All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2)

by Hailey Turner

  The underground stadium, with its grave-like scent, was a place only pack alphas ever saw. It was a place Jono had visited exactly twice since coming to New York. Once to plead his case to remain in the god pack territory here, and once to witness a failed challenge from within the god pack itself in the face of Estelle and Youssef’s leadership.

  Jono remembered that execution. He would never call it a fight, fair or otherwise. He always thought Estelle had manipulated the discontent seeping through her god pack like rot to put on a show just for him.

  A warning, if one liked.

  One Jono hadn’t taken to heart at fucking all.

  The stairs leading below ground were lit by light bulbs now, though the old torch and candle brackets were still bolted into the stone walls that gave the stadium its shape. The winding staircase reminded Jono of the steps in the parapets of Notre Dame from a school trip he’d taken years ago as a young lad.

  Unlike that sacred cathedral built on holy ground and cleansed daily by way of prayer, the staircase here and the underground stadium it led to was currently filled with the scent of unease, grief, and desperate anger. Beneath all that was the old, coppery tang of blood. The disparate scents stung Jono’s nose, twining through his lungs even as he listened hard to the heartbeats he could hear, picking out the ones that mattered.

  Emma, Leon, and Sage.

  All three were here, all three were alive, and Jono aimed to keep them that way.

  Jono strode forward, his footsteps ringing loudly against the old flagstones that led to the dirt circle. The surrounding tiers of seats were also carved from stone, encircling the dirt ring. Space was tight, with alphas from every pack who called the five boroughs home crowded shoulder to shoulder in the audience.

  Members of the god pack took up the first row of stone seats, their rank earning them ringside positions to what was happening. Sage stood alone in the dirt ring before the god pack alphas and their dire, while Emma and Leon were on their knees between two god pack werewolves. Despite the shifted claws digging into their shoulders to keep them there, Emma and Leon both had their heads raised high.

  Sage’s head snapped to the side, her agonized brown eyes meeting his as Jono stepped forward, leaving stone behind for bloodstained dirt. His fury had settled beneath his skin like hot pinpricks, the buzz in his nerves the precursor to a shift Jono knew he couldn’t give in to yet.

  “What the bloody fuck is going on?” Jono demanded, his voice echoing in the sudden silence like thunder.

  The bright fluorescent lights overhead put everything into high relief, making it easy to see the tear tracks lining Sage’s cheeks. She was dressed for a day in the office, but the way she held herself—arms curled around her body, shoulders hunched—made her look nothing like the talented attorney Jono knew her to be.

  The way she smelled—scentless and packless—made Jono want to howl a challenge.

  “You’re late,” Youssef said. “If you had—”

  “I wasn’t asking you,” Jono cut in, eyes moving from Sage to where Emma and Leon kneeled in the dirt. The tension in the stadium ratcheted up at the total disrespect Jono showed the god pack alphas, but no one moved.

  Emma though—she only smiled, showing teeth even if she didn’t show her throat.

  “Jono,” she said, ignoring the way the claws of the werewolf holding her dug deeper into her shoulder. Blood trickled down her arm some more, painting her skin with tacky red streaks.

  “You have no right to speak here, Jonothon,” Estelle said icily. “Know your place.”

  “Believe me, I do,” Jono said as he closed the distance between himself and Sage, coming to a stop by her side.

  Sage looked at him through the tears in her eyes, the absence of the pack scent she’d carried since the day Emma had claimed her gone from her body. The claim had been removed by the power of a pair of god pack alphas who thought they had the right to tear apart the people they were supposed to protect.

  Their misguided attempt at control stopped today.

  What Jono had learned in all his years as an independent-ranked werewolf was a truth he’d ached to share. Home wasn’t a place. It was people.

  Pack.

  Something Jono was finally willing to claim in public whether Estelle and Youssef liked it or not. Because he knew what was happening here, knew what those two were perpetrating against the people who had become his family these past three years.

  He refused to allow the god pack alphas to hurt them any longer.

