Recognition pulsed through Patrick’s magic, letting him know werecreatures and magic users alike were gathered in the bar, along with a decent amount of mundane humans. Patrick scanned the room, picking out the exit signs and ignoring the people who glanced their way.
“This way,” Monica said as she passed them by.
Patrick and Wade followed her deeper into the bar toward a couple of tables near the back that had been pushed together. Some seats were open, enough for the three of them to sit down. Monica took the empty seat to the right of a Native American woman whose bright amber-eyed gaze never left Patrick’s face. Next to her sat a Mexican man who sported tattoos across his bare arms that were unexpectedly familiar.
Patrick eyed the designs. “Anahuac Cartel?”
The man smiled, showing off sharp teeth. “Good guess.”
“Not a guess. I know the vampire who’s in charge of that cartel. You have his ownership inked on your skin.” Patrick reached out and tugged Wade toward an empty chair. “Sit. I’ll get you a menu when the waitress comes by.”
“I got a few,” Wade said, holding up two food menus, a drink menu, and a set of someone’s keys with a building security badge attached.
Monica tensed in her seat across the table. “Those are mine.”
“Oops. Must have fallen out of your purse.”
Patrick snorted at the faux-innocent tone of Wade’s voice. “Give them back to her.”
Wade tossed Monica’s keys across the table to her before sitting down in one of the two empty seats situated across from the Chicago god pack alphas. He held a menu up in front of his face, more interested in the food on offer than everyone seated around the table. Patrick sat beside him, trying not to reveal how much having his back to the room at large made him tense and uncomfortable. He looked away from Wade to meet the gazes of Monica’s alphas.
“Your dire said my manners suck. I didn’t think I needed to ask your permission to run a case in this city on the SOA’s orders,” Patrick said, keeping his voice even.
“You’ve crossed eight different pack territories in a single day, breached my god pack’s borders without permission, and never once reached out to us to apologize. Your manners do suck,” the woman said.
Patrick shrugged. “You want an introduction? Special Agent Patrick Collins, at your service. I’m one of the alphas of the only New York City god pack that matters and Wade’s babysitter.”
“Hey!” Wade protested, not looking away from the menu. “I can take care of myself. Aw man, they don’t have hot dogs.”
“Get a hamburger.”
“I’m getting three.”
“Not a good babysitter if your boy is that hungry,” the man directly across from Patrick said.
“Wade is always hungry. He’ll eat anything at any hour. Pizza, hamburgers, demons—”
“Gross. Not getting seconds on those,” Wade muttered. “Can I get fried pickles?”
Patrick sighed and raised a hand, catching a waitress’ attention. He waved her over and pointed at Wade. “I need to feed him.”
The woman—a witch, judging by her aura and the spark of recognition that ran through Patrick’s magic—arched an eyebrow before eyeing Wade. “What would you like?”
Wade rattled off a list of food that could have fed three grown men. Patrick resigned himself to a triple-digit charge, but if it kept Wade happy, it would be worth it.
“If you want to talk, I want to know who I’m dealing with,” Patrick said once the waitress left to go put in the order.
“You’re in no position to demand things of us,” the woman said.
Patrick bit back a scowl and tried not to say the first thing that came to his mind. Sage would be proud he wasn’t starting off with insults if she were here. “Like I said. I’m here because I work for the SOA. I’m not here looking to take your territory. Maybe I should’ve called, but it’s not like any of my pack had your number.”
“Your agency and the Chicago police know where we live.”
“Yeah, they don’t need to know about this. I gave you my name. I’d like yours in return.”
She smiled thinly at him, the thick braid draped over one shoulder swaying as she leaned back in her seat. “Naomi White Hawk.”
“Alejandro Perez,” her partner said.
Patrick didn’t see any wedding bands, so he figured they weren’t married how Estelle and Youssef were. He couldn’t rely on smell like Jono could for a situation like this, but Patrick was good at reading body language. None of the werecreatures seated at the table or in the surrounding bar area seemed fearful of their alphas. It was a stark difference from whenever he’d seen Estelle and Youssef interacting with their werecreature community.
“It’s just me and Wade here. Our pack isn’t looking to leave New York City anytime soon,” Patrick said.
“That’s not what we’ve heard,” Naomi said.
“Any rumors you’ve heard about us leaving are false. Those are lies being spread by Estelle and Youssef.”
“We’ve also heard you’re stealing territory,” Alejandro said before taking a sip of his beer.
“It’s not stealing if the packs in question offer it to us and ask for our protection.”
Naomi and Alejandro shared a brief look that Patrick couldn’t read. He felt a little out of his comfort zone, unable to follow cues Jono or Sage would have no problem picking up on.
“Is that how you see it?” Naomi asked.
Patrick shrugged. “Estelle and Youssef are shit at looking out for the people they’re supposed to protect. They’re terrible alphas.”
“And you, a mage who will never carry the werevirus in your veins, think you’re better than them?”
“I know I am, and I believe that of my pack as well.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You want proof they’re good alphas?” Wade asked irritably. “Because I’m living proof if you need it. Patrick and Jono weren’t the ones who sold me to vampires. That was—”
“Wade,” Patrick interrupted calmly. “Be quiet.”
