All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2)

by Hailey Turner

  This was—hands down—Patrick’s favorite way to wake up these days. He had Jono to thank for teaching him how good sex could be when he wasn’t rushing to get off. Patrick bit his lip as Jono licked at his hole again, hot breath tickling his skin. Heat zinged up his spine at the wet touch, and he moaned when the tip of Jono’s tongue pushed inside him.

  He curled his hands into fists beneath the pillow as he pushed back against Jono’s mouth, heat suffusing his face. Getting eaten out was intimate in a way he’d rarely experienced before Jono came into his life. Patrick had to admit he’d been missing out.

  “Gods,” he moaned, hips jerking as Jono sucked at the rim of his hole. “I want you in me.”

  Jono flicked his tongue over his hole before sliding a slick finger inside him, causing Patrick to inhale sharply.

  “Like this?” Jono teased.

  Patrick would’ve answered, except Jono curled his finger at just the right angle to rub against his prostate and Patrick couldn’t remember how to speak for a couple of seconds.

  Jono chuckled, the sound muffled against Patrick’s ass. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Patrick sucked in air and turned his face to the side again, blinking open his eyes. “I have to work today.”

  “So you do.” Another hot, wet kiss to his hole made Patrick’s mouth part on a near-silent gasp. “Bloody shame I can’t spend all day working you over.”

  Patrick bit his lip at that drawled confession, wishing he could spend the day in bed letting Jono come in him and on him, sinking into a scent his too-human nose couldn’t parse. Other werecreatures could, and Patrick had never once been embarrassed at the way Jono laid claim to him.

  Patrick slid a hand free from beneath the pillow to reach behind him for Jono. He blindly tangled his fingers in wavy black hair, getting a good grip and tugging. “I spent a week without you. Don’t make me wait.”

  Jono bit lightly at Patrick’s upturned ass before pushing a second finger inside him. The hot burn of the stretch, sudden and nerve-piercing, had Patrick moaning and tightening his hold on Jono’s hair.

  “Say please.”

  Patrick opened his mouth, but the word didn’t immediately come to his lips. It took a few seconds for him to push back against a lifetime of stubbornness where begging was concerned. Jono was proving to be an exception to all his rules these days.

  “Please,” Patrick finally forced out, shuddering on the exhale.

  Jono licked his way inside again, tongue curling over his fingers in a distracting way that had Patrick panting wetly against the pillow. Jono teased his prostate for a few more seconds with light touches that made Patrick’s cock throb. Then he pulled his fingers free and grabbed Patrick’s ass, touch warm like it always was.

  Patrick let go of Jono’s hair in order to get his elbows underneath him as Jono pulled apart his ass cheeks to press an openmouthed, sucking kiss right over his hole. Patrick moaned, giving in to the full-body shiver that made his toes curl.

  Jono slid his hands along Patrick’s body to fit them over his hips. With a firm tug, he pulled Patrick closer. He would’ve got up on his hands and knees, except Jono pressed a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed him back down onto the bed. Patrick instinctively pushed back against the strength holding him down before relaxing, reaching out with one hand to snag the pillow again.

  He turned his head, the angle making his neck go tight, but seeing the smirk on Jono’s gorgeous face was worth it. When Jono leaned over Patrick to kiss him, he didn’t turn away, not caring where the other man’s mouth had just been. Jono’s cock slid into the crease of his ass, rubbing against him as they kissed. The thickness was something Patrick wanted in him, sooner rather than later.

  “Hate when you’re gone,” Jono said after he broke the kiss. He bit down gently on Patrick’s shoulder before reaching for the bottle of lube again.

  “Soulbond,” Patrick muttered.

  Patrick dug his fingers into the pillow as Jono poured lube over his cock where it was nestled between Patrick’s ass cheeks, getting them both messy. That thick length slid against his body, the fat head teasing over his hole and catching on the rim.

  “You,” Jono retorted before nipping at Patrick’s shoulder.