  “Why?” Jono asked harshly, gaze cutting to Estelle.

  “Because Sage went where she had no right to go, as did you,” Estelle said flatly. “The Night Courts are off-limits. They have been for decades, and your actions have put us all at risk.”

  “My firm requested I go,” Sage said in a quiet voice leached of all emotion. “I argued today that the Tempest pack had no say in my decision, that they couldn’t know for client confidentiality reasons. My actions were my own. They’ll be allowed to remain in New York City.”

  Jono had no doubt Sage had argued successfully for Emma’s pack to remain whole and within its current territory because that was just the kind of person she was. Dedicated, loyal, and willing to do whatever she had to in order to keep her pack safe.

  He understood why she had been there last night. The fae lord may have been in charge of that mockery of a mediation, but Sage was there as his protection. The Crimson Diamond was encased in iron, and that metal was a critical weapon against the fae, Seelie and Unseelie alike. His power would have been severely limited, but Sage could have still shifted and fought to keep the fae lord safe.

  Jono had always wondered how the fae could live in modern cities, but maybe they were like the gods in a way—worn down by the progression of time but incapable of dying off completely. Still, they could’ve requested someone else in the firm.

  “The pack laws we set down are to be obeyed first,” Youssef said.

  “Bollocks,” Jono growled. “If that were the case, you’d actually get off your arse and save the people you’re selling off to Tremaine.”

  The sound of shocked, indrawn breaths rippled through the audience. Everyone knew better than to speak their mind here, but Jono could see the troubled looks on some faces that were quickly hidden. Estelle glared at him, her heartbeat a steady thump in his ears, truth the only thing he could smell on her. Jono wondered what sort of artifact she carried to give off that artificial scent, or if she was just that talented at lying.

  “I take my duty of care seriously. How dare you accuse us of such a thing,” Estelle snapped, lifting her chin.

  “I dare because it’s the truth,” Jono snarled, taking a step forward.

  Youssef’s lips curled over his teeth in an ugly twist. “Sage has been removed from the Tempest pack and is exiled from our territory. It is our duty to keep the peace—”

  “Peace?” Jono said around a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Selling off those who come to you begging for help is not how you keep the fucking peace, Youssef.”

  “You are to be exiled with Sage for breaking pack law,” Estelle told him, steamrolling over his accusations. “You will leave New York City and—”

  “No.” The word came out guttural and hard, a challenge in Jono’s tone that everyone could hear. “You will not exile me, Estelle. You can’t exile me, because I don’t follow your laws.”

  Estelle’s bright amber eyes narrowed to slits. “Is that a challenge?”

  The word hung heavy in the air, people holding their breath for whatever came next. Jono could feel Fenrir beneath his skin, in his soul, and he knew he couldn’t give the god what he wanted. Not today. Jono needed more support than what Patrick could give him, and they wouldn’t win a fight for territory with only themselves to stand for the challenge. Fenrir was more the nuclear option Jono was hesitant to initiate, no matter how the god clawed at his soul.

  “It’s a warning,” Jono said into the silence.

  “Y
ou made a promise in order to stay here. You break it, then you break your oath. No one trusts an oath breaker,” Youssef sneered.

  Jono shrugged, forcing the motion to look casual instead of stiff. “You said I couldn’t make a pack with anyone under your protection. Patrick isn’t under your protection. Neither is Sage now, and I’ve claimed them both.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Jono saw Sage jerk as she choked out a startled gasp, while behind them Emma sighed in relief.

  “You will do no such thing,” Estelle said coldly.

  Jono knew Estelle had to argue about this, to stand her ground and hope to win the fight. If she didn’t make an effort, it was a slippery slide down into the packs under her control questioning her status and power. Estelle and Youssef were all about power.

  In response to her demand, Jono turned to face Sage and extended a hand to her in a silent question. For all that he’d laid verbal claim on her for his pack, scent-marking was something else entirely, and he wouldn’t force that on her if she didn’t want it. Sage stared at him for a fraught moment before tilting her head to the side, showing her throat in a submissive manner. Jono didn’t hesitate to drag his hand and wrist over the side of her neck, pressing his scent into her skin.

