A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

by Hailey Turner

  She set the carton on the counter and passed out a couple more. The smell of meat and salsa filled the immediate area, reminding Jono that lunch had been hours ago. He hurried through making a couple more drinks, the other two bartenders on duty glad for the help. He made a mental note of some of the emptier alcohol bottles that needed a replenish. He’d have to make sure they made it on the order list for tomorrow.

  Jono ducked out from behind the bar and slid through the crowd to where his pack was clustered. Linh had arrived in the few minutes he’d been helping customers, and the petite Vietnamese woman flashed him a quick smile from her spot behind Emma. Linh was older than him by five years, but she certainly didn’t look it. She’d been the first they’d accepted into their god pack, a weregrizzly who had become a steady, reliable member over the last two months.

  “Camilo wanted me to let you know he’s running a little late but he’ll be here. There’s a delay in the subway,” Linh said, bright amber eyes reflecting the light in the bar.

  “Typical for the subway,” Jono said.

  “I drove, so if you want me to take Wade home, I can.”

  “After I finish my tacos,” Wade mumbled around a half-eaten al pastor one.

  “You can finish the rest at home. I don’t want to risk a fine with you being underage. Even Casale can’t turn a blind eye to that,” Jono told him.

  “I can’t believe I can fight the denizens of hell, but I can’t sit in my pack’s bar and share a meal with them.”

  Jono would’ve responded to that if it didn’t suddenly feel as if he were being stabbed in the chest. Searing pain radiated through his ribs and down his arms and legs. The agony of it had him doubling over, unable to breathe, lungs on fire as the soulbond suddenly snapped into place in a way it hadn’t for months and months. Frantic voices were a muddled mess in his ears, hands grabbing at him as he went to one knee, still clutching at his chest.

  He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t call out the only name that had a place in the prayers he always said alone.

  Then the veil ripped open in the air above everyone’s heads, and a veritable waterfall of icy liquid crashed down. Jono breathed in water and coughed hard to clear it from his lungs, ducking his head to try to keep his mouth and nose free of it. Wade’s hand wrapped around his upper arm in a bruising grip, keeping him upright as too many others were taken down to the floor.

  “Motherfucker. I’m going to punch that bastard in the face if I ever see him again.”

  Jono’s heart stuttered out of rhythm in his chest, the sheer joy of hearing that voice in his ears again enough to make him choke on a giddy laugh that came out on a name.

  “Patrick.”

  Jono wrenched free of Wade and twisted around. His gaze landed on the figure sprawled on Tempest’s floor, ginger hair slicked to his skull, soaked clothes the same as he’d worn back during the fight on Samhain half a year ago.

  Jono didn’t know he’d moved until he blinked, already reaching for Patrick, desperate to touch, to make sure this wasn’t a dream. He wrapped one hand around the collar of Patrick’s shirt, hauling him up so Jono could cradle the back of his head with the other and kiss him until it hurt to breathe.

  Patrick let out a surprised sound that never escaped their mouths before sinking into the kiss. His hands found their way to Jono’s hair, gripping tight, and Jono would’ve leaned into the touch if he wasn’t so focused on trying to breathe for the both of them.

  When air became a necessity, Jono broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, pressing his forehead to Patrick’s, staring into those green eyes he’d missed so much. “You came back.”

  Patrick’s hands slid down his face to cradle his jaw, fingers shaking. “I told you I would.”

  Jono nodded jerkily before pulling away enough to look at him. He drank in the sight of the man he loved, searching for wounds and finding none. Patrick stared back at him with a tired smile on his face, looking somehow lighter than he ever had before, as if all that had dragged him down over the years had finally set him free.

  “Hey,” Patrick said, his thumbs framing Jono’s mouth, eyes searching his. “I love you.”

  Jono didn’t think love should ever hurt, but it gutted him right then—the best kind of pain, the ache that said I’m here, I’m alive, I’m with you. Jono blinked wetness out of his eyes that he’d blame on the salt water he could taste on his lips.

