“You keep it in strange ways.”
“I keep it how she would see fit.” Lucien stepped forward, pure violence in every line of his body. “I’d break it if I could.”
Jono’s mouth twisted into a smile. “But you don’t.”
“Because I heeded my mother’s warnings about the threat of new gods backed by the hells. My kind can’t eat the dead.” Lucien flipped the knife in his other hand around to a better grip, tapping the blade against his thigh. “But I could eat you.”
“Isn’t this a cozy little get-together,” a new voice drawled. “Fenrir, you know better than to play with your food like this.”
Jono’s head turned fractionally to the right, just enough for him to see the figure that slipped free of the thick gray fog. Hermes smiled in a way that still made Jono want to punch the arrogance off his face. The messenger god’s curls were dyed a bright blue this time around, his ripped jeans and band T-shirt beneath the studded leather jacket worn-in and comfortable-looking.
“Hermes,” Fenrir said. “This does not concern you, cousin.”
“Oh, but it always concerns me when mortals get lost in the veil.”
“We are not lost.”
“You’re a few steps away from being eaten by that void of yours. I’d say you’re lost.” Hermes glanced around the group and arched an eyebrow. “Where’s Pattycakes?”
Punch him, Jono thought. Please.
Fenrir ignored him, the bastard.
“I am here. I am enough,” Fenrir said.
Hermes spread his hands and shrugged expansively. “If you say so.”
Lucien looked over at Hermes before focusing on Fenrir again. Jono tried to see if he had control back, but the weight of the god in his soul and mind was a pressure he couldn’t fight against.
“Your vessel’s problem with the Krossed Knights isn’t mine,” Lucien said.
“The fight between god packs will only get worse,” Fenrir said.
“Then show your favor.”
The god lifted Jono’s hand to wave aside those words. “My favor will be known, but not yet. Yours, however, will give them pause.”
“You don’t have it.”
“Oh, but we will.” Jono’s body stepped forward, guided by the god, and Lucien never gave any ground. “You who were turned by a goddess, who carries her direct blood in your veins, you will gain my prayers toward her memory.”
“No one remembers you enough for it to matter. Your prayers have no power here.”
Jono’s head tilted to the side, gaze drifting toward his pack and Emma’s before returning to Lucien. “If I was not prayed to, I would not be here as I am.”
“That’s not enough to make a bargain with me. That’s not enough to bring her back.”
“How certain of that are you?”
Lucien’s mouth twisted, black eyes like holes in his head against the gray fog surrounding them. “You, wolf, are not enough.”
“Fenrir is right, you know,” Hermes interrupted. “Faith comes in many forms. I had faith Ashanti would get the dagger to Patrick, and look what happened.”
“She died,” Lucien spat out, rounding on the messenger god. “Your fight stole our mother from us.”
Hermes stared him down, power flashing across his gold-brown eyes. “Ashanti was a willing sacrifice. She knew what was at stake. She knew what your temper would cost our side if she didn’t bind you with that promise to keep Patrick safe. Legitimizing their god pack only serves to keep your word.”
Lucien turned his head to glare at Jono and the god in control. “I won’t bargain with gods. Let me speak with your vessel.”
Fenrir withdrew through Jono’s consciousness far enough to give him back his voice. The god remained beneath his skin, in his soul, a burning presence that made Jono want to shift forms.
“Prayers in exchange for acknowledgment of territory rights. Is that what we’re agreeing to?” Jono asked, sounding like himself rather than Fenrir.
“I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“But you’re going to.”
Lucien smiled, his expression a twisted, monstrous thing. “You think because you carry a god’s favor you have the upper hand here? They gave you to Patrick as a weapon. You’re nothing but that to them.”
“Patrick doesn’t see me like that.”
“Patrick doesn’t matter. It’s what he needs to do that does.”
“Kill Ethan?”
“And the rot his father grew in the Dominion Sect. Stealing godheads was a dream before Ethan turned it into a reality.” Lucien stepped closer, eyes never blinking. “You get acknowledgment of your territory, and every last pack you rule over will pray to my mother, as will your god.”
“It took millions of followers to worship Santa Muerte into existence. You can’t possibly think we’ll be enough?”
Lucien said nothing to that, and Jono wondered what the vampire knew that he didn’t. Lucien trafficked in information the same way he trafficked in weapons, drugs, and people. Knowing something was worth its weight in gold some days.
“That’s my price,” Lucien said. “Take it or leave it.”
“Prayers for the damned in exchange for recognition of the living in the eyes of the enemy,” Fenrir said, clawing back control of Jono’s voice. “Done.”
“If we’re finished, let’s get away from your birthplace, Fenrir. I feel like it wants to eat me,” Hermes said.
Hermes passed between Jono and Lucien, a lazy smirk on his face. Fenrir receded from his soul, giving back control of his body. Jono shook his head hard, the deep silence making his ears ring.
Sage stepped closer, settling her hand on his arm. She peered up at him before giving a faint nod. “Good. You’re back. Let’s get out of here.”
Jono looked over her head at where Emma and Leon stood, both of them staring at him intensely with various degrees of shock and hurt in their eyes. Jono winced. Explaining what had happened wasn’t going to be easy. He doubted they’d forgive him immediately for keeping this particular secret after telling them he had nothing else to hide.
“Let’s go!” Hermes shouted through the fog, already just a dark shadow in the veil up ahead.
The five of them followed after the messenger god, the scent of ozone a trail they never deviated from. Traveling through the veil
