them, her gaze locked on Patrick’s face. “Come along, bastardo. You know better than to keep my master waiting.”
Patrick was mindful of the fact they were still in public and didn’t hesitate to conjure up a tiny mageglobe that nestled against his palm, mostly hidden from sight. He cast a silence ward through it, restricting the static to their area only. A bubble of quiet settled over them, his ears ringing from it.
“No, really,” Patrick demanded once it was safe to talk. “How did you find me?”
“How’s that dead body you found the other night?”
“The fuck do you mean by that? Is Lucien fucking with the werecreature community here?”
“He best not be,” Jono said in a flat voice full of leashed anger.
Carmen waved off his words. “We aren’t the ones dealing shine.”
Patrick snorted. “This time. It still doesn’t stop you from taking in the addicts.”
“When food shows
up willing and free on our doorstep, we aren’t going to tell it no,” Carmen said derisively.
Carmen’s hand was a blur when she reached for him, but Jono was faster. He grabbed her hand in a way that made it look like they were romantically involved if one ignored the way they both sought to use their strength against the other to break bone.
“You don’t touch him,” Jono bit out, the threat in his voice easy for Patrick to make out.
Carmen smirked. “You might have claimed him, but he owes us. I’m sure you understand the price of a debt.”
“I understand Patrick isn’t going anywhere with you alone.”
Carmen raked her talons over the underside of Jono’s wrist as she wrenched her hand free, drawing blood. “We thought as much. Lucien is waiting, Patrick. Now be a good puppet and do as you are told.”
“Fuck you,” Patrick ground out.
“If you like,” she practically purred, licking Jono’s blood off her fingers. “I doubt your wolf would approve.”
Jono looked like he was contemplating murder, and Patrick really didn’t need to deal with that fallout. Relieved that he wouldn’t be facing Lucien alone, Patrick still resigned himself to preventing what amounted to World War III between Lucien and Jono.
“Where does he want to meet?”
“Ginnungagap.”
Patrick made a face. “Fine.”
He could’ve gone the rest of his life without going back to that void masquerading as a warehouse, but Lucien always did like to make things difficult.
“Naheed will drive us,” Carmen told him.
“We’re not getting into a car with you,” Jono retorted. “We’ll meet you there.”
Jono grabbed Patrick by the arm before he could protest and hauled him back to the pedestrian entrance of the parking garage. He could feel Carmen’s attention like knives between his shoulder blades, and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. He made a fist, snuffing out the mageglobe, and the silence ward died away. Sound rushed back with a pop that made him tug at an earlobe.
One look at Jono’s face as they waited for the elevator told Patrick he was pissed.
“You don’t—” Patrick began but was instantly cut off.
“Don’t bloody tell me I don’t have to go,” Jono growled. “I’m going. We’re a pack, and like fuck am I letting you face that psychopath alone.”
“I’ve done it before.”
The elevator doors pinged open and Jono crowded Patrick into the space. He hit the button for the third floor before settling one hand over Patrick’s waist, fingers biting into skin. The other gripped his chin, forcing his head up with a firm push. Patrick stared into Jono’s face, barely able to see his wolf-bright eyes through the dark lenses of the sunglasses he wore.
“Stop it,” Jono told him in a low voice. “We’re in this together, whatever it is this time around. We’re a pack. You don’t get to sod off and pretend otherwise. I won’t let you.”
Patrick swallowed in the face of Jono’s frustrated anger, not knowing what to say to that. He didn’t have an SOA-assigned partner, and learning to keep Jono in the loop about things was still a work in progress.
“Sorry,” Patrick finally said.
Jono let out a heavy sigh before brushing his lips against Patrick’s in a soft, close-mouthed kiss. “If that fucking bastard touches you, I’ll murder him.”
“He’s already dead.”
“Then I’ll murder him twice.”
Patrick wondered what it said about him that Jono promising murder to defend his honor made him want to drop to his knees and suck Jono’s cock as a thank-you.
Patrick was unsurprised to discover that Lucien had been busy in the weeks since summer solstice.
The warehouse was fenced off for construction purposes, and while there wasn’t any parking on the street, the alleyway between it and the neighboring building worked well enough. A sleek red Aston Martin that Patrick parked behind looked completely out of place.
The otherworldly threshold wrapped around the warehouse felt the same. The side door had been replaced with a heavy oak door lined with runes at the edges. The old brass nameplate hadn’t been thrown away, but nailed back into place in the center of the new door. Someone had cleaned off the green patina that had covered the letters naming the place.
Ginnungagap would never be a home, but it was a hole one could hide in, as Lucien was doing now.