  “I love you too,” Jono rasped out before kissing Patrick again and again and again.

  “You can stop anytime now,” Wade said loudly, the rapid tap of his foot against the ground reaching Jono’s ears. “It’s my turn to hug him.”

  Jono reluctantly stopped kissing Patrick, loath to let him go, but Wade looked about one second away from tossing Jono aside on his arse if he didn’t get his hands on Patrick. Jono let go of Patrick’s shirt and grabbed his hand instead, refusing to let go completely. Wade threw himself between them, wrapping both arms around Patrick and squeezing him so tight Jono thought he heard a bone pop.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” Wade said, sounding almost giddy, which was at odds with how hard he clung to Patrick.

  Patrick wrapped his free arm around Wade. The hug went on for nearly a minute before Sage pointedly cleared her throat. “My turn.”

  Wade wriggled out of Patrick’s hold but didn’t go far. Sage eased down to her knees beside them, and Jono saw the moment Patrick realized Sage was pregnant. Distress lanced through the bitterness of his scent, and Jono gently squeezed his hand.

  “You’re pregnant!” Patrick said, reaching toward her stomach and the soft curve there. “How long have I been gone?”

  Sage grabbed his hand and pressed it against her baby bump, smiling brilliantly despite the tears in her eyes. “Six months, but that doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

  She folded Patrick into a sideways hug, and Jono could see how gingerly Patrick touched her, a raw look in his eyes now that he knew how much time he’d lost. Sage didn’t care, kneeling on the wet ground to hug him as tightly as Wade had. Patrick couldn’t hold out against that, and he stopped trying, though his grip in Jono’s hand was tight enough to hurt if Jono cared about things like that.

  When Sage shifted away, Marek was there to help her to her feet. Jono used that brief lull to stand up and pull Patrick with him. Patrick shivered a little from the cold, and Jono wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, burying his nose into wet ginger hair, taking a moment to breathe him in and listen to that missed heartbeat.

  “Where did you go that I couldn’t follow?” Jono murmured.

  Patrick’s hands dug into his back, a ragged breath gusting over Jono’s collarbone. “Hell, then heaven. I brought Macaria home, and then I laid my sister to rest.”

  “And your soul debt?”

  “Paid in full.”

  The soft confession had Jono holding him even tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. The disbelieving wonder in Patrick’s voice came through in his scent as well. Jono basked in the knowledge that the gods could ask for whatever they wanted now, and Patrick could finally say no.

  Patrick pulled back with a hard sniff, the wetness in his eyes making the green there brighter. “What did I miss?”

  All the words jumbled together on Jono’s tongue, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure where to start. He just knew he didn’t want to let Patrick go ever again.

  “I’ll tell you when we get home,” Jono said.

  Patrick’s face lit up at that. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great. Let’s go home.”

  “I’m going with you,” Wade said quickly.

  “I’ll drive Sage,” Marek offered.

  Jono nodded, barely listening, refusing to take his eyes off Patrick for longer than necessary. He had an irrational fear that if he looked away, Patrick would disappear again, even though he knew that wouldn’t happen here. The tear in the veil had closed, and when Patrick left this time, Jono would go with him.

  Sage got everyone sorted, though Jono could see Patric
k’s confusion at Linh’s presence and her deference to Sage. A proper introduction would have to wait until later—so many things would have to wait until later—because right now, Jono just wanted to get Patrick home.

  They stumbled out of Tempest, Patrick shivering in his soaked clothes as they walked the half block to the car. Wade nicked the keys from Jono’s pocket to get the doors unlocked. He climbed into the back seat, and Patrick half collapsed into the front passenger one. The second Jono was behind the steering wheel and pulling into the street, he reached for Patrick’s hand, unsurprised to see him reaching back.

  Jono kept his eyes on the road for the entire drive back to the flat out of sheer will alone. He still ran three red lights, cut off ten cars, and pissed off more than one taxi driver.

