“He can pay his own way,” Patrick muttered.
“Be nice, Pat.”
“Blow me.”
“Later, if you’re good.”
Humor laced through Patrick’s scent for a second or two before fading. The three of them caught up with Sage and Wade, the hostess listening attentively to Sage’s request. Changing a table from four to five was a simple matter, and they were led to the central courtyard dining area rather than the long tables inside.
The weather was cool, the sky above overcast, which meant they were only one of two groups eating in the area. A server had already pushed three of the small marble tables together. Sage and Wade opted for the bench, while Jono, Patrick, and Bryson claimed the chairs. Jono made sure to take the seat between the two men as a precaution against Patrick stabbing Bryson over his morning coffee.
The small garden beyond the long bench was in high summer bloom, and the greenery was a nice touch. Their server returned before they even had a chance to look at the menu, appearing far too awake and perky for the early hour.
“Tea for the table?” she asked brightly.
“Coffee for me,” Patrick corrected.
“I want both,” Wade said.
Sage gave the young woman an easy smile. “Tea for the rest of us, thank you.”
The server left, and Patrick slipped his hand beneath the table. The static of a silence ward washed over them, and Jono’s ears popped as the bubble of magic surrounded them. Bryson’s head jerked up.
“What the fuck?” he said.
“In case you brought any friends, I don’t want them listening in,” Patrick said coldly.
Bryson smelled uneasy to Jono’s nose, even if he didn’t look it. He rallied well enough though, plastering on a smile when the server came back with their drinks and to take their orders. Between the five of them, they ordered enough to feed ten.
Patrick reached for his coffee and glared around Jono at Bryson after the server left. “Start talking. I want to know what you’re here for.”
“We all do,” Jono agreed.
Sage poured a tiny bit of milk into her mug. “If it requires further negotiations between dires, Devin has my number.”
Bryson grimaced. “Devin is dead. Cressida killed him.”
Considering what Patrick had told them about what lived in Cressida’s soul, Jono wasn’t surprised. “From the kick to the head?”
“After.” Bryson stared down at his tea, his sunglasses sliding down his nose a little. “We had to watch.”
Jono didn’t care for the scent coming off Bryson. Despair always left a sickly taste in the back of his throat and ruined his meal.
“Does she replace her dires often?” Jono asked.
“More than Jessamine ever did.”
Jono shared a look with Sage across the table. She cleared her throat, taking up the questioning. “I expected a longer fight with Devin. He seemed ill-prepared.”
Bryson’s mouth quirked at the corners. “I think any of us would’ve been ill-prepared to face your weretiger form.”
“He was a dire. Our job is to be prepared when it comes to challenges.”
“Devin should’ve never had the job to begin with. Isn’t that right, Jono?”
Bryson looked at him, and Jono reluctantly nodded. “There were plenty others more fit for the job when I lived in London.”
“That was then,” Bryson muttered darkly before sipping at his tea.
Jono wondered how many of the people who were dire material had either fled the god pack or been killed like Devin. Dires were usually some of the strongest pack members outside the alphas. Some god packs chose them to keep them close and in line. Others opted for loyalty over paranoia. The fact that Cressida was running through dires the way a drunk demolished pints worried Jono.
“Who is your dire now?” Sage asked.
Bryson shrugged. “They haven’t decided yet.”
“That means we have to deal directly with your alphas.” Sage glanced at Jono, frowning thoughtfully. “The absence of a dire removes me from direct communication.”
“The fuck it does,” Patrick said.
Jono shook his head. “She’s right. If there’s no dire appointed yet, communication between our packs falls to us.”
“It’s a shame the UK doesn’t allow guns.”
“Pat.”
Patrick looked him dead in the eye. “The London god pack has a bigger problem than we do, and that’s saying something.”
Jono wished he were wrong.
Sage cleared her throat and passed the sugar over to Wade, who happily started to empty it into his tea and coffee. “I don’t believe they have a civil war problem.”
“Yet,” Patrick bit out. Sage lifted her mug in a silent toast of agreement at him before sipping at her tea.
“Is Sage right?” Jono asked, turning his head to look at Bryson.
Bryson looked up from his tea, blinking at Jono through his sunglasses. “You left. Things changed.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You could’ve stayed.”
Jono thought about Marek’s promise back then and his future sitting on the other side of him now, angrily sipping coffee. “There was no chance of me staying.”
The other man sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Probably for the best, mate. I shouldn’t be telling you this, what with you being a rival pack now and all, but the London god pack is a right mess.”
“So we’ve been told.”
“So we’ve seen,” Wade muttered into his coffee mug.
Patrick raised his coffee mug in Wade’s direction. “Cheers to that.”
“Cressida wasn’t part of the god pack when I was here. I know she arrived a few years ago, but from where? What’s her background?” Jono asked.
Bryson shook his head. “You know we never care about shit like that. She has the god strain of the werevirus running through her veins. That’s all that matters.”
“Maybe that’s your problem right there. You let almost anyone be pack without doing a background check,” Patrick said.
“Cressida isn’t an exception. You are.”