  Patrick wanted to argue—partly because he still had trouble believing someone could care for him like that in such an intimate way—but all the words fled his mind as Jono finally pushed into him. His mouth opened on a silent groan, lungs locking up as that thick cock split him open. Lying on the bed how he was, with his hips tilted up, knees spread wide, and Jono practically lying on top of him to keep him there, all Patrick could do was take it.

  Jono worked his way inside with slow, agonizing pushes, each inch gained causing Patrick to draw in a shuddering breath. Jono’s cock was long and thick, filling Patrick up in the best way possible. By the time Jono’s hips were flush against his ass, Patrick was half out of his mind with need.

  “You’re such a fucking tease,” he gasped out, entire body tight as he clenched around Jono’s cock.

  Jono laughed, and Patrick could feel the vibrations through his rib cage. “Want to enjoy you. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Fuck yeah it is.”

  “Too bad you have to work. I had plans for you that would’ve taken all day,” Jono murmured as he flexed his hips and pulled back, the long drag of his cock leaving Patrick’s body making him whimper.

  “Yeah?” he said, licking his lips.

  “I wanted to take my time with you. Wanted to make you come over and over until it hurt. Then I’d take my turn.”

  Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and breathed into the damp fabric of his pillow as Jono thrust back in at just the right angle to rub against his prostate. “Fuck. You’re gonna kill me in bed one of these days.”

  Jono’s chuckle was warm in his ears. “Be a fun way to go.”

  “For you.”

  “Nothing wrong with that, love.”

  For all his magic, Patrick was human, and Jono’s preternatural strength meant he could never let go entirely in bed. Some nights he wanted more than what Patrick could give, and stretching out the pleasure helped to temper that need.

  “Maybe next time,” Patrick muttered, digging his knees into the mattress so he could push back against Jono’s next thrust.

  “Yeah?” Jono asked, fingers digging into Patrick’s hip bones as he straightened up. The movement had him grinding against Patrick’s prostate. “You want that?”

  Patrick flushed at the thought, but he wasn’t going to deny he wanted that. He knew Jono could smell his desire and wasn’t ashamed of that fact. Jono rewarded Patrick for that nonverbal agreement by snapping his hips forward, driving his cock in deep and hard. Patrick nearly swallowed his tongue on the second thrust, groaning at the way Jono made sure to catch his prostate.

  He reached between his legs to stroke his cock in time with Jono’s thrusts, the pace picking up. Patrick closed his eyes, sinking into the sensations of his body climbing toward orgasm. The tightness in his balls warred with the fire in his nerves as Jono fucked him, sweat sliding over his skin.

  After a week with nothing but his right hand to help him get off, Patrick didn’t last—he couldn’t, not with the way Jono so easily took him apart. The thick heat of the hard cock inside him was impossible to ignore; Jono’s warm hands like a vise around his hips. Patrick came, tipping over the edge with a muffled cry as he turned his face into the pillow, shuddering through his orgasm. Hot cum spurted over his fingers, body tightening around Jono’s cock.

  Jono didn’t stop thrusting, but his movements slowed until Patrick was a limp mess on the bed, muscles shaky with exertion. Jono leaned over him and kissed the back of his sweaty neck, licking at his skin. Patrick managed to flop a hand onto Jono’s head, lazily tugging at his hair.

  “Want you to come in me,” Patrick said on a satisfied sigh.

  Jono obliged, taking Patrick apart in the best way possible. Every thrust burned with
a teeth-tingling sensation of too much that Patrick ignored in favor of giving Jono what he wanted. And Jono took, driving in deep and hard until Patrick wanted to scream. When Jono finally came, Patrick had to bite his lip, hands twisting at the sheets as Jono’s cock throbbed in his body, coming deep inside him.

  Jono stayed buried deep for a few more seconds before he slowly pulled out. Patrick groaned, body clenching around the emptiness. Jono lay down beside him as Patrick straightened out his legs, resting his hand possessively over Patrick’s ass.

  “Have fun at the office today,” Jono said, sounding smug.

  Patrick reached out and pinched one of Jono’s nipples. “Fuck you.”

  Jono’s laughter echoed in Patrick’s ears long after he left the apartment for work.

  4

  “What do you mean you aren’t coming by to identify the body?” Patrick growled. He paused in pouring the creamer into his thermos of coffee as Estelle’s irritated sigh echoed in the kitchen through the speakerphone.