Wade closed his mouth with a snap and glared at the table. Patrick reached over and pulled a packet of Pop-Tarts out of Wade’s jacket pocket, ripped it open, and offered him one. Wade scowled, but couldn’t resist his favorite snack.
“We heard about the change in the Manhattan Night Court,” Alejandro said into the tense silence that followed Wade’s outburst.
“From contacts I assume you still have in the Anahuac Cartel?” Patrick asked. “Would those be the same ones who were summoned to New York last year for a street block party-style coup?”
Alejandro studied him through narrowed eyes. “You said you knew the vampire who’s in charge of that cartel.”
“Something like that. I work for the SOA. Dealing with the preternatural world is a requirement of the job.”
It wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t the entire truth. With his shields up, Patrick knew no one would be able to tell one way or the other. He wasn’t about to name-drop Lucien though, not with a pack he didn’t know and couldn’t trust.
He caught sight of their waitress coming toward them carrying a couple of plates. He stayed quiet as Wade was served, the teen’s mood lightening instantly once he had food.
“The rest will be out momentarily. Are you sure you’re going to eat all this?” the woman asked in a dubious voice.
Wade had already taken a too-large bite of his hamburger to respond, so he just nodded. She left, and Patrick turned his attention back to the table at large.
“We didn’t mean to break any rules by coming here without giving you a heads-up first. But I’m here for work, we aren’t interested in Chicago, and we’ll reciprocate pass-through rights in New York if any of your people ever come into our territory.”
“There are two god packs who lay claim to that city. What makes you think you can keep your word if the other pack denies us entry?” Naomi asked.
“Because they don’t have the allian
ces we do, and they won’t be around for long.”
“I’d eat those assholes if you’d let me,” Wade said around a mouthful of fries.
“I don’t need that paperwork in my life.”
“Shame.”
Naomi frowned at Wade, her nose twitching ever so slightly. “What are you?”
Wade burped, then smiled meanly. “Pack.”
“Will you grant us pass-through rights for the duration of my stay in Chicago for the case I’m handling?” Patrick asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from Wade’s background.
“Asking after the fact isn’t how it’s done,” Alejandro said.
“I’m still asking.”
He wasn’t going to back down—he couldn’t back down. Walking away would be as bad as showing throat to the enemy. The Chicago god pack wasn’t their enemy though, and could maybe be a possible ally in the future if they played their hand right. Patrick just had to not fuck up any more than he already had.
“If you weren’t a federal agent, I’d drive you to O’Hare myself and watch you get on a plane,” Naomi said after a long moment.
“Does that mean you’ll grant us pass-through rights?”
“I know human laws. I can’t stop you.”
“That’s not a yes.”
Naomi shoved her chair back and stood. “Do your job, Special Agent Patrick Collins. Just make sure none of the packs in this city are caught in the crossfire or we will have words.”
He felt she was asking for a miracle there, but Patrick wasn’t going to tell her that. “I’ll do my best.”
Around them, werecreatures were heading for the door, but Naomi had yet to move. Alejandro downed what was left of his beer before getting to his feet, standing shoulder to shoulder with her in a solidarity no one could miss.
“I met Estelle and Youssef once before when I spoke in front of the United Nations on indigenous rights some years back. They would have never asked permission one way or another if they came to Chicago. You did.” Naomi pursed her lips. “Eventually.”
“We’ll remember that,” Alejandro said.
Patrick didn’t know what to say to that, so he kept quiet rather than dig himself a hole he couldn’t get out of. He watched the Chicago god pack leave the bar and didn’t breathe easy until they were gone.
“That probably could’ve gone better,” Patrick said.
“Yeah,” Wade agreed, then shoved a plate closer to Patrick. “Fried pickle?”
Patrick went for the mozzarella sticks instead.
6
“You should call Patrick.”
Jono decided the better part of valor right then was to pretend Sage wasn’t glaring at him at half past nine on a Wednesday morning. He grimaced as Victoria finished washing out the knife wound on his side with saline and started to apply the poultice. Her thick black hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her scrubs that morning had kittens playing with yarn balls on them.
“Stop moving,” Victoria told him, never taking her eyes off his ribs.
She was seated on the coffee table, her potions case open and supplies scattered around her. Victoria worked as an RN at Mount Sinai and had a standing contract with Marek to help heal the migraines he got from his visions. It had expanded into caring for multiple pack members when needed, and she didn’t seem to mind the extra work.
Jono rarely needed her services, but silver and aconite poisoning was something every werecreature needed help with. His body couldn’t heal the damage on its own in a timely manner. He’d spent the better part of the night after Leon drove him home getting sick in the toilet. Leon hadn’t left his side, and everyone else had met them at the flat. Which meant there was no escaping Sage’s wrath, but at least Emma and Leon were making breakfast for him.
“Jono,” Sage said.
“He doesn’t need to know about this right now,” Jono gritted out as Victoria started taping a bandage over the poultice.
Sage frowned at him, mouth twisting angrily. “You should have let me tell him what was going on when he called last night.”
Jono shook his head sharply. “I don’t want to worry him.”
