She cut off, her voice overridden by the sound of metal crashing against metal. Jono balled his empty hand into a fist, blunt fingernails cutting into his skin as his heart skipped a beat. He could still hear Sage breathing, so he knew she was alive, that it wasn’t the Mustang that had been hit.
“Your brother is hunting them,” Hermes said, raising an eyebrow at Quetzalcoatl. “Will you deal with that problem, or shall I? The dagger can’t be lost to the hells. That is power we can’t let them have.”
“You are quicker,” Quetzalcoatl said.
Jono was furious that all the immortals seemed to care about was the fucking dagger Patrick carried and not the man himself. Hermes took a single step backward and disappeared. Sage’s surprised shout came through the line, and Jono had to remember not to break his mobile.
“Hermes is here,” she panted.
“Einar, return to Ginnungagap,” Lucien ordered, not bothering to raise his voice. As with werecreatures, vampires had enhanced hearing, and Jono had no doubt the other vampire was listening in.
“Ring Emma,” Jono said to Sage as he stalked past Quetzalcoatl for the driver’s seat. “Have her meet you at Ginnungagap to help with Kennedy.”
Quetzalcoatl gave Jono a bemused look as the car door slammed in his face. The immortal disappeared on the pavement like Hermes, only to reappear in the front passenger seat in the blink of an eye.
“You should know Santa Muerte is awake,” Quetzalcoatl said as he reached up to the roof and flipped a switch. “The Omacatl Cartel has worshipped her into existence over the course of decades, along with every soul who prays to her on these two continents.”
The red and blue lights secured to the dash and hidden in the SUV’s front grill switched on, flashing in the dark. Jono ignored the immortal in favor of undoing the emergency brake and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal.
The pull at Jono’s soul got tighter. He didn’t have magic, couldn’t manipulate his soul the way a mage could, but what tied him to Patrick was still a connection he could feel.
One he could follow.
“You got sirens in this thing?” Jono snapped.
Quetzalcoatl wordlessly switched them on, the high-pitched sound nearly bursting Jono’s eardrums until he dialed down his hearing. Following what pulled at his soul was far harder than following a neatly plotted GPS map. At least the sirens cleared them a way quicker than a borrowed car from Emma’s pack would have.
Driving while following the soulbond meant Jono didn’t pay any attention to typical street laws, and neither did Lucien, who kept right on his tail. Speeding down Fifth Avenue with his heart in his throat and Fenrir waking up meant he didn’t have time for conversation.
Quetzalcoatl didn’t care.
“He shouldn’t have given up the dagger,” the immortal said.
“Piss off,” Jono growled. “You lot gave Patrick the bloody thing. He can do what he likes with it.”
“He should have kept the dagger. At least he’d have a chance against my brother if he had.”
Jono sped through an intersection on a red light, nearly clipping a car coming from the other direction that was oblivious to the sirens.
“He’s got me.”
“You aren’t with him right now.”
Jono crunched the steering wheel beneath his grip, but the thing still turned, so it was fine. The soulbond coaxed him forward to where he hoped Patrick was. He scanned the street ahead and the cars that needed to get out of his fucking way.
“I’ll always be with him.”
Even when he wasn’t, but Jono decided then and there that the next time Patrick got the brilliant idea to go haring off on his own, Jono would laugh in his face and tell him no fucking way.
“You—”
“Shut,” Jono bit out. “Your. Gob.”
The words came out in a growl that was more wolf than human, Fenrir howling through his mind. Jono ignored both gods in favor of his soulbond and the approaching high-rise buildings of Midtown Manhattan.
The Crimson Diamond was in SoHo, and that was the general direction he was being pulled toward. Fifth Avenue got interrupted by Washington Square Park, and New York University was a congestion of traffic and people even on a weeknight. He took a left on Washington Square North, then another left at the corner, gunning down MacDougal Street.
Jono’s heart pounded in his chest, the rush of blood in his ears like waves crashing on the beach at Marek’s Hamptons home. He took a hard left on Bleecker Street, tires squealing as he sped around the corner.
“Watch where you’re driving,” Quetzalcoatl snapped. “This is a loaner.”
