“We need to lead them deeper into the park,” Patrick said. “We’re too close to civilians here.”
The snow coming down was enough of a deterrent to keep people inside, but it hindered a fast escape from the area. Cars had already skidded badly in the street to dodge theirs when it had crashed. Jono growled and stepped forward, putting himself in front of the other two.
“What do we do?” Wade asked.
“We run. You don’t shift.”
“But—”
“No, Wade. It’s too public here, and it’s the middle of the day. You can’t risk it.”
Wade didn’t argue, but Jono could smell his frustration. Jono never took his eyes off the hellhound that came to a stop outside the barrier of Patrick’s shield. Black lips pulled away from gray gums, revealing tarnished fangs.
“Be ready to run,” Patrick said.
Jono felt magic surge through his soul, spiraling down the soulbond into Patrick. A mageglobe streaked through the shield and slammed into Garmr again, sending the hellhound skidding backward, far enough to give them room to run.
Patrick took point and Jono took up the rear, keeping Wade between them. They left the wreck behind them for the snow-covered depths of Lincoln Park. Patrick’s magic cleared them a way through the circle of hellhounds, but that wouldn’t be enough to stop them.
My sister’s favored companion will not be evaded so easily, Fenrir said.
Then I’ll tear out his throat.
Garmr is not so easily killed.
Jono could feel the god seeping into his consciousness, clawing for control. He growled a warning, snapping in the direction of a hellhound that threw itself at Patrick’s shield as they ran. No. Let me have this fight.
Fenrir retreated in his mind, but not far, and Jono knew it was only a reprieve for however long the god granted him.
Lincoln Park was a sea of leafless trees and snowy ground. Patrick set off another mageglobe with a blast of magic that sent the hellhounds flying away from them. It gave them enough time to get over the first stretch of land before hitting asphalt again.
The street running through the park was empty. Up ahead were structures and a sign indicating the location of a Nature Boardwalk. No one was around, but continuing onward felt like a bottleneck.
“Is that a zoo?” Wade asked. “What if they eat the animals for snacks?”
“They won’t do that until after they eat us,” Patrick replied.
“I’m not gonna be dinner. What do we do?”
“You die,” a new voice said.
Patrick spun on his feet, raising his dagger in the direction of the newest threat. “Hades.”
Jono half turned, keeping himself between the other two and the god walking toward them. Hellhounds moved around his body in sinuous motion, the black animals with their fiery red eyes never looking away from their prey.
The Greek god of the Underworld wore a suit beneath a knee-length wool coat dusted with snow. His dark hair was stylishly trimmed, and his dark eyes stood out like holes in his corpse-pale face. Jono only vaguely recalled the god from his time as Ethan’s hostage on the sacrificial circle, but the threat was enough for Fenrir to take over.
Getting shoved to the side in his mind was never easy to accept. Losing control of his body always left Jono with a bit of hindbrain panic that Fenrir would never give it back. But the situation didn’t allow for dwelling on the unknown, just a threat.
“Cousin,” Fenrir said, the syllables coming out strangely in Jono’s wolf mouth, like the cracking of bones.
“You seem to be on the wrong side of the hunt, Fenrir,” Hades said.
“What did you do to Hannah?” Patrick demanded harshly.
Hades’ attention turned away from Jono and Fenrir to Patrick, the ugly hate in the god’s eyes making Jono want to raise his hackles. “I have done nothing to my daughter’s vessel, nor to her.”
“Bullshit. You only sold Macaria’s life to Ethan.”
Patrick held his dagger steady between them, his hair a mess. He’d lost the beanie in the crash, but not his nerve if his scent was anything to go by. The magic pouring through Jono’s soul and into the ring of mageglobes that flared to life around Patrick was a steady rush not commanded by fear.
Hades’ expression didn’t change, but the ozone scent spiked with a rage that tasted like how static felt when it hit Jono’s tongue. Fenrir moved his body to the edge of Patrick’s shield, eyeing the hellhounds that stalked around them in a circle for a moment. Jono wanted to track their movements, but Fenrir chose to focus on Garmr. Hel’s favored hound smelled electric, like the air after a storm.
Immortal, but no god, Fenrir told him.
Jono was never certain of the difference, but in a fight they were both dangerous. Fenrir pressed Jono’s snout against Patrick’s magic; the buzz of it echoed in his soul. With a snarl, they walked through the shield, the soulbond giving them a way through that wouldn’t tear down the shield and hurt Patrick. Being tied together made it easier, or maybe Fenrir did.
“You chose the wrong side,” Hades said, raising a hand to point in Jono and Fenrir’s direction. “And your vessel will pay for it.”
To that, Fenrir howled an unearthly challenge that drew the hellhounds to them in a pack of death Jono wasn’t afraid to face. Fenrir charged to meet them, though several were blown aside by the mageglobe Patrick threw at the pack. Fenrir kicked one in the throat with a hind leg before spinning to face Garmr’s advance.
Fenrir used Jono’s body like the weapon it was, sinking into a killing focus that left acidic blood strewn across the snow.