Patrick pushed open the heavy door, wincing as the metaphysical threshold came down hard over his soul. His shoulders slumped against the invisible weight of Ginnungagap, and even a quiet, mental promise of I mean you no harm wasn’t enough to completely appease what lived inside these walls. Some of the pressure on his magic eased, but not all of it. Like last time, the sound of the city was muffled inside, the dead zone Ginnungagap created blocking out most of the world.
Patrick shook his head, taking in the space. Where once it had been full of trash and debris accumulated over years, now all the garbage was gone, walls had been refurbished, and the area had been built out into the skeleton of what would become a club someday soon. Patrick could see it in the private booths being finished, the long bar covered with a dust tarp, and the measured-off space for a dance floor.
“Bit different,” Jono said, taking it all in. “Still stinks of the undead.”
“Then leave. I didn’t ask you to come.”
Lucien’s voice came from above in the brand-new second level that would probably be used for VIP guests. Patrick thinned out his shields, the familiar spark of recognition one he wished he could forget, but there was no forgetting Lucien.
In the middle of the day, most vampires who weren’t Lucien would be in a death coma right now. Vampires didn’t sleep, and they didn’t rest, but the stasis their undead bodies went into for repair purposes every day meant they needed to be somewhere safe, guarded by those they owned and trusted. Patrick didn’t know where Lucien’s Night Court went to ground, but he knew they weren’t here.
Lucien was the last child Ashanti ever turned, a direct descendent of the mother of all vampires. He could walk in daylight without burning up and dying, a rare gift few of her children had acquired. He was a living reminder of Patrick’s mistakes, here only because of a promise Lucien had made to Ashanti. That he’d stayed in New York after summer solstice, putting down roots in an up-and-coming business, told Patrick the master vampire wasn’t ready to move on yet. Which, in the long run, wouldn’t bode well for anyone.
Really, fuck his life.
“Guess it was too much to hope you’d head back to Europe like Zeus and Hera did,” Patrick said once Lucien came into view on the stairs.
Carmen trailed after him, her glamour tossed aside in favor of her true form. The horns that marked her kind curled away from her forehead and back over her skull. The sexual energy she exuded made Patrick hastily solidify his shields. He didn’t want to be lust-addled when dealing with Lucien.
Behind Carmen walked a human servant Patrick was familiar with. Naheed was thin and tanned, showing off a lot of skin in her cutoff shorts and tank top. The Afghani woman hadn’t been a practicing Muslim since Lucien spirited her away from her remote village in Afghanistan when she was a toddler.
While no longer religious, Naheed belonged to Lucien and guarded Carmen during daylight hours. The necklace of scars around her neck from vampire fangs showed her as a willing human servant. For all her delicate appearance, Lucien wasn’t one to keep those who wouldn’t or couldn’t fight. Lucien only took in the best the preternatural and mundane worlds had to offer into his Night Court, which was a nice way of saying he only accepted those with sociopathic, psychotic tendencies.
The Browning holstered on Naheed’s hip wasn’t just for show. Naheed, Patrick knew from personal experience, was an excellent shot.
Patrick eyed Lucien as the vampire approached, taking in his black jeans and white T-shirt, and the combat boots that had seen better days. Messy black hair was styled away from black e
yes full of the same hate he’d carried even before Ashanti had died. Lucien dressed like a punk and acted like a bastard. That would never change.
It was the promised violence in Lucien’s expression that probably had Jono stepping in front of Patrick. That didn’t stop Lucien from getting in his face.
“My business is with Patrick, not you,” Lucien said, lips curling to reveal the jagged mess of fangs in his mouth.
“You’ll do business with both of us,” Jono snapped.
“Is that so?”
Patrick stepped forward to stand by Jono. “Jono isn’t promising you anything, Lucien. I’m here. What do you want?”
Carmen stood off to Lucien’s right, observing them, while Naheed wandered away to poke around the construction tools left in the work area. Patrick wondered if Lucien had sent the construction workers on a break or told everyone not to come to work today in order to have this meeting.
“I want New York City,” Lucien said, finally looking away from Jono to pin Patrick with a hard glare. “And you’re going to help me get it.”
Patrick grimaced, not really surprised at the demand. Territory in any major metropolitan city came at a price. Lucien’s Night Court never stayed in one place for longer than a decade or two, if that, before moving on. Most vampires tended to claim territory for centuries, tied to the history of the cities they called home.
Lucien was like his mother—a wanderer.
While he didn’t have a city to lay claim to like other vampires, Lucien had built an empire based on black-market arms dealing, drugs, and illegal magic across dozens of countries. What Lucien lacked in territory he more than made up for in money and power. Patrick doubted he was willing to give all that up without a damn good reason.
“Why now?” he asked.
Lucien smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not?”
“Bullshit. You don’t do anything without a reason, Lucien.”
“There are five Night Courts here, one for each borough,” Jono pointed out. “What do you expect us to do? Carve up a new one for you? Why not just take Jersey?”
All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2) Page 6