“If we crash, you won’t die.”
“You aren’t immortal, no matter your ties to Fenrir.”
Jono bared his teeth, fangs cutting into his lips. “I’m not dying tonight, mate.”
The ones who took Patrick captive were a different story entirely.
Jono thought the soulbond would lead him to the Crimson Diamond, but he was drawn to Grand Street by way of Wooster Street, wishing everyone would just get out of his way. The tugging got stronger, spreading through his soul as he closed the distance stretched between himself and Patrick.
SoHo was a bit of a posh area, with no alleys to speak of. Grand Street was one way, and when Jono’s soul felt like it was about to rip out of his body, he slammed his foot on the brake. The seat belt dug into his chest, and he ripped it out of the buckle, breaking it. Jono yanked up the emergency brake and nearly tore the door off its hinges in his bid to escape the SUV.
He moved as if he were swimming through honey, the world slow and hazy around them. The flashing lights of the government vehicle were slow to spin and change their colors. The traffic behind the SUV was moving forward so slowly they seemed almost at a standstill. Lucien and Carmen had braked to a stop and were struggling to reach him.
Then Jono caught Patrick’s scent—bitter in a way that was different and wrong.
“Patrick!” he yelled, frantic with worry.
The thickness in the air faded, allowing him passage. Jono threw himself toward the god standing between him and where Patrick was sprawled on the pavement. The god wore dusty jeans and a worn, tan leather jacket over a T-shirt. His straight black hair was parted in the middle and plaited in two thick braids that hung over his shoulders. Beneath the jacket was a breastplate made out of white bone beads, tied together by black leather strips.
The features of his face reminded Jono of Sage, but the god’s eyes were an eerie yellow that shined with a brightness that reminded Jono of his own. The mustache framing his mouth was neatly trimmed, with none of the stupid curls some men styled facial hair in these days.
Quetzalcoatl snorted. “Áłtsé Hashké. Up to your usual tricks again?”
The god shrugged in a careless manner, glancing at where Patrick lay. “This one treated my children with far more care than I expected, so I saved him. The cousins will owe me.”
“Who are you?” Jono demanded, wanting desperately to get to Patrick but not knowing which immortal stood in his way. Not that it mattered. He’d go through the god if he had to, no matter the cost to himself.
Those yellow eyes blinked at him before the god smiled. “Your kind call me and mine Coyote, though I am not the only one who wears that name. Your tongues are useless when it comes to the language of the People.”
Jono had no idea which Coyote he was speaking with, but he didn’t care. “I want Patrick.”
Áłtsé Hashké looked at him, then through him, and Jono felt as if he was being peeled apart in layers. Only Fenrir’s snarl pushed the sensation away.
“A fitting choice, Fenrir,” Áłtsé Hashké said as he stepped aside.
“That is interesting to know,” Lucien said from behind Jono.
Jono ignored the vampire in favor of Patrick, breath catching in his throat as he saw the state the other man was in. Torn shirt and ripped jeans tangled around his thighs, drawing attention to the hard outline of his co
ck beneath his underwear. The smell of other people was pressed into his skin, mingling with the chemical undertone to his bitter scent. He had both hands covering his eyes, blood smeared around his mouth from a split lip that was still bleeding.
Jono forced himself to move, hands shaking with a rage that wanted to tear whoever had touched Patrick apart in a slow, painful rendering. He dropped to his knees, hands hovering over Patrick’s chest, not sure where to touch.
If he even should.
Because the signs were pointing to an act having been committed Jono didn’t want to think about.
“Pat,” Jono said in a low, rough voice. “It’s me.”
Patrick drew in a shaky breath, but he didn’t move his hands. “Jono?”
Jono pressed one hand against the pavement to steady himself, the force of his touch cracking the cement at the waver in Patrick’s voice. “Yeah, love. I’m here.”
“They made him take shine. They would not let my children leave without him doing so,” Áłtsé Hashké said.
Jono didn’t realize he was growling until Patrick curled onto his side, one hand reaching toward Jono, the other still covering his eyes. “I’m gonna be sick.”
