A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound Book 4)

by Hailey Turner

  Jono needed Patrick to focus on his case in Chicago and not to worry about what was happening in New York. Jono could handle things on his own.

  “You’re going to be in for a world of hurt with that order.”

  Jono didn’t care, one hand pressed to the knife wound that wouldn’t heal. “Just drive.”

  5

  Patrick handed his keys to the valet before glancing at the text message from Jono he’d missed earlier while driving back to the hotel that evening.

  In Brooklyn to chat with the New Rebels pack about border breaches.

  Patrick frowned, hating the fact he wasn’t there to help Jono out with the problem. He was about to text Jono back when recognition ran through his magic with the subtlety of a semitruck crashing on a highway and going up in flames.

  Werecreatures.

  “Motherfucker,” Patrick said, scowling at the entrance to the hotel.

  He’d returned to the Chicago field office after checking on Wade during his lunch break earlier in the day. Getting brought up to speed on a case like this took time. While his side trip to the pawnshop had been a necessary stop, it meant staying late to ensure he knew the parameters of the case down to the last detail.

  The current case was dovetailing with his need to carve out time to speak with Aksel Sigfodr. The man featured prominently in Chicago politics, and keeping the two cases separate was going to require some delicate juggling. Patrick had a small list of people he needed to interview, research to do, and case notes he had to finish cross-referencing for both cases he was working. All of that would have to wait until he dealt with whoever was waiting for him inside.

  Patrick shoved the valet ticket into his pocket for easy reach and headed for the entrance. He traced a look-away ward over the leather sheath that held his dagger strapped to his right thigh. Patrick didn’t care if people spotted his gun, but he’d rather their eyes slide over the blade carrying magic gifted by the gods.

  Patrick locked down his personal shields to keep his magic hidden before he even stepped foot inside the hotel. Having active shields didn’t stop him from picking out the werecreatures scattered around the lobby once he arrived, from the front desk clerk to the bartender in the lobby’s circular bar, to every single person lounging in the chairs and couches in the center pretending to be guests.

  Patrick counted an even two dozen, not all of them god pack. The only ones who carried the god strain of the werevirus in their veins were sitting on the large yellow leather couch near the staircase leading up to the second floor. He could see the brightness of their amber eyes from meters away.

  Seated directly across from them was Wade, surrounded by plastic Target bags filled with mostly empty snack wrappers. A family-sized bag of Doritos rested beside him on the cushion while his jacket was thrown over the back of the couch. As Patrick watched, Wade dug into the bag of chips, grabbed a few more, and popped them into his mouth. He chewed slowly, never taking his eyes off the four god pack werecreatures watching him eat with wary looks on their faces.

  “I thought I left you in the hotel room?” Patrick asked as he approached the tense, silent standoff, ignoring all the eyes on him.

  “Yeah. I got bored.” Wade grabbed another handful of chips, picked out the biggest one, and shoved it into his mouth. “Also hungry. You said you’d be back for dinner an hour ago.”

  “Got caught up in a meeting.” Patrick eyed the multiple Target bags scattered on the couch and shook his head. “You went out again after I left, didn’t you?”

  “Yup.” Wade popped the p on the word before licking his fingers clean of bright orange nacho cheese powder. “Had to get more snacks. Guess who followed me back?”

  Wade didn’t take his eyes off the werecreatures on the yellow couch, but he did pause long enough to crunch up the now empty bag of Doritos and shove it into the nearest overflowing Target bag. He knocked a few of them to the floor, making room for Patrick on the two-person couch. He seemed more annoyed than anything else about the werecreatures surrounding them, which was better than fear.

  Wade had gotten better about standing up for himself and for the pack with the help of therapy and a vital support network. Facing off against strange werecreatures alone wasn’t something Patrick had thought he’d leave Wade to do today, and he felt a little guilty it had happened.