  “We’ve had no word of anyone under our protection dying outside any sanctioned challenges,” Estelle told him coolly.

  Patrick glared down at his phone where it sat on the kitchen counter. “What part of murder don’t you understand?”

  “Today isn’t a good time, and neither is the weekend. We can set up an appointment with the medical examiner’s office on Monday. The body will keep until then.”

  Patrick ended the call, not in the mood to argue, and opened up the kitchen cabinet to grab a bottle of Jameson. Today might have been Friday, but in his line of work, the week never ended.

  “Jono,” Patrick said, not bothering to raise his voice as he poured a finger’s worth of whiskey into his thermos. “I’m gonna need you to come with me to the PCB.”

  Patrick had spent all day yesterday at the SOA opening the new case when he wasn’t taking meetings with SAIC Henry Ng. He’d decided to reach out to Estelle and Youssef after he’d read Catherine's preliminary autopsy report.

  One Andre Scott, werejackal, had died from blunt force trauma to the torso and head, propounded by a sustained allergic reaction to silver. Results on the toxicology report would take weeks, but Patrick wouldn’t be surprised if shine and aconite were found in his blood. The cause of Andre’s allergic reaction hadn’t been located, but Catherine’s notes had detailed out her suspicions of a collar. The bruising and burn scars had formed the right shape around the teen’s neck.

  Aside from all that, Andre had teeth marks that matched the general shape of vampire fangs in the flesh surrounding his veins and arteries.

  Fucking vampires.

  “She’s in a mood,” Jono said as he came out of the bedroom, voice gravelly and making Patrick think of sex instead of work. The sight of Jono padding naked into the kitchen didn’t help any.

  “Like hell I’m waiting until Monday. I’ll pay you what the SOA would for an expert witness fee out of pocket for you to identify the body.”

  Strong arms wrapped around his waist, and a chin settled on top of his head. Patrick scowled into his coffee but couldn’t help slumping back against Jono.

  “You don’t got to pay me for this. But you’ll need someone who’s actually seen the bloke to confirm it’s him before I handle any paperwork.”

  “Hope Sage isn’t needed in court today.”

  “She’d technically need the god pack alphas’ approval to help.”

  “Lucky for us, you fit that bill.”

  Jono sighed heavily but didn’t protest Patrick’s pointed comment. “I’ll get dressed. Put the whiskey away and get a nicotine patch. You’re stroppy.”

  “The fuck I’m stroppy,” Patrick muttered, taking a sip of his Irish coffee.

  He still got the nicotine patch.

  Jono called Sage on the way out of the apartment, catching her when she was already in the office at 0730 in the morning. Patrick half listened to the quick conversation as they clattered down the stairs to the street, sipping at his coffee and scratching absently at the nicotine patch on his arm.

  Jono swatted his hand away from messing with it. “Ta, love. We’ll pick you up on our way to the PCB.”

  “Oh, good. She’s available,” Patrick said as Jono ended the call.

  “She says her boss isn’t happy she’s being called away from the office.”

  Patrick shrugged. “Sage could’ve said no.”

  “You knew she wouldn’t.”

  “I was counting on that.”

  Maybe it was a little underhanded playing into pack politics like that, but Patrick had a dead werejackal lying on a slab back at the morgue and a recalcitrant pair of god pack alphas annoying the shit out of him. He’d use what avenues he had to move this case along, and if that meant leaning hard into Jono’s status? Then he would do it, and the guilt could go fuck itself.

  Patrick felt bad about not letting Jono get some rest that morning. He’d taken a closing shift last night, which meant taking last call at 0345 and locking the doors at Tempest at 0400. Cleanup had taken another hour, and Jono had caught an Uber cross-town to get home rather than take public transit. Jono had arrived in time to lie down with Patrick for thirty minutes before his alarm had gone off.

  Late-night bar hours and the weird hours cases took meant sometimes they didn’t see each other awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Despite their schedules, they still knew the other was close by through the soulbond—at least, when Patrick was in town. Distance was never easy to navigate, and Patrick was half-tempted to bring Jono along the next time he went away on a case. He doubted Emma and Leon would mind, but he didn’t want to mess with Jono’s job too much.