  He didn’t think it would affect him the way it did. Patrick was different because of the soulbond and humanness, but Sage was the first werecreature Jono ever claimed as his. He wasn’t expecting the way awareness shot through him, like a punch to the gut. The way her scent—dry desert sunlight buttressed by a forest after the first hard rain—seeped into him when he breathed her in.

  Something in his soul broke open in a way it never had before but which felt right. Jono’s awareness sank into it, and he knew he would always recognize Sage as his after this moment.

  Pack.

  The snarled roar from behind him was enough to break Jono free of the lull he’d fallen into. He shoved Sage aside and spun around, barely catching a glimpse of Nicholas in wolf form lunging at him. Jono didn’t bother to shift, choosing instead to let Fenrir guide his actions. He leaned hard into the god’s presence in his soul, and the world seemed to slow.

  Jono could see the ripple of muscles across Nicholas’ body as the werewolf came at him, mouth open in a vicious snarl, claws reaching for him. Jono ran toward the threat, pitching himself between those outstretched limbs. He sank his hands into the brown fur on Nicholas’ chest and throat, using the other man’s forward momentum to throw Nicholas over his shoulder.

  With a throat-tearing roar, Jono slammed Nicholas’ wolf form to the dirt floor, taking a stinging, glancing blow over his chest. He went nose to nose with the other man, wolf-bright blue eyes staring into amber.

  “Change,” he snarled, the word coming out guttural and harsh, sounding more like a wolf than a human ever should.

  God pack alphas were capable of calling the packs to them, though it was rarely used these days due to advancements in technology. But the ability to reach people, to command and control them—to strip them of their pack identity as Estelle had done with Sage—existed in their very DNA. The werevirus ran through everyone’s veins, and that black magic was a magnet for power that Jono sank into with Fenrir’s backing.

  The command in his voice would not go unheeded.

  In seconds, the fur beneath Jono’s hands changed to bare skin, and the claws digging into his body became fingers. Jono followed the shift until his fingers tightened around Nicholas’ throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off the other man’s air.

  “Yield,” Jono ground out, never looking away from Nicholas’ eyes.

  He yanked Nicholas’ fingers out of the rapidly closing wound over his ribs. The pain was a distant sensation easily ignored, cocooned as he was in Fenrir’s power. It took effort for Jono to not give in to the desire to break Nicholas’ neck, but he knew killing the other man now would be a disaster.

  He wanted Estelle and Youssef to pay for their actions. Death was too quick a punishment for them. Jono would rather they lose their status bit by bit, werecreature by werecreature.

  Starting with their dire.

  Nicholas was red in the face and unable to break Jono’s grip. Moments away from passing out, Jono felt the flex in the other man’s neck that spoke of submission, of showing throat to someone who was more powerful. Nicholas gave in and acknowledged in that moment that Jono outranked him in all the ways that mattered.

  Jono smiled, revealing fangs instead of teeth. “There’s a lad.”

  Jono unwrapped his fingers one by one, showing mercy Nicholas didn’t deserve. The harsh gasp that Nicholas let out was the only sound in the underground stadium, an echoing, bitter surrender Jono would always remember.

  Jono raised his head and looked around him at the audience and the more than two dozen werecreatures who had involuntarily changed form at Jono’s command into the beasts whose DNA they carried. He made note of every single person who had heeded his call, breathing in their scents in a tangle of knowledge that tugged at his soul.

  Then he got to his feet and turned to face Estelle and Youssef. The god pack alphas stood across the dirt ring from him, neither having moved in the face of their dire’s attempt to get Jono to show throat. The arrogance was gone from their faces, and in its place was a shocked wariness they couldn’t hide quick enough.

  Jono held their gazes for a long moment before pointedly turning his back on the pair, outright dismissing them. He caught sight of Emma and Leon as he moved, the two still on their knees but no longer being held down. Jono didn’t want to leave them, but he knew he couldn’t stay.