  Patrick came to a stop beside the small couch but didn’t immediately sit beside Wade. Instead, he studied the four god pack werecreatures, taking their measure and trying to figure out which one was in charge. Patrick didn’t have enhanced senses to sniff everyone out like Jono would if he were here. Despite being a mage, Patrick was human when it came to everything else, and he wasn’t going to be ashamed of that fact.

  The three men and one woman were a mix of ethnicities, though they shared the same intense, wolf-bright amber eyes. Patrick’s gaze darted over each of them before he made a wild guess and focused on the woman. In his experience, women were usually the ones in charge, hiding behind society’s perception that they weren’t.

  “I’m here on SOA business, not pack business. You didn’t need to show up with the welcome committee like this,” Patrick said.

  The woman didn’t blink, merely gave a careless, one-shoulder shrug at his statement. She was dressed in a business suit, a long camel-colored wool coat draped over the low table in front of her. Her Afro was teased out a couple of inches from her skull, bleached and dyed to a honey brown. The shade matched the nude color of her lipstick and the high-heeled boots she wore.

  “You’re still in our territory without permission,” she said.

  Patrick tapped the badge hanging from around his neck. “This gives me all the permission I need.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “Pack law still matters, whether you’re a federal agent or not. Our god pack alphas want to see you.”

  “What happens if I say no and go upstairs to my hotel room to order room service?”

  “Are you?” Wade asked, perking up. “Because I’m starving and I want a hot dog.”

  “Room service doesn’t offer that dish. Should’ve ordered delivery.”

  “Aw, man.”

  The woman’s gaze darted from Patrick to Wade, lingering on the teenager in a way Patrick didn’t like. To Patrick, Wade seemed human, his aura dimmed down to how he’d been taught to project it in order to pass as something he wasn’t. Maybe the werecreatures smelled something different that was tipping them off.

  Wade was their pack’s ace in the hole, because no one ever expected a dragon to show up for a fight. They wanted him to keep what he was a secret not only as a last resort, but also so he could live as normal a life as possible. It was why, whenever General Reed asked about Wade, Patrick always changed the subject. If the military wanted Wade, they’d have to go through Patrick first.

  “I’m here at the request of my alphas to bring you before them for trespassing,” the woman said.

  Patrick weighed her words and the intent behind them, picking through all the ranks of werecreatures he could be talking to and coming up with just one. “Dire?”

  She smiled in a way that showed off just a hint of fangs, but the look in her bright amber eyes reminded him of Sage at her most implacable. “Good guess. Monica Woodard, though I’m not at your service.”

  “And the rest of your pack?”

  “You don’t need to know their names.”

  Patrick shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  Too many out there who called the preternatural world home took currency in names. The whole mess in December just proved it was a shitty payment system. Patrick couldn’t be mad about someone not wanting to give out a name that didn’t belong to them.

  “How are we doing this? Are your alphas coming here? Is that why you have such a huge entourage?” Patrick asked.

  “They don’t come to you. You go to them.”

  “Nah, I don’t play that game. We’ll meet on neutral ground. I’m here for work, but if you want me here as a god p
ack alpha, then you need to respect that rank.”

  Monica’s mouth curled in disdain. “You are no werecreature.”

  “I’m still pack, and everyone in New York who we protect considers me an alpha the same way Jono is. You either treat me as an alpha or the meeting you want isn’t happening. I’m here in Chicago for my job, not to make trouble.”

  “The way I hear it, trouble follows you wherever you go,” the man sitting to Monica’s left said.

  Wade slowly ripped open a box of Pop-Tarts, the sound of tearing cardboard drawing everyone’s attention to him. Patrick watched him wiggle his fingers over the packets inside before choosing one from the middle. He tore it open, pulled a Pop-Tart out, and took a large bite of the corner, flashing sharp teeth in a not so subtle way.

  “Put your teeth away,” Patrick told him.

  “They are away,” Wade retorted around a mouthful of food.