He took that as permission given. Jono reached for Patrick, helping him sit up so he wouldn’t choke while he vomited. Jono grabbed Patrick’s jeans and pulled them over his hips, holding them up when he realized the button was gone and the zipper was broken.
“It’s a sexual high. It’s meant to make humans pliant while vampires feed. It isn’t that way for magic users,” Carmen said.
“What do you mean?” Jono said through clenched teeth.
“If you gave someone the wrong blood type during a transfusion, they’d react badly to it. The same can be said of magic. Pure shine is made with vampire blood, and that carries traces of black magic in it. The same ability that enables magic users to reject the werevirus means they react differently to vampires.”
“Get to the fucking point.”
Carmen arched an eyebrow at him, the dark red pupils of her eyes burning in her unblinking gaze. “The high is intense and painful. It will strip him of control over his magic. The drug will burn out of his system in a few hours, but the symptoms will remain for longer. I can raise his sexual desire so the drug leaves his system faster.”
Jono had to force himself not to tighten his hold on Patrick. The younger man had enough bruises from tonight. “No.”
“Then I’ll deal with him,” Lucien said.
“Get fucked, mate.”
“Patrick is a mage. Are you willing to risk his magic going rogue?”
Jono pulled Patrick into his arms and cradled the other man close as he stood. “You even think about pushing desire at him or try to control him, and I’ll give Fenrir the freedom he so desperately wants.”
Lucien’s mouth curled. “As fun as that would be, Patrick still owes me answers. I’ll expect a report tomorrow if your building is still standing.”
Lucien and Carmen put their helmets back on and returned to their motorcycle. On the street, the traffic around them had barely moved. Jono didn’t know which god was behind the distortion, and he didn’t know how long it would last. Part of him was glad that no one else would get to see Patrick in this state.
Quetzalcoatl looked at Áłtsé Hashké. “I will see them home.”
“Your brother shall not be forgiven his transgressions against the Diné,” Áłtsé Hashké replied.
“Your grudges are notable, but misplaced. I will deal with Tezcatlipoca, not you.”
Áłtsé Hashké just smiled, the gleam in his yellow eyes a promise Jono didn’t trust. Quetzalcoatl gestured at Jono to follow him back to the SUV. As he walked, the thick pressure in the air began to fade. When he looked over his shoulder, not trusting the god at his back, Áłtsé Hashké was gone.
Quetzalcoatl opened the rear passenger door and Jono got into the vehicle without letting Patrick go. He held Patrick on his lap, keeping his hands away from the obvious erection the other man was sporting. Patrick kept his hands over his eyes, panting raggedly. Jono pressed a kiss to the top of his sweaty head, breathing in the scent of wrongness seeping out of him.
“I want,” Patrick rasped out, the words slurring between them.
Jono squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaw so tightly he cracked a tooth. Whatever Patrick wanted tonight, Jono couldn’t give it to him—and it would absolutely gut Jono to stand firm. When he opened his eyes again, he had to blink away spots.
“I’ll drop you off and reach out to the SOA to stem some of the damage from tonight on the case front,” Quetzalcoatl said as the SUV lurched forward, the world back to how it was supposed to be.
“Sure, Pretzel,” Patrick muttered.
Jono ignored the immortal, all his focus on the man in his arms. Patrick still wouldn’t uncover his eyes, and Jono didn’t try to pull his hands away. He knew what shine did, how it messed with a person’s eyesight. He worried, though, about how Patrick would react to things he couldn’t see.
Shifting on the seat, Jono pulled out his mobile and speed-dialed Emma. She picked up on the first ring. “Jono?”
“In a bit of a cock-up. I’ve got Patrick and we’re heading home. Steer clear of the flat until I ring you. Can Wade stay with you tonight?”
“Yes, of course. Is Patrick all right?”
Jono wished desperately that Emma and her pack didn’t tithe the god pack and have to abide by their law. Estelle and Youssef didn’t deserve their loyalty. “No, but I have him.”
Jono ended the call without saying another word, unsure of what he could say without taking away Patrick’s choice.