  “Next time, I’ll drive,” Wade announced once they were parked a block away from the flat in Chelsea.

  “Did you get your license already?” Patrick asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Then you’re not driving.”

  Jono listened to the pair argue all the way to the front door of the flat, the happiness radiating from both of them putting a smile on his face. Wade kept brushing against Patrick, who didn’t mind the encroachment of his space at all. Once they were in the flat, and Patrick was dripping seawater all over the floor, Jono snapped out of his daze.

  “Let’s get you washed up. You need a hot shower and a change of clothes,” Jono said.

  Patrick shrugged out of his leather jacket, Wade snagging it with eager hands. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  Jono left Wade to figure out dinner with Sage when she arrived while he ushered Patrick into their bedroom’s master bathroom. The clothes he wore were filthy, and Jono made the executive decision to bin the lot while Patrick stepped under the hot shower spray to get clean. When he picked up the leather sheath along with Patrick’s ruined jeans, he realized it was empty.

  “Where’s your dagger?” Jono asked.

  Patrick squinted through the shampoo suds running down his face, his features a little blurred through the plastic shower curtain. “I gave it back to the gods. I don’t need it anymore.”

  Jono ran a finger along the length of one strap. “So it’s really over.”

  The rattle of the shower curtain being shoved aside had him looking back. Patrick leaned over the tub, beckoning him closer, and Jono went where he was always wanted. Patrick’s hand curved over the back of his neck, pulling Jono down into a kiss that was fiercer than the ones they’d shared in the bar. Jono stepped closer, hands resting on slick skin as he let Patrick take what he wanted.

  “It’s over,” Patrick affirmed when he broke the kiss, a weariness to his voice that was for Jono’s ears alone.

  His scent was a tangle of emotions that filled Jono’s nose, and none of it could be sorted right then. Best they could do was take it one day at a time, but Jono was okay with that, because he knew that every morning when he woke up from here on out, Patrick would be lying beside him once again.

  They’d face the future how they always had—together.

  “Finish up so we can chat,” Jono said as he stepped back. “There’s loads I have to tell you.”

  Patrick nodded, a smile lingering on his mouth as he twitched the shower curtain closed again. Jono hummed softly under his breath as he went to retrieve a set of clean clothes for Patrick, the soulbond singing between them.

  37

  Washington, DC, in May was muggier than usual, the change linked to the reactionary storms from last year. Patrick knew from experience it would take time for the weather systems to rebalance themselves. He was just grateful the national headquarters for the SOA had air-conditioning.

  Sitting in front of the desk that Setsuna used to inhabit and which Priya had taken over was bittersweet in a way. For him, Setsuna’s death felt as if it had been yesterday, when in reality for him, it was a month, while for everyone else, it was half a year. The horrific tearing of the veil during Samhain meant Patrick had lost months and months while gone.

  He tried not to feel terrible about something out of his control. His pack had managed well enough in his absence, and Patrick knew they’d missed him, but being gone for six months was still a long time. It was even longer for the government.

  “I wasn’t hiding. I don’t see why Congress can’t understand that. It’s not like this was the first time the veil tore on Earth,” Patrick said irritably.

  Priya hummed thoughtfully as she flipped through Patrick’s report on her desk. It was incredibly thick and had taken Patrick nearly a week to write up after his reappearance had hit the news and gone viral. Since then, he’d spent just as much time in DC as he had in New York.

  “It’s the first time you weren’t around to issue an after-action report. As you were the lynchpin of everything that occurred, you can understand why Congress has been champing at the bit to complete their investigation,” Priya said.

  “Our reports weren’t good enough?” Jono asked from his spot on the chair next to Patrick’s.

  He tightened his grip on Jono’s thigh, not caring that it wasn’t professional to touch each other like this in front of the Director of the Supernatural Operations Agency. He wasn’t ready to let go yet, especially after the six hours he’d spent getting interrogated by senators. Patrick’s debrief by officers in the Pentagon had happened yesterday, and he was feeling more than a little worn-out. It was his third debrief in as many weeks, and he was honestly tired of it.

