A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  “Thank you for protecting our family today,” Madelyn murmured. “And thank you for coming back to us, Patrick. You might go by Collins these days, but you’re still a Patterson to us, and always will be.”

  He swallowed tightly, nodding jerkily before pulling away. Madelyn let him go, giving him a watery smile. When Patrick searched her face, he didn’t see any anger in her eyes.

  “Will you let us know what happens?” Grant asked, sounding more tired than fearfully angry now.

  “If it’s about Eloise and within my ability to safely do so, then yes,” Patrick promised.

  It was the least he owed them for putting the family at risk.

  “You’ll need our phone numbers,” Madelyn said.

  They exchanged numbers before he broke the silence ward. Sound rushed back in, the murmur of voices and crash of thunder overhead filling Patrick’s ears. It wasn’t much longer after that when Rapid Response Division’s team deployed out of Boston arrived, having probably driven with lights and sirens the entire way. Patrick handed over the scene to them upon their arrival, ready to get back on the road.

  The storm was still raging when they left the Patterson home and hurried to the car. Patrick was the one who got behind the steering wheel this time, fully focused on getting back to New York City while Jono seemed more focused on him. Nadine sprawled out in the back seat and went immediately to sleep, having nodded off in worse places over the years.

  “Promise me you won’t give Ethan anything he wants,” Jono said an hour into the drive.

  Patrick gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes on the horizon, and bit his tongue so he wouldn’t lie.

  “Patrick. Please.”

  “I can’t promise that,” Patrick got out, practically choking on the words. “You know why.”

  “If Ethan has a remade Morrígan’s staff, we won’t be able to stop him before he turns himself into a god.”

  “And I’d like everyone I’m related to or who I care about to stop dying.”

  Jono reached over the console to settle his hand on Patrick’s thigh, his touch warm even through Patrick’s damp jeans. “Setsuna’s death wasn’t your fault, and neither was losing Eloise.”

  “Yeah? What about when I went and blew off half your arm?”

  “You couldn’t stop that from happening either, because it wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault. I’ll keep saying that until you believe it, but I need you alive to do that.”

  “The Pattersons welcomed me recently, and their threshold knows me. Ethan wouldn’t have been able to get past it and grab her if he didn’t have my blood. If I hadn’t gone back.”

  “That still doesn’t make it your fault. You were kidnapped by Andras and Hades. You were in no position to stop them from taking your blood. For all you know he used Hannah’s.”

  “There’s no way to know for sure.”

  “Exactly, so stop taking all the blame.”

  Patrick eased up a bit on the gas pedal as traffic started to slow. “Just once I want to do what I want, not what the gods require me to do.”

  He’d been at their beck and call for over two decades, and other people had paid the price of his position when it should’ve been him every time. He was tired of standing at gravesites, staring at the names of people who should still be alive.

  Jono’s fingers dug into his thigh, and his touch grounded Patrick in a way nothing else ever had. “Tell me if you plan to hand over the piece of the Morrígan’s staff. Can you promise me that?”

  Patrick chewed on his bottom lip before finally nodding. “Yeah.”

  If there was a way he could save Eloise and keep the piece of the Morrígan’s staff out of Ethan’s hand, he’d do it, but it seemed like such an impossible task.

  16

  They ate dinner Sunday evening closer to midnight, hours past their usual mealtime. Halfway home the drive had been interrupted by a conference call from the directors of the SOA and PIA that neither Patrick nor Nadine could ignore. Jono had kept his eyes on the road while listening in on a conversation he technically shouldn’t have been privy to.

  The meetings hadn’t stopped, not even after they dropped Nadine off at Sage’s. Patrick had been stuck on video conferences for hours at home while Jono fielded calls and texts from outside packs who were still arriving. By the time Jono managed to get dinner going, Patrick was in danger of sliding out of his seat at the dining room table.