Quetzalcoatl used his lights to get them home in record time, though he spared Jono’s ears by not turning on the siren. The immortal said nothing when he parked in front of the apartment building, silently watching Jono get out with Patrick in his arms. Jono used his elbow to close the SUV door, and Quetzalcoatl drove away without a word.
Jono was glad to see him go.
It was late, and no one was outside to see him carry Patrick up every flight of stairs to their top-floor flat. By the time they reached the landing, Patrick was squirming in his arms, the scent of arousal thick in Jono’s nose. Worse than that was the pain and the lingering scent of the undead. Jono desperately wanted to give Patrick a shower, but he didn’t feel comfortable stripping Patrick out of his clothes right now.
Maybe later, when Patrick was more lucid and knew who was touching him. As things stood, Jono paused long enough to touch the wards set into the doorframe and activate the silence ward Patrick had tied to both of them when they first moved in. It flared up warm and white beneath Jono’s palm before fading into familiar static that wrapped itself around the flat.
His eyesight made it easy to traverse the dark flat. Jono carried Patrick to the guest bathroom rather than the one in their bedroom because it was closer. He carefully lowered Patrick’s legs to the ground, keeping him upright with an arm around his waist. Jono ignored the way Patrick rubbed against him, trying to get off, his face buried against Jono’s chest. If that’s what he needed right now, Jono wouldn’t fight him on it.
“You’re too bright,” Patrick muttered.
Jono maneuvered Patrick in the small space, keeping the door open. He got Patrick settled on the floor, back leaning up against the tub, and Jono crouched in front of him. When he touched Patrick’s leg, the other man jerked as if he’d been hit, and Jono nearly bit through his tongue in his rage.
“It’s me, Pat,” he said, hand hovering over Patrick’s thigh.
In response, Patrick’s entire body jerked again and a small burst of magic sent Jono sprawling backward into the hallway. The raw force of it rattled everything not bolted down in the bathroom. Jono blinked up at the ceiling, his ears ringing. Even through that sound he could hear Patrick’s frantic voice.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Patrick slurred. “I’m sorry. My shields are a mess.”
Jono propped h
imself up on one elbow. He’s holding back.
If Patrick didn’t have some bit of control left, he’d be punching holes through the walls with his magic. A mage carried more power in their soul than regular magic users. If they lost control, there was a risk of their magic going haywire. But Patrick had more training than most, and shields set by a goddess into his very bones. Jono knew how stubborn the other man could be.
That didn’t mean this would be easy.
Jono scrambled to his feet and stepped back into the bathroom. Patrick was leaning over the toilet while seated on the floor, heaving up stomach acid, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to stay upright.
“Sorry,” Patrick gasped out again, spitting into the toilet. “Sorry. I can’t—”
His voice broke off as he got sick again. Jono knelt and smoothed his hand over Patrick’s forehead to brush back his hair and make sure he didn’t hit his head. When he stopped getting sick, Jono grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped his face clean before dropping the soiled bit into the toilet and flushing the sick away.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Need to stop thinking.”
Jono knew that while Patrick used a mageglobe to help him focus, most of his spellwork was cast in silence, the commands coming through as thoughts in his head rather than sound on his lips. In his drugged state, with his thoughts drifting, that was a disaster waiting to happen around his fraying control.
Jono didn’t know what to do or how to help. Then Patrick’s shaking fingers grabbed Jono’s hand and guided it to his erection. Jono gently pulled his hand free, hating the frustrated whine Patrick let out.
When humans took shine, they normally did it within the arms of a vampire who could help focus their desire for darkness through sex, helping them ignore the pain of the high and the teeth in their veins. Jono wasn’t about to have sex with Patrick in the state he was in.
“Not going to help you like that, Pat,” Jono said.
“Then why are you here if you won’t get me off?”
“Because I’m not leaving you.”
And Jono didn’t, despite the long, painful night that stretched out before them. The clarity Patrick had at the beginning crumbled beneath the insidiousness of shine. When he wasn’t puking up stomach acid or trying to hurt himself, he was trying to get Jono to fuck him, all the while slurring, “I can’t see. I can’t see. You’re too bright.”
All Souls Near & Nigh (Soulbound Book 2) Page 19
