More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The weight in his soul got heavier, Ginnungagap’s presence all around them making it impossible to breathe for a second or two. Then it was gone, but the promise he’d given voice to remained a bitter, living thing he would have to see through to the end. “You,” Jono said, leaning down to growl the words directly into Patrick’s ear, “are utter shit at taking care of yourself.”
In that time, Jono cooked Wade the fry-up they’d missed that morning, made a pot of coffee that Patrick drank by himself, and made a second pot he banned Patrick from drinking.
“You’re off your bloody head if you think I’m letting you go into the Manhattan Night Court alone, Pat.” “I’m a mage, remember?” “You’re a disaster waiting to happen. You need me.”
Einar broke the tense silence with an annoyed snort. “Your self-preservation skills are lacking.” “My self-preservation skills are fucking amazing, don’t lie.” At the moment, they were telling Patrick to run, and he was ignoring them.
Three years since he’d last worn a Mage Corps uniform hadn’t dulled his instincts. For all that he lived and worked in the civilian world, Patrick’s resting state was war, and always would be.
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.