“I’m still pack. I’ve proven my loyalty to them just like all of us have. I’d take our pack over yours any day of the fucking week.”
The hint of jealousy that hit Jono’s nose came from Bryson, not Patrick. He shifted on his seat, settling his right hand on Patrick’s thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Patrick’s scent momentarily spiked with pleasure at the touch.
“If you aren’t happy, you can always leave,” Jono said.
Bryson laughed bitterly. “And what? Become an independent? That might’ve worked out for you in the end, but it’s not what I want.”
“And living in a pack run by a tyrant is?”
Bryson snapped his mouth shut, his silence ringing in Jono’s ears. No one spoke. The silence lasted long enough for the server to return with another co-worker, trays in hand and laden down with plates.
They were served breakfast, the amount of food completely covering the pushed together tables. The smell of proper bacon, not the thin strips of fatty nothing sold in the States, made Jono’s stomach growl. He dug into his full English, glad he’d ordered two.
Wade reached across the table for the butter, snatching up the dish before anyone else could get some. “Okay, I gotta ask. What is up with you Brits and beans?”
“Beans and toast are a staple,” Jono said mildly.
“Says you.”
“And the rest of this country.”
“You’re all wrong.”
“Eat your food and stop complaining,” Sage ordered as she cut into her omelet.
Jono managed to taste everything on his plate at least once before Bryson started talking again.
“Things weren’t so terrible before Cressida became alpha,” Bryson said.
Considering what she was, Jono could believe it. “And now?”
Bryson scraped his fork over his plate, pus
hing around his baked beans. “Now she’s the root of all our problems. And I could be killed for saying that.”
Jono stabbed at a piece of sausage and popped it into his mouth, chewing slowly. Thinking of the big picture was something he’d only seriously been doing since last summer. It wasn’t something he’d had to do while living in London or after he’d moved to New York City. But knowing what Patrick had found out about Cressida and seeing the discord in the pack last night made Jono acutely aware of the poison seeping through the London god pack.
He could see how it would play out—the infighting in London causing fractures in all of the UK packs over time, if it hadn’t already. London was where all the packs looked toward for stability, and if the god pack there was broken, there would be a leadership void when it came to representing themselves to international packs.
A void demons would have no problem filling.
It was a mess Jono couldn’t clean up. He had his own problems back in New York, fighting over territory with Estelle and Youssef. London wasn’t his responsibility. What’s more, he didn’t know who he could trust within the London god pack to warn them about the demon in their midst.
He could see the moment Sage must have reached the same conclusion, because her face shut down and her scent went icy from tension rather than fear. Jono only got grim resignation from Patrick, which proved he’d probably hit on that problem before they even left the Farningham country house.
“We can’t help you,” Jono said after a moment.
Bryson shook his head and kept cutting up the omelet on his second plate. “Not asking you to. Our pack problems aren’t yours.”
Patrick snorted his opinion on that but thankfully didn’t argue, merely shoveled a bite of potatoes into his mouth.
They ate in stilted silence for the rest of the meal. Time was Jono and Bryson would’ve filled the quiet with pack gossip and friendly insults. But that was then, and this was now. They were on opposite sides despite having the same eyes and the same god strain of the werevirus running through their veins. Time healed and time changed and time made it clear their separate paths would never cross again.
“I’ll pay for my meal,” Bryson said at the end.
“Don’t bother. We’ll cover it.” Jono stood, nodding at the restaurant exit. “I’ll walk you out.”
Patrick hooked an arm over the back of his chair and leaned back, balancing it on two legs. “Stay within eyesight.”
Bryson arched an eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses as he looked at Patrick. “Don’t trust me?”
Patrick twisted his wrist of the hand dangling over the chair, calling up a tiny mageglobe that fit snug against his palm in warning. “Fuck no.”
Bryson smirked, but he smelled wary to Jono. They headed for the exit, and Jono was mindful not to go where his pack couldn’t see.
“How many werecreatures did Cressida assign to watch us?” Jono asked.
Bryson raked a hand through his blond hair. “You know I can’t tell you that.”
Jono decided not to point out Bryson had just confirmed Cressida had ordered werecreatures to watch and follow his pack. Being treated like the enemy was nothing new, but it meant they’d have to continue to pair up, which wasn’t easy when Patrick had to go to work at the WSA.
“I’m chuffed for you, mate,” Bryson said after an awkward pause. “I know how much you wanted a pack. Now you’ve found it.”
“Yeah.”
If things had been different, their reunion wouldn’t have gone so terribly, and maybe Jono could’ve kept believing Bryson was still his mate. But everyone he’d left behind in London couldn’t be trusted, even when they stood before him smelling like regret.
“Never thought you’d be shagging a mage though. Thought you didn’t trust magic users?”
“I trust Patrick.”
“Yeah. I can bloody well smell that.” Bryson half turned, mobile in hand. “Ta for breakfast. Give me a ring before you flee the country again.”
Jono didn’t promise anything. “Cheers.”
He watched Bryson walk away, knowing the other man would be ringing his alphas the second he was out of earshot. A familiar scent hit his nose as Patrick came to a stop beside him on quiet feet.
