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Patrick clenched his left hand into a fist, remembering how Srecha’s blessing had burned him, though it didn’t compare to the way the Morrígan’s staff had hungered for his soul. Her blessing had turned into a prayer, one the Morrígan’s staff had answered with the resurrection of the mother of all vampires.
him thinking about his own future with Patrick. They were already bound to each other, having promised to never leave, but Jono wouldn’t mind seeing Patrick wearing a wedding band.
“He was a rude asshole.” “He was scared,” Jono said. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and started walking, not bothering to call another ride. It wasn’t worth the hassle. “He can be both.”
“You act like I didn’t make you breakfast.” “That was hours ago.” “Barely two.” “Hours.”
I’ll let you loose on Estelle and Youssef when the time is right. For now, stop being a twat and lend me your strength.
So he poured them filtered water from the pitcher in the fridge
Finally! How many people keep unlimited bottles of water on hand?
Jono knelt and helped Patrick into his combat boots, lacing them up with deft fingers. He curled his fingers around Patrick’s calf and tipped his head back to look up at Patrick. There was so much he wanted to say, but none of it could be spoken in front of the authorities except for one single truth. “I love you,” Jono said as he stood. Patrick’s gaze never wavered. “I’ll come back.”
“The two of you never would have met if it weren’t for us.” Fate was a road leading to a future with endless possibilities, but maybe Hermes was wrong. Whatever choices Jono made in some other life, he wanted to believe they would always lead him to Patrick.
“What if I singe them? Just a little bit?” “And have that be a breaking news story? No, Wade. You are not allowed to singe the press.” Wade stepped away from the window, grumbling under his breath. “Fine.”
He was done praying to the gods and kneeling before their altars. Love was the only altar Jono would ever worship at from here on out, and Patrick would be the only one to hear his prayers.
“Demons can be banished. Angels always refuse to leave their prophets’ sides. They are aggravating that way.”
Persephone let her hand fall away. “If angels are looking this way, you will need more protection than your pack can give you. I will reach out to my cousins.” The thought of more gods coming around made Patrick want to bang his head against the wall. “Or you could not.”
“It was a Throne,” Marek said, lifting one hand to rub at his forehead. “It was made up of wheels and eyes, and I think it cracked the inside of my skull with its voice.”
Then Patrick tugged at Jono’s wrist, twisting it to press a kiss against his knuckles. “I’ll come back.” The worried line Jono’s mouth was pressed into didn’t soften. “I love you.”
“Hallowed fucking ground, assholes.”
running on coffee and spite
My tagline most days!
“Bloody fucking gods,” Jono swore as they left the mayor’s office behind. Patrick could only nod in agreement.
Jono patted her on the shoulder as he walked past her, knowing she’d get the job done. Out of all the gods and immortals he’d had to deal with, Órlaith and Gerard were a decent sort. They at least cared about Patrick because he was Patrick, and not because of what he could do for them in the grand scheme of godly machinations.
“You wouldn’t be able to get past the threshold if I ordered it to keep you out.” “I’m the god pack alpha of New York City. That damned threshold will never keep me out.”
“So little faith in the weapon I taught him to be.” “He was a fucking child.” “He was made the hero in a tale still being written before he was even born. That is a fate he can’t outrun, for all that he has tried. I was tasked with keeping him alive, and that is what I have done.” “You’ve done fuck all if he dies by Ethan’s hand. I’ll never forgive you if that happens.” “What use have I for forgiveness?”
Jono stepped forward, aware of all the eyes on him as he stalked to the invisible center line that separated their two sides. He stopped there in the center, surrounded by people he trusted and people he’d sooner see buried in a grave on Hart Island—unclaimed and unloved and utterly forgotten.
Cernunnos, Fenrir said, tasting the air with Jono’s tongue to parse the magic. That was another god going on his shit list.
She died packless, powerless, her passing witnessed by the one who stole her mantle, claimed her rank, and sank his teeth in a city that was no longer hers. Some people deserved to see what they lost walk away from them as they died. Jono hoped Estelle remembered that in whatever hell she ended up in.
“You would never hurt me, and you didn’t.” Patrick’s eyes searched his, looking for all the forgiveness and absolution Jono would never deny him. “I came back.”
Patrick wrapped his arms around Jono and hugged him tight. “Even if you can never find me, I’ll always come back.”
From what Setsuna had told Patrick, it had been reserved by a member of the Wisteria Coven for a guest of theirs. It seemed that family had never gotten over his inability to return their lost child and had been sucked into an alliance with the Dominion Sect.