  When Jono was ready to dish up their plates, Patrick had finally reached the end of his calls and was closing his laptop. Jono set an open beer bottle down next to him on the table. Patrick snatched it up and gulped down half the beer before he even said thank you.

  Jono reached out and framed Patrick’s face with his hand, one thumb swiping over the dark circles that had come up beneath those green eyes. “You need some rest.”

  Patrick hooked a finger through Jono’s belt loop. “So do you.”

  “Dinner first, then bed.”

  “I’m not going to fight you on that.” Patrick sighed heavily, leaning into Jono’s touch. “At least we have the National Guard being deployed, though I guess it was too much to hope they’d move in the Army.”

  “You always say it would be terrible optics, having troops deployed on home soil like that.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not opposed to having a tank or twelve on hand, especially if we’ll be facing soultakers.”

  Jono pulled his hands away and snorted. “I’m betting everyone else was opposed.”

  “Everyone who wasn’t Reed.”

  Jono laughed tiredly. “Of course. Come on, let’s eat.”

  He’d made steak and roasted vegetables, their fridge having been restocked by Sage while they were in Salem. It’d been a nice surprise to not have to go to the shops for a grocery run or order delivery when they couldn’t be sure whoever buzzed the call box wouldn’t be out to murder them.

  They ate in silence, Patrick’s shields down now that they were home. Jono kicked out a leg underneath the table so he could tap his bare foot against Patrick’s. The touch was comforting, and dinner was hearty, but sleep was still a long way off when they were interrupted by a call.

  “You’d think the government never bloody sleeps at this rate,” Jono muttered.

  “It doesn’t,” Patrick said, picking up his mobile. “But it’s not Priya. It’s Casale.”

  Jono waved his fork at Patrick. “Let’s see what he wants.”

  Patrick accepted the call and put it on speakerphone, then went back to cutting up the last of his steak. “Collins. Line and location are secure.”

  “I saw the news out of Salem. Are you back in the city?” Casale said, not even bothering with a hello.

  “We’re home now.”

  “Good. I’m on my way over with Angelina. We need to talk.”

  Jono watched as Patrick rubbed tiredly at his face. As much as he wanted to wait until morning, they both knew time was in short supply. “All right. We’ll buzz you in when you arrive.”

  Patrick ended the call and stabbed at his steak.

  “If he’s bringing Angelina, I wonder if it’s coven related,” Jono said.

  Patrick shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

  They managed to finish their meal, and Jono was placing the dirty dishes in the sink when Patrick’s mobile went off again. Jono dialed up his hearing to listen in.

  “Are you downstairs?” Patrick asked.

  “Yes. Your gargoyles are making a mess,” Casale said.

  “Can’t be worse than the one the Dominion Sect left behind. I’ll buzz you up.”

  Jono remembered the last time Casale had entered their home and how it had ended with Patrick in handcuffs. “Hospitality?”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think Casale needs to enter by way of hospitality?”

  “Because it’s safer.”

  “He’s not here to arrest me.”

  Patrick didn’t go for the bread and water when Casale and Angelina en
tered the flat, despite Jono’s preference. Casale wasn’t in uniform, and Angelina wore casual clothes and rain boots. They left their umbrellas in the small bucket on the landing, bringing the scent of the storm into the flat.

  “It’s late,” Jono said. “What do you want?”

  Patrick shot him an exasperated look before turning back to Casale. “Despite his attitude, Jono isn’t wrong. What brought you over here at this hour that couldn’t be asked over a phone call?”

  “The mayor finally agreed to enact a curfew. It starts tomorrow. Can’t happen soon enough, according to Angelina.” Casale nodded at his wife. “We won’t keep you long, but she was told to speak with you in person.”

  Jono eyed Angelina. She had been helpful when demons were stealing werecreature souls, but she was still one of Hera’s priestesses. “What’s wrong?”

