“Our alphas are waiting for you,” the petite blonde woman said as she shoved open the bar door.
A couple more cars and taxis pulled up on the street behind them. Patrick looked over his shoulder in time to see Monica getting out of a sleek sports car. Patrick’s skin crawled with the feeling of being boxed in, and his fingers twitched toward his dagger. Wade stepped closer, arms crossed over his chest as he scowled at everyone around them.
“What if I eat them?” Wade asked.
Patrick rolled his eyes. “No. They’d taste bad. Get inside and I’ll order you food. The place has a kitchen, and you’re allowed to stay even though you’re underage so long as the kitchen is open.”
“They better have hot dogs.”
Patrick entered the bar first, a wall of warm air hitting him in the face. Glass chandeliers and other light fixtures hung from the ceiling and protruded from the walls, giving off bright light. Wooden tables were scattered around the bar counter itself, nearly every seat taken. The booths along the walls were just as full.
Recognition pulsed through Patrick’s magic, letting him know werecreatures and magic users alike were gathered in the bar, along with a decent amount of mundane humans. Patrick scanned the room, picking out the exit signs and ignoring the people who glanced their way.
“This way,” Monica said as she passed them by.
Patrick and Wade followed her deeper into the bar toward a couple of tables near the back that had been pushed together. Some seats were open, enough for the three of them to sit down. Monica took the empty seat to the right of a Native American woman whose bright amber-eyed gaze never left Patrick’s face. Next to her sat a Mexican man who sported tattoos across his bare arms that were unexpectedly familiar.
Patrick eyed the designs. “Anahuac Cartel?”
The man smiled, showing off sharp teeth. “Good guess.”
“Not a guess. I know the vampire who’s in charge of that cartel. You have his ownership inked on your skin.” Patrick reached out and tugged Wade toward an empty chair. “Sit. I’ll get you a menu when the waitress comes by.”
“I got a few,” Wade said, holding up two food menus, a drink menu, and a set of someone’s keys with a building security badge attached.
Monica tensed in her seat across the table. “Those are mine.”
“Oops. Must have fallen out of your purse.”
Patrick snorted at the faux-innocent tone of Wade’s voice. “Give them back to her.”
Wade tossed Monica’s keys across the table to her before sitting down in one of the two empty seats situated across from the Chicago god pack alphas. He held a menu up in front of his face, more interested in the food on offer than everyone seated around the table. Patrick sat beside him, trying not to reveal how much having his back to the room at large made him tense and uncomfortable. He looked away from Wade to meet the gazes of Monica’s alphas.
“Your dire said my manners suck. I didn’t think I needed to ask your permission to run a case in this city on the SOA’s orders,” Patrick said, keeping his voice even.
“You’ve crossed eight different pack territories in a single day, breached my god pack’s borders without permission, and never once reached out to us to apologize. Your manners do suck,” the woman said.
Patrick shrugged. “You want an introduction? Special Agent Patrick Collins, at your service. I’m one of the alphas of the only New York City god pack that matters and Wade’s babysitter.”
“Hey!” Wade protested, not looking away from the menu. “I can take care of myself. Aw man, they don’t have hot dogs.”
“Get a hamburger.”
“I’m getting three.”
“Not a good babysitter if your boy is that hungry,” the man directly across from Patrick said.
“Wade is always hungry. He’ll eat anything at any hour. Pizza, hamburgers, demons—”
“Gross. Not getting seconds on those,” Wade muttered. “Can I get fried pickles?”
Patrick sighed and raised a hand, catching a waitress’ attention. He waved her over and pointed at Wade. “I need to feed him.”
The woman—a witch, judging by her aura and the spark of recognition that ran through Patrick’s magic—arched an eyebrow before eyeing Wade. “What would you like?”
Wade rattled off a list of food that could have fed three grown men. Patrick resigned himself to a triple-digit charge, but if it kept Wade happy, it would be worth it.
“If you want to talk, I want to know who I’m dealing with,” Patrick said once the waitress left to go put in the order.
“You’re in no position to demand things of us,” the woman said.
Patrick bit back a scowl and tried not to say the first thing that came to his mind. Sage would be proud he wasn’t starting off with insults if she were here. “Like I said. I’m here because I work for the SOA. I’m not here looking to take your territory. Maybe I should’ve called, but it’s not like any of my pack had your number.”
“Your agency and the Chicago police know where we live.”
“Yeah, they don’t need to know about this. I gave you my name. I’d like yours in return.”
She smiled thinly at him, the thick braid draped over one shoulder swaying as she leaned back in her seat. “Naomi White Hawk.”
“Alejandro Perez,” her partner said.
Patrick didn’t see any wedding bands, so he figured they weren’t married how Estelle and Youssef were. He couldn’t rely on smell like Jono could for a situation like this, but Patrick was good at reading body language. None of the werecreatures seated at the table or in the surrounding bar area seemed fearful of their alphas. It was a stark difference from whenever he’d seen Estelle and Youssef interacting with their werecreature community.
“It’s just me and Wade here. Our pack isn’t looking to leave New York City anytime soon,” Patrick said.
“That’s not what we’ve heard,” Naomi said.
“Any rumors you’ve heard
