“A few hours won’t hurt you. It didn’t hurt your wolf the other night.”
Patrick stared at him. “What?”
Hermes shoved himself away from the wall as the elevator slowed to a stop. “Didn’t he tell you? Fenrir dragged him and Lucien across the veil to have a friendly little chat in Ginnungagap.”
Patrick swallowed, refusing to show the hurt and anger that Hermes’ words dredged up. Jono had told him about Lucien, but not that they’d gone past the veil.
He’s sleeping on the couch when we get back home.
“I need to put my case file away, and we’re driving, Hermes,” Patrick said flatly.
The god smirked, icy amusement in his gold-brown eyes. “Sure thing, Pattycakes.”
Patrick had to remind himself that punching Hermes in the face would result in nothing but possible broken bones and some definite bruises—for himself.
Hermes followed Patrick out of the elevator and to the visiting agent office he’d been assigned since arriving in Chicago. He locked the case file in a filing cabinet, grabbed his leather jacket off the hook behind the door, and pulled on his beanie and gloves.
Patrick wasn’t waylaid by anyone on his way out of the building. He figured Hermes had something to do with that, but didn’t say anything. They walked in silence to the parking garage across the street, snow pelting them with every step they took. By the time Patrick made it to his second SUV he’d been given from the local motor pool, his nose felt frozen and so did his fingers.
“I hate reactionary storms,” Patrick muttered as he started the car and turned the heater on full blast. “Where am I going?”
“Dunkin’ Donuts on West Adams Street,” Hermes said.
“I thought you said dinner?” Patrick stared at him. “Are you serious?”
Hermes tugged on his tie, and Patrick watched his clothes melt away as if they weren’t real, revealing the outfit Patrick normally expected to see him in: ripped jeans, an old band T-shirt, and a spiked leather jacket.
“Persephone likes their donuts.”
Patrick wasn’t going to question a goddess’ taste in food and so kept his mouth shut.
The drive to the particular Dunkin’ Donuts spot would’ve taken fifteen minutes tops on a good night. In the middle of a snowstorm, it took closer to thirty. The roads were icy even with the snow plows and salt trucks having gone over the downtown streets. The Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner was brightly lit, like a neon oasis in the storm. Patrick would’ve driven past it while looking for a parking garage, when Hermes pointed at the street in front of the business.
“Park over there,” he said.
“Government plates aren’t going to get me out of being towed in this weather,” Patrick warned.
“No one will see your ride.”
Whatever magic Hermes wanted to use on the SUV was fine by Patrick so long as he didn’t lose the vehicle to Chicago tow trucks. Knowing the god, it was a distinct possibility, but he had to risk it, so he parked where Hermes told him to.
Not many people were inside the Dunkin’ Donuts when they entered, but Hermes made a beeline for two women seated at a table by the window. The glass was fogged over a little from the inside heat, but not enough that one couldn’t see the snow blowing past outside.
“I brought him, now where are my hash browns?” Hermes asked.
Persephone gestured at the white bag sitting in front of an empty chair. “All yours.”
Patrick stayed where he was, heart pounding in his chest so hard it hurt to breathe as he stared at the Greek goddess and queen of the Underworld. He didn’t realize his phone was ringing until Persephone smiled slightly at him and popped a donut hole into her mouth.
“You should answer that,” she said.
Patrick blinked, the world reorienting around himself. He dug out his cell phone, pulling off his glove with his teeth so he could accept the call. Jono’s voice came through the speaker before Patrick even had the phone pressed to his ear.
“Are you all right? You bloody well gave me a heart attack just now,” Jono said.
Patrick realized the soulbond was a humming tie between them and most of the discomfort stemmed from his end. He took a moment to try to tamp it down, to shove it aside and ignore it.
“I’m fine,” Patrick replied.
“You don’t feel fine, Pat.”
“Hermes is annoying. Don’t worry, he didn’t take us through the veil like Fenrir did for you.” At Jono’s startled silence, Patrick grimaced. “Yeah, forgot about that, didn’t you?”
“Pat—”
“Later. I don’t want to hear it right now.”
Patrick ended the call. He gripped his phone to stop himself from digging his nails into his palms. Persephone never looked away from his face, the faint curve of her mouth knowing in a way he didn’t like.
She was dressed in winter clothing, her gold-brown skin glowing healthily beneath the bright overhead lights. Her curly, dark brown hair was barely tamed beneath a beanie with a pom-pom. The freckles scattered over her nose and cheeks never seemed to change, no matter the months or years between their meetings.
“You’ve never met my mother,” Persephone said, nodding at the woman who sat opposite of her.
Patrick’s gaze snapped to the Greek goddess of harvest and so much more, mouth dry and at a loss for words. Demeter studied him with crystalline blue eyes, giving nothing away. Her straight white hair fell to her shoulders in a fashionable long bob, the faint wrinkles on her face barely aging her. Her winter clothes were more fashionable than Persephone’s, and the black fur coat draped over the back of her chair dragged on the floor.
His fingers itched with an electric burn that caused them to exude a pop of static electricity when he pulled back a chair to sit down. He shoved his phone into his jacket pocket, letting it go with some effort. Half a dozen donuts were left in a box that held twelve, but Patrick didn’t reach for