  Angelina frowned, tucking a lock of hair behind one ear. “I’ve been contacted by representatives of other covens in the five boroughs. Everyone is aware that the nexus has been barricaded by the SOA. The reactionary storm is a pretty strong signal that something is going on here. The mayor’s office has been cagey about answers, and the news coming out of DC is cryptic at best. The covens want to know if your plans have changed any.”

  Jono stayed quiet, letting Patrick take the lead on this. He’d answer for the packs and their alliances, but he had no authority where the government was concerned. The covens had been willing to lend their help to the fight when contacted over the last couple of weeks, but many had done so reluctantly.

  “What has the mayor or your police brass told you?” Patrick asked Casale.

  “Time off has been canceled. Every available officer is scheduled to report to work starting tomorrow. The orders are similar to when we have to police a large event like parades, but this isn’t a parade,” Casale said.

  “It’s a parade to hell.”

  Jono sighed. “Pat.”

  Patrick rolled his eyes. “I can’t tell you anything different than what you already know. I don’t have the authority to disclose anything further. What I can tell you is it’s going to be worse than all the attacks that have happened here before. Tell your covens to strengthen their thresholds and stay within their designated areas to protect people when shit goes down like we discussed. If you have anyone you want to keep safe still in the city, you should maybe think about telling them to leave.”

  Casale’s expression darkened, but it wasn’t anger Jono smelled wafting off him; it was fear. “You think it’s going to be that bad?”

  Patrick tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, his heartbeat strong and even in Jono’s ears. “I think the Thirty-Day War is going to seem like a picnic if things go how I think they will.”

  “Is that the federal government’s official stance?”

  Patrick looked Casale in the eye. “It’s mine.”

  “Ours,” Jono corrected. “We’ve brought in other packs from outside the city to bolster our numbers. Our alliances with the fae and the Night Courts means they’ll aid us. They’ll work with the covens.”

  Casale raised an eyebrow. “The vampires are playing nice?”

  “More like they’re playing to win.”

  “We don’t want civilians running around and getting caught in the crossfire. But if you could spread the word to bolster thresholds and lay down some protective wards for anyone who doesn’t leave, that would be helpful. It’ll be a block-by-block fight whenever the Dominion Sect finally attacks. That hasn’t changed,” Patrick said.

  “And if people ask where we got this information?” Angelina asked.

  “There are enough rumors running around at the moment. People are primed to believe anything right now, so let them believe the rumors.”

  Casale studied them for a long moment before finally nodding sharply, mouth set in a grim line. “We told our son to leave the city. He took a train out this morning.”

  “He won’t be the only one after we put the word out,” Angelina said, reaching for Casale’s hand. “Those who stay will aid you, as promised. My high priestess commanded it for our coven, which is why I’m not going with our son.”

  “Maybe you should find someone else to pray to,” Patrick said.

  Jono thought it was cruel of the goddess to not disclose to her followers that they were basically being conscripted into a fight they weren’t prepared for. He and Patrick had done all they could over the months to shore up their position, and Jono knew they couldn’t possibly have accounted for every threat clawing its way through the veil.

  “It would’ve been helpful if we had more than a couple weeks’ notice for this fight,” Angelina said pointedly.

  “I couldn’t be sure any of you would agree to help when it wasn’t your fight.”

  “It is now.”

  Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and sighed tiredly. “You aren’t trained for what’s coming, so whoever doesn’t leave the city needs to stick to defense.”

  “Best offense is a good defense,” Casale said.

  “Yeah. Get your people to stretch your protective wards to cover as many buildings as you can. Working alone won’t help anyone survive. It needs to be a team effort if we want to keep the casualty count down.”

  Casale’s expression became troubled as he shared a look with Angelina. “We’ll pass on the warning.”

  “Just don’t say you heard it from me.”

  Casale and Angelina didn’t stay much longer after that, though Jono escorted them to the door only so he could lock it behind them. When he turned back around, Patrick had linked his hands together behind his neck, staring down at the floor with a grimace.

  “It’s going to be a bloodbath,” Patrick said.

