“Oh, fuck,” someone breathed behind her. “This guy is in pieces.”
The smell of blood grew thicker, mixing with the faint hint of decomposition that was starting to build up around the body. A mundane human wouldn’t be able to pick it up yet, but werecreatures could. There was no mistaking the dead for what they were—just like there was no mistaking the sulfur curling through the air in the hallway.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Estelle said.
“Of course you don’t. But the video we have of a confession courtesy of the Manhattan Night Court says otherwise.” Jono smiled, half listening to Fenrir howl through his mind. “New York City doesn’t belong to you and your pack. Get that through your sodding thick skull.”
Estelle let out a harsh laugh, bracing both hands on the edge of the doorway. It was telling that she didn’t take a single step past the threshold. “You think you can take it? From me?”
Jono stepped right up to the threshold’s edge, magic flickering at the edges of his vision. He could see through it with Fenrir’s help, some bit of the god’s power pouring through his soul. The fae magic embedded in Sage’s pendant hid it all, or Fenrir allowed it to be hidden. Jono knew now wasn’t the time to reveal what he carried in his soul, and Fenrir seemed to agree.
He didn’t have Patrick, and he didn’t have an alliance with the vampires—yet. Estelle had more packs at her disposal, and Jono knew better than to rely solely on a god’s fickle blessing.
“I know I can,” Jono promised with the sureness of a man who knew nothing would get in his way from taking what was rightfully his.
Estelle’s smile froze on her face, nostrils flaring. He didn’t know what she got off him, what she saw in his eyes, but she made no move to go for his throat like back in December.
Jono stepped back, ignoring the pull of the wound over his ribs, refusing to show weakness to her. “Any retaliation against the packs who have left your sphere of protection for ours will be considered an act of war going forward. I am done letting you think you have the right to cross my territory.”
He didn’t demand a challenge because he knew one would never be fair with Estelle and Youssef. The only way to take control of New York City would be to fight for it block by block.
Jono was ready to do just that.
It was one thing to test borders, quite another to hire hunters driven by demons and invite them into everyone’s pack territory. The Krossed Knights would come for him and then go after everyone else. Of that, Jono was certain. Hate like that was never content with just one kill.
But Estelle and Youssef didn’t care about that, and if they wouldn’t, then Jono would.
He turned his back on Estelle and walked away, trusting in Emma to keep him safe. They returned to the SUV and got back in. Leon didn’t peel out, keeping to the speed limit so as to not arouse suspicion.
“Surprised she didn’t try to gut you,” Leon said.
Jono rubbed at his nose. “She had a guest.”
“Oh?”
“A hunter.” Jono leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “A demon.”
“You think they’re making another deal?” Emma asked.
“I think we’re not the only ones looking for alliances.”
If Estelle and Youssef were courting demons and hunters, then Jono was going to do whatever it took to get Lucien on their side.
7
“Thank you for coming,” a deep voice boomed over the chatter of the brunch crowd. “I’m sorry I missed the original pancake breakfast last week, but I did say I’d make it up to all of you.”
The crowd in the community center full of senior citizens cheered and clapped, most likely for the free food. An icy wind had blown up off Lake Michigan overnight with a strangely long reach, and it was freezing outside. The community center was on the same block as a senior-living housing complex in the West Town neighborhood. It could have been a hazardous walk to the campaign stop, but Westberg’s campaign had sent out dozens of volunteers to escort the elderly to their free meal.
“Do we get to eat the food?” Wade asked.
“No. I’ll feed you later,” Patrick replied.
Wade grumbled and pulled out a candy bar from his jacket pocket. Patrick kept his attention on the tall man in a business suit who was putting on a white apron as a dozen people laughed. As with any politician during meet and greets, he never stopped smiling. Patrick found it creepy.
He and Wade were standing in the back of the room while volunteers dashed back and forth between the tables holding all the food and the ones where the senior citizens were seated. A couple of people with press lanyards hanging from their necks were milling about taking pictures, while others had come to just observe the candidate and take his measure.
Patrick had come with both his pistol and dagger warded so no one would notice. His badge was clipped to his belt and hidden beneath his leather jacket. He was there to get a feel for the man the SOA considered a criminal. Wade had tagged along because he was bored.
“I heard there’s a Nutella café in this city. Can we go to it?” Wade asked.
“You can go to it later. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I wanted to go today.”
“I’m not stopping you.” Patrick pointed at Wade without even looking. “Don’t steal my car keys.”
Wade grumbled something rude under his breath but pulled his hand away from where it’d been creeping toward Patrick’s pocket. “Fine.”
Patrick went back to ignoring him, keeping an