  His eyes were still brown, with human pupils, and no hint of red scales was showing through his skin. It was a miniscule shift of mass to change his teeth, but it was enough for a flicker of unease to cross Monica’s face. She leaned back on the couch, her gaze lingering on Wade for a few more seconds before she focused on Patrick.

  “What is he?” she asked.

  “He’s pack,” Patrick replied, deliberately misinterpreting the question.

  Monica narrowed her eyes. “My alphas will deal with you alone.”

  “I don’t think so,” Wade said, brushing crumbs off his shirt. He poured out the packets of Pop-Tarts and twisted around to shove them in his jacket pockets before getting to his feet. “I go where Patrick goes. You don’t like it, then oh fucking well.”

  Wade glared at the god pack werecreatures with an intensity that made some of the surrounding werecreatures drift closer, sensing a threat. Patrick leaned over to grab Wade’s jacket off the couch and hand it to him.

  “Put your jacket on,” he said.

  Wade made a face. “Does that mean no room service?”

  “Jacket now. Room service later.”

  Wade grumbled under his breath before making a show about putting it on. He left his garbage where it was, and Patrick would’ve told him to pick up after himself, but he figured the werecreatures on staff could deal with the mess.

  Patrick turned to look at Monica. “Neutral ground, or I’m going upstairs and staying there, and anyone who tries to get inside my room is going to regret it.”

  Her mouth flattened into a tight line before her gaze strayed back to Wade. Whatever she thought he was, it was enough of a threat to get her to agree. Patrick wasn’t mad she didn’t consider him a threat, but the teenager with a bottomless pit for a stomach scaring her almost made him laugh.

  “Your manners are terrible,” Monica said as she stood.

  “So I’ve been told. What’s it going to be?”

  “I’ll call them.”

  Patrick watched her walk off, putting distance between them so he couldn’t hear. Wade could, and his eyes never left her as she spoke on the phone.

  “They don’t wanna come out,” Wade reported dutifully. “They’re saying we’re in the wrong. Oh, now she’s saying she doesn’t trust me in front of them.”

  Wade seemed pleased about that admission, giving Monica a smug smile when she looked over her shoulder at them. He waved at her before getting distracted by the candy bar Patrick found amidst the wrappers and stuck in front of his eyes.

  “Oh, nice. I thought I ate that one,” Wade said, quickly swiping it out of Patrick’s hand.

  Wade happily tore it open and took a bite, content to save his Pop-Tarts for later. He kept watching Monica, brows furrowed as he listened in on her conversation. Then his expression cleared, and he turned to face Patrick.

  “We’re going to some monk’s bar on the Loop. Will I be allowed inside?” he asked.

  “We’ll find out,” Patrick replied.

  Wade was underage, and magic didn’t work on him. Patrick couldn’t hide his presence with a ward, and no one would believe Wade looked twenty-one. Sneaking him into a bar was going to take some doing.

  Monica eventually returned to where they stood, eyeing them both. “I assume you heard?”

  Patrick was already looking up the bar’s address on his phone. “We’ll take a taxi there.”

  He knew from past experience trying to find parking at night in any city’s downtown was a fool’s errand. Neutral ground at a bar wasn’t unheard of, but he wondered about the ownership’s ties to the preternatural world. If a god pack was showing up en masse in such a public space, then the bar had to have a policy geared toward accepting them.

  “One of my pack will go with you to ensure you actually arrive.”

  “They aren’t getting in a taxi with us. If you’re worried about us going back on our word, then you and your paranoia can tail us later. Right now, I’m going upstairs to make a phone call.”

  “Hiding already?”

  “I’m betting it’ll take time for your alphas to get to the bar. You can hurry up and wait for us. Let’s go, Wade.”

  Patrick gestured for Wade to follow him, and they made their way to the bank of elevators. None of the werecreatures attempted to follow them, but Patrick figured that wouldn’t last for long. That meant, as soon as they got back to their hotel room, Patrick wrote out a silence ward on the back of the door, wrapping the space in static.