  “Come on, love,” Jono said as he held out an arm toward Sage. “Let’s go.”

  Sage swallowed thickly before ducking her head and closing the distance between them. “Your territory?”

  She always thought of the details. Jono appreciated her tenacity, but he wasn’t going to stick around to have another row about where they stood amongst the rest of the packs. Jono wrapped his arm around her shoulders and guided Sage toward the stairs, aware of all the eyes on him.

  “They know my territory” was all Jono said.

  The flat he shared with Patrick was an island of safety in a sea of threats Jono refused to back down from. If the New York City god pack wanted to take it from him, they were more than welcome to try.

  Jono would murder them all and leave them to rot.

  10

  “What. Happened?” were the first words out of Marek’s mouth when they arrived at his flat.

  Jono shook off the faint buzz of the silence ward as they crossed the threshold. Sage didn’t leave Jono’s side, staring hollow-eyed at Marek. “The god pack alphas exiled me for going into vampire territory.”

  Marek’s expression could only be described as gutted as he stumbled their way. The sound that left his mouth would’ve been more appropriate on a dying man’s lips. Jono hastily held up a hand and nudged Sage forward. “She’s not exiled anymore. I claimed her for my pack.”

  “You—what?” Marek got out in a strangled voice even as he pulled Sage into his arms and hugged her for all he was worth.

  “Who ruined your shirt?” Patrick asked from his spot on the sofa. The question was innocuous enough, but the scowl on his face belied his desire for revenge. Jono really shouldn’t have found Patrick’s tendency toward violence hot, but he did.

  “Nicholas. I put him down and made him show throat,” Jono said. “Where’s Wade?”

  “In the kitchen eating snacks and stealing knives.”

  “I am not!” came Wade’s muffled shout from the walk-in pantry near the refrigerator.

  Patrick rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. “Kid isn’t allowed to keep a hoard of knives, is all I’m saying.”

  Jono gripped the hem of his ruined T-shirt and tugged it off. Cool hands touched his rib cage where the wound Nicholas had given him no longer existed. Patrick carefully scraped off some of the dried blood, safe from infection of the werevirus by virtue of his magic.


  “I should’ve gone with you,” Patrick said as he flattened his hand over Jono’s side.

  Jono placed his own hand over Patrick’s and shook his head. “I needed to do this.”

  “What? Announce our pack in the most dramatic way possible?”

  “I couldn’t let them exile Sage.”

  “I know. Fucking bleeding heart syndrome.” Patrick tugged Jono down for a quick, hard kiss, taking the sting out of his words. “What about Emma and Leon?”

  “We had to leave them behind.”

  “They aren’t exiled,” Sage said. Jono glanced over at her, seeing that she hadn’t escaped Marek’s arms yet. “I argued they had the right to remain. Estelle couldn’t exile them within the bounds of pack law. She tried, but I managed one win at least.”

  “You’re still staying here, with me,” Marek insisted.

  Sage met Jono’s gaze and didn’t say anything. Jono realized with sudden clarity that if he told her she couldn’t live here anymore, then Sage would move out without argument—because he was her alpha. What’s more, he was god pack, and what laws he made going forward would affect her more than Patrick.

  As a magic user, Patrick wasn’t privy to the ebbs and flows of scent and the way werecreatures formed packs. He could walk away, but Sage didn’t have that option.

  Jono ran a hand over his face. “This is your home, Sage. I’d never tell you to leave it.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “Because you’re better than they are.”

  “Not a high bar to clear.”

  “Shut up and take the compliment, Jono,” Marek told him. “If you’re hungry, there might be some leftovers in the fridge if Wade hasn’t eaten his way through them.”

  “I didn’t shift,” Jono said.

  Marek blinked at him. “You got Nicholas to show throat without shifting?”

  “Not only that, Jono forced Nicholas to change back to human. His call caused other alphas to shift into their animal form as well,” Sage said.

  “Are you serious?”