  Friday morning traffic from uptown, the tunnels, and the bridges meant it took a while to get downtown. Gentry & Thyme, the law firm Sage worked at as a senior associate, was located in Lower Manhattan. The firm had been founded by a group of Seelie fae in 1850, years before the five boroughs were consolidated into a single city.

  Patrick hated dealing with the fae. Most were lawyers, plying their trade in words with the courts and whoever was stupid enough to sign a contract with them. You always had to watch your words with the fae, and Patrick had no desire to find himself owing a debt to the descendants of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He owed too much already.

  Sage was waiting for them outside her work building when Patrick finally pulled up to the curb behind a yellow taxi discharging its passenger. Jono opened the door and got out to push the seat forward so he could climb into the back.

  She tossed her Birkin bag onto the floorboard and took the front seat. Birkin bags were his best friend’s favorite style of purse, which was the only reason Patrick knew what they were called and what they looked like. And like Special Agent Nadine Mulroney, a mage out of the Preternatural Intelligence Agency, Sage was a coffee thief.

  “That’s mine,” Patrick said as he pulled into the street.

  “Guess what? You’re sharing now,” Sage replied curtly before gulping down a mouthful of hot, whiskey-laced coffee. “I have a ten-o’clock meeting I can’t miss, so I need to be back at the office before then.”

  Patrick glanced at her and decided his coffee was a lost cause. “You look tired.”

  “Long night dealing with a client’s case. I didn’t leave the office.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  The turquoise pendant artifact hanging from a slender platinum chain around her neck sifted through Patrick’s magic as an afterthought. The recognition of the artifact’s fae magic was a normal feeling to him these days. The fae magic embedded in the stone masked Sage’s true nature. As a mage, Patrick could pick out magic better than most, but even he couldn’t sense Sage was a werecreature through that spell.

  The drive to the PCB didn’t take long, and Patrick parked in the adjacent warded garage when they arrived.

  “So Estelle and Youssef didn’t want to come?” Sage said on the walk to the elevators.

  “They’d make time Monday. I need the kid IDed today,
” Patrick said. “If that means I keep them out of the loop longer, so much the better.”

  Sage side-eyed him but said nothing. There wasn’t much she could say. Patrick knew she hated the god pack alphas just as much as he did.

  The sergeant on desk duty buzzed them through the security door once they made it into the PCB, and they took the elevator down to the basement. The morgue was located in the lower levels and had protective wards etched into every wall. The intake assistant at the receiving desk jumped to his feet when they arrived, wiping crumbs from his breakfast pastry off his mouth.

  “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “Body from the homicide in the subway Wednesday night. We’re here to ID it,” Patrick said.

  “Dr. Margolin isn’t in, but Geoffrey Davis is in workroom three talking with the chief. I can take you to them.”

  “Great.”

  The intake assistant led them down a sparse hallway to a warded door. He unlocked it with a scan card to the sensor pad and a press of his hand to a pentagram carved in the metal of the door itself.

  The dead had to be handled differently than the living, especially those that died by way of magic or worse. The morgue was a place of death despite its white hospital-grade sterile walls, floors, and brightly lit workrooms, one of which they found themselves entering. The room smelled strongly of bleach and ammonia, with a deeper scent of formaldehyde and rot. The preservation process didn’t matter; death would always find a way to stick around.

  Casale and Geoffrey, the medical examiner on duty, were standing on either side of a metal slab that had been rolled out of a refrigeration wall unit used to store the dead. Casale looked up at their arrival, his brown eyes narrowing as he took in Jono and Sage. Geoffrey was a tall, almost too-thin man who kept his brown hair buzzed short and was currently wearing scrubs.

  The body lying between them had his chest stitched up in the quintessential Y-incision from an autopsy. Patrick eyed the runes painted on the dead teenager’s chest. The runes were standard procedure in murder investigations to keep the dead from being raised. Nothing ruined a case more than having a body reanimated through necromancy and the zombie walk out the front door.