  “Why aren’t we leaving?” Wade asked.

  “I’m not sitting out in the open while we wait for people to show up.” Patrick dug out his phone and speed-dialed Sage. “Keep an ear out, will you?”

  Wade mock saluted before throwing himself on the bed to play a game on his phone. After two rings, Sage picked up.

  “Patrick,” she said in greeting.

  “So, hypothetically, if I never asked for permission from the local god pack to come to Chicago to do my actual job and they got pissed about that, what are my options?”

  Sage sighed over the phone in such a way that Patrick could envision the annoyed look on her face. “Maybe I should have gone with you after all.”

  “You’ve taken enough time off from work to deal with pack business as it is. I can handle this. I just need to know how to get out of the corner I’ve found myself in.”

  “You should’ve asked for pass-through rights when you landed.”

  “Kind of busy with a case. I can’t really say no to my job, remember?”

  “Being our alpha is just as important. You need to apologize without apologizing. You can’t afford to be seen as lesser because that puts our pack on uneven footing.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then find a way out of your hypothetical situation.”

  Patrick winced. “Are you mad at me?”

  “I’m mad at the stupidity of males in general right now. Try not to make any promises or enter into a bargain. Your track record with those is terrible.”

  Patrick wondered who had pissed Sage off today other than himself. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Call me after the meeting. Don’t call me during. That’ll just make you look like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Wade laughed at that, and Patrick thought about chucking a pillow at him. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “We can only hope. Good luck.”

  She ended the call, and Patrick shoved his phone into his pocket. “She thinks I suck at this.”

  “You kind of do,” Wade said.

  Patrick grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head.

  Monica and some of her pack were waiting for them outside the hotel when Patrick decided enough time had passed for the Chicago god pack to have made it to the neutral territory.

  “Took you long enough,” Monica said.

  “You’re just mad you couldn’t eavesdrop,” Patrick retorted.

  Monica shrugged, not denying she’d sent someone up to their floor to try to listen in on their conversation. Wade had heard them, even if the person in question had
n’t been able to hear anything through Patrick’s silence ward.

  The doorman hailed them a cab that Patrick planned to pay for with cash because he didn’t want the trip logged on a ride-share app for the SOA to track. Pack business wasn’t the government’s business.

  “Where to?” the driver asked.

  “The Monk’s Pub,” Patrick replied.

  Wade buckled up, making sure the seat belt didn’t crush his Pop-Tarts. Patrick wrote out a look-away ward on his handgun because people sometimes got uncomfortable about someone bringing a gun into a packed bar. He left his badge where it was, wanting to make it clear about his reason for being in Chicago.

  It didn’t take long to get to the bar, and Monica must have called ahead about their arrival because two god pack werecreatures were standing outside waiting for them. Patrick paid the taxi driver and got out, eyeing the Monk’s Pub façade. It had been designed to look like a medieval building; the wooden doors had wards carved into the top, and the amount of witch magic emanating from the foundation told him it probably belonged to a coven.

  “Our alphas are waiting for you,” the petite blonde woman said as she shoved open the bar door.

  A couple more cars and taxis pulled up on the street behind them. Patrick looked over his shoulder in time to see Monica getting out of a sleek sports car. Patrick’s skin crawled with the feeling of being boxed in, and his fingers twitched toward his dagger. Wade stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at everyone around them.

  “What if I eat them?” Wade asked.

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “No. They’d taste bad. Get inside and I’ll order you food. The place has a kitchen, and you’re allowed to stay even though you’re underage so long as the kitchen is open.”

  “They better have hot dogs.”

  Patrick entered the bar first, a wall of warm air hitting him in the face. Glass chandeliers and other light fixtures hung from the ceiling and protruded from the walls, giving off bright light. Wooden tables were scattered around the bar counter itself, nearly every seat taken. The booths along the walls were just as full.