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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.
“Kid’s not a werecreature. He’s a gods be damned dragon.” And wasn’t that a kick in the fucking teeth?
All she said was “You asked me to trust you, and I do. So don’t make me be the one to tell Jono he has to bury you.”
“If a rival pack took one of your pack mates or injured someone under your protection, what would you do?” Patrick asked him. Jono had to remind himself to keep his touch light and gentle on Kennedy’s body. “To avenge you? Anything.” Patrick blinked, the hard line of his mouth softening. “Murder is so much better than flowers some days.”
In war, there was no such thing as the greater good, only good enough for now. Patrick couldn’t always be a good person.
Patrick didn’t know how to tell Wade that there were things he thought he’d never have to do. That there were lines he thought he’d never have to cross. Patrick used to believe that once, but he learned the hard way—a long, long time ago—that never was just another word for until.
From above, Wade shouted, “I thought you said don’t bring down the building? Is this some do as I say, not as I do bullshit?” “Shut up and run!” Patrick yelled. Fucking teenagers.
“I’m hungry,” Wade complained from the back seat. “I told you we’d get lunch after the meeting,” Patrick said as he drove through a yellow light. “I don’t know why I have to go to this thing when I could’ve stayed at the apartment to eat.” “Because you’re pack, and pack sticks together,” Jono replied. “Pack should get better at leaving snacks around.”
“I’m hungry,” Wade whined as he rifled through three stolen wallets. “Can we eat?” Patrick snatched the wallets out of his hands, checking the identification inside. Each license matched the face of a werewolf Estelle had brought with her. “Goddamn it. I can’t take you anywhere.” Wade held up a wad of cash. “Lunch is on me.”