“I still don’t like him,” Patrick said.
Jono sighed. “I know you don’t.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“So are you, Pat.”
“Yeah, but I’m a likeable asshole, and you love my ass.”
Jono looked over at him, laughing a little. “That was never in doubt.”
“Sage put the meal on her room account. We’re heading back up to the penthouse.”
“Don’t you need to go to work?”
Jono watched as Patrick’s smile faded into a flat line, the grim look in his green eyes erasing all humor. “Pack meeting first.”
Jono’s humor faded as well. “All right.”
Sage and Wade approached, with Wade unabashedly biting into a makeshift sandwich made out of everyone’s leftovers from the plates. The four of them headed back to the private elevator, taking it up to the penthouse. Patrick warded the suite for silence once the door shut behind them.
“What’s the emergency?” Wade asked as he flung himself onto the sofa.
“Don’t get crumbs everywhere,” Sage warned.
Wade shoved the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and chewed, cheeks bulging. He pointed at his face, then gestured widely to prove he hadn’t gotten crumbs anywhere.
“We need backup,” Patrick said bluntly.
“You already pulled Lucien into this mess,” Jono said, not believing those words were coming out of his mouth.
“Lucien won’t be any help against a demon old enough to hide what it is from preternatural senses while living in a pack.”
“We agreed to leave everyone else back in New York,” Sage reminded him.
Patrick shook his head as he pulled out his mobile. “I’m not talking about Emma’s pack, or even the fae. If we’re going up against demons and necromancers, we need someone who can break that kind of magic.”
“Another necromancer?”
“No. Not exactly. He’s an old friend of mine. He sometimes fought with us Hellraisers in the Mage Corps.” Patrick hesitated before meeting Jono’s eyes. “If the PIA sends him out here, he’ll take one look at us and know about the soulbond. Shields never mattered to him for shit like that.”
Jono crossed his arms over his chest, shoving down his worry. “Do you trust him?”
“Yeah.”
“Then so will we.”
Patrick bit his lip before nodding. “Right. I’m going to call Setsuna before I head out. Anything else?”
“If Devin really is dead, it sounds like Cressida is using the dire position to get rid of personal enemies or anyone who would risk challenging her and maybe winning,” Sage said.
Jono nodded slowly. “I think you’re right. Devin always wanted a higher rank in the god pack, but he never struck me as dire material, even when I lived here.”
Sage made a face. “It’s an ugly precedent. Even Estelle and Youssef never went that far.”
“They might get ideas from this,” Patrick said over his shoulder as he headed for the bedroom to take his call.
Jono rolled his eyes. “Then we’ll take in more packs if they do.”
“Hey, can we go see the London Eye today?” Wade asked, looking at his mobile. “Ooh, no, I changed my mind. I wanna see the Tower of London.”
Sage poked Jono in the side. “You’re the native Brit. Time to play tour guide. We can see who the god pack sends to watch after us.”
“I’d rather we lose them in the Tube. Parking over by the Tower is nonexistent,” Jono said.
Wade pumped his fist in the air. “Yes! I can’t wait to see the Crown Jewels.”
“No stealing,” Jono and Sage said in unison.
Wade scowled and gave them a sulky look. “Fine.”
Jono had a fee
ling the monarchy would lose a diamond or two if they didn’t pat Wade down before leaving the Tower.
11
“You’re late,” Nadine said by way of greeting when she slid into his car.
Patrick waited long enough for her to shut the door before hitting the gas pedal and clutch, pulling away from the pickup area in front of the Waldorf Hilton. “I texted you why.”
He’d done it in code he knew she’d understand. Patrick did his best not to leave an electronic trail about his personal life with other government agents, even ones he trusted with his life. Patrick just didn’t trust the government.
He also didn’t trust nosy werewolves, which was why he’d told Nadine he was going to be an hour late to give him time to lose anyone following him.
“You could’ve requested breakfast to go.” Nadine gave him a sidelong look as she buckled up.
“Had to eat with my pack this morning.” Patrick smacked his hand against the roof, filling the car with a silence ward. Static washed through the vehicle, providing privacy. “We have a problem.”
“That’s the general nature of our jobs.”
“My pack ended up having to fight the London god pack last night to get pass-through rights. Sage won, not like there was any doubt, but one of the alphas killed their dire because he lost.” Patrick switched lanes, glancing at his phone and the GPS map there. He could drive in London just fine, but not getting lost was another matter entirely. “That alpha has a demon riding her soul, and no one in the pack seemed to know.”
Nadine turned her head to stare at him. “Please tell me you’re joking?”
“Wish I was.”
“How does a pack of werecreatures not know they have a demon in their midst?”
“I think it’s old, and it’s good at hiding.”
In Patrick’s experience, the older a demon was, the harder it was to banish or kill. He hated working those kinds of cases.
“Fuck.” Nadine stretched out her legs, shifting to straighten out the skirt of her sheath dress. “Any idea which hell it belongs to?”
“No. But it has to be powerful if it can hide itself from werecreatures.”
On The Wings Of War: Soulbound V Page 13