A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,111

behind to come stand by Patrick, her spear pointed at the new threat. Some of her dark brown hair had been tugged free of her braids by the wind, and the furious grief on her face was matched only by the rage in her veil-colored eyes.

“You stole something of mine,” Ethan said loudly to be heard over the wind.

Patrick tightened his grip on his dagger with fingers numbed from the cold or fear, he couldn’t tell which. He conjured up a half-dozen mageglobes, filling them with raw magic.

Patrick squinted through the storm at where Ethan stood, the wind tearing at his father’s blond hair and the cold-weather gear he wore. Patrick didn’t see Hannah anywhere, nor Zachary. The tugging in his soul had stopped—mostly because he’d done his damnedest to wall it off.

“Odin isn’t yours, asshole,” Patrick forced out.

Wind-driven waves crashed over the side of Navy Pier, the spray caught between the driving snow. Patrick spared a glance toward the water as the lightning storm drew closer. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his dagger as he caught sight of pale, pale hands clawing at the edge of the pier.

The dead of Náströnd who called Niflheim home were pushing through the veil.

“We’re running out of time,” Patrick said, shaping the words with numb lips.

He didn’t know if anyone heard him.

Thunder echoed through the sky, a never-ending sound. In the valley of silence between each lightning strike before the thunder boomed, an eerie, haunting howl echoed in the air. Loki gripped Gungnir and looked over his shoulder into the dark. Patrick followed his gaze, trying desperately to make out whatever was coming their way. Whatever was out there, it made the Dominion Sect mercenaries scatter, half their numbers holding their ground against Patrick, Eir, and Wade, while the rest turned to face the new threat.

Which meant it wasn’t anyone on Ethan’s side of the fight.

The soulbond twisted—sharp and demanding—and Patrick swallowed tightly against the relief that warmed him from the inside out.

Jono.

Not Fenrir, but Jono—and the Chicago god pack, judging by the number of werewolves that raced through the snow toward Navy Pier. Patrick didn’t know how the hell they’d made it downtown in this storm, but he wasn’t going to turn them away even if Naomi and Alejandro didn’t know what danger they were leading their pack into.

Magic cut through the air, and Patrick strengthened his shields. Wade roared and spat fire, breaking through some of the attack, but portions still got through. Ethan’s magic grated against Patrick’s shields, cutting through in a way only those tied by blood could manage.

Which was fine—because his attack knocked Ethan off his feet even as Patrick took a hit that drove all the air from his lungs and sent him flying past Eir. He crashed to the pier, rolling dangerously close to the edge with all those grasping hands of the dead. Wade whipped his tail around to stop Patrick’s momentum, curling protectively around him. Instead of getting within reach of the dead, Patrick folded himself around the forked tail, trying to breathe.

The snarling howls of a fight rushed in and out of his ears as Patrick got an elbow underneath him. He coughed, getting his lungs working again. A dark shape barreled toward him, and he nearly tossed Jono off Navy Pier with magic before Patrick got his bearings.

Jono’s eyes had lost the shine to them that burned there when Fenrir was in control. All Patrick could see was the wolf-bright blue he woke up to every morning in their bed and the concern in them that was all human.

“I’m all right,” Patrick rasped.

Jono growled, placing himself between Patrick and Ethan. Which wasn’t helpful, except for how Patrick used Jono’s wolf form to haul himself to his feet. Getting eyes on the battlefield told Patrick they were fucked six ways to Sunday.

And then Hinon arrived with Thor—and Oniare.

The massive horned water serpent erupted out of Lake Michigan, teeth bigger than Patrick was tall snapping at the lightning both thunder gods threw at the beast they’d herded north.

Thor let Hinon continue to play bait and crashed onto the pier, landing near Eir, Mjölnir in hand and spewing lightning bolts. Hinon stayed in the sky, taunting Oniare with a thunderous war cry as the water serpent fell back into the lake. As its head went under, its tail rose up, and Patrick’s eyes went wide.

“Run!” Patrick shouted.

He threw himself at Jono, wrapping his arms around the werewolf’s neck and digging his fingers