  Jono went to him, wrapping his arms around Patrick and leading him over to the sofa. He sat down, pulling Patrick into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. Jono settled his hands on Patrick’s hips, anchoring him there.

  “The gods will be fighting with us. That has to be enough of a difference to matter,” Jono murmured.

  Patrick framed Jono’s face with cool hands, leaning down to kiss him with a fierceness that Jono would never turn away from. “I have you this time.”

  Jono dragged his lips over the edge of Patrick’s jaw, down his throat, and scraped his teeth over the pulse there. “You’ll always have me, love.”

  The bitter scent of him was thick with a multitude of emotions that resonated through the soulbond. Having Patrick in his arms was comforting, even if the next words out of his lover’s mouth made Jono freeze.

  “I’m taking the piece of the Morrígan’s staff with me tomorrow,” Patrick said.

  Jono raised his head, staring Patrick in the eye. “Why?”

  Patrick lifted a hand to stroke back some of Jono’s hair, his touch gentle, before he pressed their foreheads together. “Because I can’t leave it behind anymore.”

  “Patrick.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I never did. But I can’t drag you down with me.”

  “You have to know I’ll follow wherever you go.”

  Jono meant it with every last fiber of his being, the soulbond humming between them with a truth that might not be enough to see them through this whole nightmare.

  When Patrick spoke again, his voice was tight, the words bitten off. “I can’t let Ethan win.”

  Jono tightened his grip on Patrick. “Then don’t give him what he wants.”

  Unspoken went Jono’s fear that Patrick would give himself up, and Jono would lose him, maybe for good. It was a recurring nightmare that had woken him up too many times to count lately.

  Patrick pulled back just enough so he could gently brush his lips over Jono’s, the touch electric. “I’ll come back.”

  The promise in his words was one Jono desperately wanted to believe, but he knew, deep down, it might get broken through no fault of their own.

  Because there were always sacrifices needed to win a war, and Jono knew Patrick was all too will
ing to give himself up to the gods if it kept everyone he cared about safe.

  Jono chased after his mouth with a single-mindedness that had Patrick dragging both hands through Jono’s hair and yanking on it to keep him in place. Jono let Patrick ravage his mouth, sliding his fingers beneath soft cotton to find warm skin. He gripped Patrick’s hips with a strength that could bruise or break, a strength Patrick had never flinched from, only leaned into.

  With a groan, Jono lifted Patrick off his lap and pushed him flat on the sofa. Patrick’s hands stayed in his hair as Jono rucked up his shirt to press a hot, openmouthed kiss against taut muscle. Patrick hissed out a breath when Jono licked his way lower, hands undoing his trousers.

  “Jono,” Patrick got out.

  The desire in his scent, the need in his voice, had Jono working his half-hard cock free in seconds. He licked at the tip, pinning Patrick down with one firm hand when he arched into the touch. Fingernails scraped over Jono’s scalp as he ducked his head, swallowing Patrick down in a slow glide that drew a keening whine out of his lover’s mouth.

  The weight and taste of Patrick’s cock on his tongue had Jono swallowing around the length. He worked Patrick over with a relentlessness that had Patrick yanking at Jono’s hair, heels pressed hard against his back, holding on for all he was worth even as he spilled down Jono’s throat.

  Jono pulled off and licked his lips, listening to Patrick’s heavy breathing. The insistent tugging on his hair drew him upward and into a messy kiss that Patrick didn’t shy away from.

  “Come on me,” he muttered against Jono’s mouth, keeping him close with a firm grip.

  Jono fumbled at his own trousers, cock straining against the zipper. He kissed at Patrick’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, breathing him in. When he got his cock free, it only took a couple of strokes before he was spilling across Patrick’s stomach. Patrick didn’t move, keeping him close, as they breathed each other in.

  They were both a mess, but the comfort in their closeness had Jono pressing his ear over Patrick’s heart, the sound a soothing tempo that matched his own.

  17