“The Krossed Knights are hunting you and you think Patrick will be fine being the last to know?”
“He won’t be,” Emma called from the kitchen.
Jono lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, wincing at the pull in his ribs. His skin felt clammy, and his head hurt. Sage’s anger was only making his shit mood worse, mostly because he knew she had a point.
“You know why Patrick was sent to Chicago. It’s not like he can just up and leave from working this case. I want him to keep his head in the game. If Patrick is worrying about me, he won’t be worrying about himself,” Jono said.
“All I’m hearing is an excuse. Patrick hates being lied to. You know that,” Sage argued.
“This isn’t lying. It’s…just not telling him the whole story.”
“Obfuscation doesn’t make this situation better.”
“No, but it’ll keep Patrick focused.”
“A hundred dollars you’re sleeping on the couch for the next few months when he finds out,” Marek said as he came out of the kitchen.
“A hundred dollars he’ll be sleeping on our couch,” Sage retorted.
Victoria straightened up and began putting bottles and jars away. “All right. I’ve done what I can. The purge potions are in the fridge. Take one bottle every six hours for the next two days. That should clear your system of the poison, but you’re going to find shifting difficult until it’s all out of your system. I’d advise against changing forms until you feel completely better in your human body.”
Marek approached Victoria and handed her several hundred dollars in cash from his wallet. “Thanks for coming by this morning. Do you need a ride home?”
Victoria held up her mobile. “I’ll catch an Uber.”
“Charge it to me.”
“Later. I’m going to sleep when I get home.”
Victoria pulled on her puffy coat and waved goodbye before leaving the flat. Jono glanced down at his chest and grimaced at the red and black lines branching away from the bandaged knife wound. At least he was no longer bleeding, but he still felt like shit.
“When Patrick finds out we kept from him the fact you were nearly killed, he’s going to be pissed at all of us,” Sage said in a low voice.
“Then don’t let him find out until he’s home,” Jono said stubbornly.
Sage glared at him, hands on her hips, the scowl on her face clearly showing her displeasure. Jono pushed himself into a more upright position on the sofa, the ache on the right side of his body making him clench his teeth. The pain burrowing into his muscles had faded some with the help of Victoria’s potions, but Jono wasn’t used to feeling so weak. The werevirus meant pain was an afterthought most days. Having to deal with it was annoying.
Sage spun on her heels and stalked over to the dining room table where she’d left her leather Louis Vuitton tote bag. “I’m going to work. Let me know if you come to your senses.”
Jono knew she wouldn’t tell Patrick because he’d given her that order before she even answered Patrick’s first call last night. He didn’t want Sage angry at him, but neither did he want Patrick in the wrong frame of mind while working an out-of-state case.
Sage left the flat, the front door shutting firmly behind her. Jono winced, almost wishing she’d slammed it. He’d always admired her furious control, just not when her icy temper was directed at him.
“Should you be moving?” Leon asked as he came out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee and one with a tea bag string dangling over the side.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Jono replied.
“It was decided, while you were puking your guts out all night, that Emma and I will be crashing in your guest room until the threat passes.” Leon set the mugs down on the coffee table, a serious expression on his face. “Sage gave that order. I listen to my god pack’s dire.”
“But not your alpha?”
“Not when you’re being stupid,” Emma retorted, coming out of the kitchen with her own cup of coffee in hand. “Leon and I can telecommute for the rest of the week. We’ll take our meetings through videoconferencing.”
“Patrick warded the flat,” Jono reminded them.
“Patrick isn’t here. We—”
Emma broke off and immediately looked at the front door, as did Leon, and their expressions told Jono he wasn’t going to like what had pissed them off.
“Who is it?” Marek asked.
Before either could answer, the front door was thrown open and Sage strode back inside. The faint flush to her cheeks was partly from anger and partly from the sexual desire that seemed to pour off Carmen like bad perfume.
Emma immediately put herself between the succubus and Jono. Leon joined her in guarding where Jono sat on the sofa while Sage stood between Carmen and Marek. Jono stayed where he was, wishing he’d thought to put his shirt back on after Victoria had left so his wound was hidden.
Carmen leaned against the doorjamb, her long, curly black hair falling loose to her waist. She smiled at Jono, and the stink of her power filtering into the flat grew stronger, making Jono growl.
“Down, boy,” Carmen purred.
“Carmen,” Jono ground out.
She sauntered inside on high-heeled boots, the leather pants she wore paired with an oversized red sweater. It almost matched the color of her irises when she dropped her glamour, the horns of her kind spiraling back over her skull. The scent of desire thickened in the air, and Jono thought about reaching for the ward carved underneath the coffee table. Patrick had hidden several such wards throughout the apartment, the embedded magic in them capable of being triggered by a non-magic user.
He stayed his hand.
Behind Carmen, a slim woman stepped onto the landing. Naheed blinked lazily, taking in the room at large, but she stayed put. Lucien’s favorite human servant doubled as Carmen’s bodyguard during the day, along with a few others. The weather outside was cold, but she’d foregone a scarf, putting on display the necklace of bite mark scars encircling her throat.
A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound Book 4) Page 8