  “Your reports over the last several months have been acceptable for the most part, but you and your pack aren’t Collins,” Priya said.

  Patrick slumped in his chair, sighing loudly. He’d missed a lot, and something he regretted about his absence was the absolute hell his pack had gone through in the political and military circles. When the earthly powers that be wanted answers, they weren’t above harassing people to get them.

  Priya closed the report and set it aside, the Eyes Only stamp on the front cover a glaring red against the black text. “As glad as I am that you returned, we do need to discuss your standing within the agency.”

  He was still technically a special agent, but he hadn’t been assigned any case since his return, remaining on paid administrative duty. Considering how many directions he was being pulled in, it was probably for the best.

  “Setsuna gave me my badge and gun back last year,” Patrick said.

  “I’m aware of what her reasoning was for that.”

  Patrick chewed on his bottom lip, staring at Priya. The last time he’d been in this office, Setsuna had sat behind the desk. The walls had carried her accomplishments, the shelves had held pictures of her life. Now, the space was inhabited by Priya, having officially been appointed to the directorship in Patrick’s absence. This space was hers now, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed what it had been until he’d walked inside and saw what it had become.

  “You don’t agree with her decision,” Patrick said slowly.

  Priya didn’t blink. “It’s very clear that you were integral to winning the fight in Manhattan against Ethan and the Dominion Sect. It is also clear that you were the underlying catalyst.”

  Jono sat up straighter, bristling. “That’s a load of bollocks. You can’t blame Ethan’s actions on Patrick.”

  “I’m not. I’m merely stating it was his family which prompted everything that happened. He can’t untie himself from that.”

  “And you don’t want the SOA tied to it any more than it already has been, right?” Patrick asked, trying not to sound bitter and failing miserably.

  “The SOA is tied to you and what happened no matter what. But the sheer breadth of what occurred and who you associate with means any case you handle will forever have the stigma of bias over it. Any prosecutor worth their salt will ask for a dismissal on the grounds you can’t be trusted simply because of the information you’ve held back over the years.”

  Patrick glanced at Jono. “Didn’t I tell you last y
ear I was going to get fired?”

  “I’m not firing you, Collins.”

  “It sure sounds like you are.”

  Priya shook her head. “You can’t be a field agent, not how you were, but that doesn’t mean the SOA won’t have use for you. There are other areas your skills can be used in.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your unique position within the preternatural community and the supernatural world lends itself well to rooting out domestic terror threats. You’ve made inroads with groups we’ve always had a difficult time accessing.”

  Patrick frowned, staring at her. “It sounds like you want me working in the Counterintelligence Division. That’s still fieldwork. My bias would still be at issue.”

  Priya held up a finger. “Not if you’re in a supervisory role and if the outreach is done in defense of national security. You’ve already proven your loyalty in that regard.”

  “There are still politicians who think I’m a liar.”

  “And there are more who don’t want to see you driven out with pitchforks. Setsuna never wanted that either. What you bring to the table is too valuable to lose.”

  Patrick managed not to flinch at her words, but it was a near thing. “You mean the alliances my pack claim are too valuable to lose.”

  “Yes.”

  At least she didn’t sugarcoat the reasoning, but the thought of using the people who had helped them fight against Ethan and the Dominion Sect left a sour taste in Patrick’s mouth. “That’s a lateral move any way you look at it, and there are a lot of people in the government who will fight you on that placement for me.”

  “It’s a fight we’re prepared to take on.”

  “That’s great and all, but I’m not leaving New York. I won’t leave my pack.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to think about staying on.”

  He no longer needed to hide behind his badge to survive. Working for the SOA had been a career he’d taken pride in, the same way he’d taken pride in the Mage Corps. While he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it all up just yet, he was never going to give up being an alpha of the New York City god pack. He’d had his fill of politics—both the government’s and the gods’—and Patrick really just wanted a break. Some time to process everything and heal.