A Vigil in the Mourning (Soulbound #4) - Hailey Turner Page 0,127
watched the way Estelle’s fingers made dents in the edge of the doorframe before she caught herself. The valkyries turned as one to face the threat on the street.
“Who is she?” Brynhildr asked with the curiosity of a hunter having found prey.
Jono thought of all the ways he could possibly respond and went with the easiest. “No one who matters.”
Maybe it was a bit of a lie, but the underlying truth was a foundation Estelle couldn’t break. They had alliances with the fae and vampires, and at least one major god pack in the country had acknowledged them over Estelle’s. Estelle might have sold her soul to bargain with hunters, but they were as much a threat as a partner. She’d have to watch her own back with them, and that would never make her or her pack strong in the long run.
Jono watched the way Estelle subtly signaled her pack members to get back into the SUV. The hunters only followed when their leader retreated into the lead SUV as well. Whatever fight Estelle had hoped to provoke, it wasn’t happening now, not with the valkyries having interrupted them.
The three vehicles drove off. Jono didn’t look away until they’d turned the corner, the tension in his shoulders easing only when the threat was gone—for now.
“Is that Dynfari?” Wade shouted in glee.
Patrick peered around Jono at where Wade was running down the block toward them. “How did he even know they were here?”
“They probably drove past the Starbucks,” Jono said.
“I guess it was too much to hope he’d actually do his homework.”
“Dynfari likes him,” Brynhildr said.
“Of course she does.” Patrick raised his voice a little. “Go back to the Starbucks when you’re done saying hello, Wade.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wade replied, clearly ignoring them in favor of the pegasi masquerading as motorcycles.
“You’re still not getting one.”
Brynhildr smirked. “We know a dwarf who owns a garage. We’re going there tomorrow.”
“No,” Patrick stressed, rounding on her. “Zip it. Not one word.”
Wade stared at Brynhildr from his crouched position beside the pegasus masquerading as a Harley Davidson. “Tell me more.”
“That’s it. I need a drink. Jono, where’s my drink?”
Jono snorted. “On the counter where you left it before we were interrupted. Sage?”
“Leon and I will work out where to put Marissa,” Sage told him.
She was already guiding Marissa into the bar. Since Fenrir hadn’t issued a warning about her, Jono figured she had a legitimate need and wasn’t a plant. Jono caught Patrick by the elbow and guided him back inside Tempest.
“You’re all welcome to stay,” Jono tossed over his shoulder at Brynhildr.
He wasn’t surprised when the valkyries came into the bar and stayed. They hailed from a drinking culture, and it was only polite to serve them. Only his pack, Emma, Leon, and Marek knew their true identities, but it didn’t matter. Tempest was an integral part of their territory, the place where they officially accepted guests—immortals included—into New York City.
More than that, it was the people who filled the bar, who always showed up when the need arose, that told Jono what they were building could never be torn down.
It was strange to think this was his life now—this mix of magic and family and pack that was all he’d ever wanted since being infected by the werevirus and never thought he’d get. Looking out over the gathered crowd, Jono realized he wouldn’t change anything in his past that had brought him here.
“You’re thinking,” Patrick said sometime later after the pizza had arrived and been devoured. “Terrible habit, you know that, right? That’s why we have Sage.”
“Shut it,” Jono said with a laugh.
Patrick finished off his whiskey and set the empty glass on the bar counter. He kicked out his leg to hook his ankle around Jono’s. Whiskey and the warmth of the bar left a flush across his cheeks, putting his freckles on display.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. Just…” Jono’s voice trailed off as he looked around the bar at the werecreatures, mundane humans, witches, and immortals who were all mingling. “Long way from London.”
Patrick leaned forward, resting both hands on Jono’s knees. “Do you miss it?”
Jono looked down into the face of the man he loved, the man he’d move every heaven and every hell for, and shook his head. “Not when I have you.”
The Fates had given Jono a twisted road to walk, but he would always think it was worth every last bruising hit, every hard-won step, if it meant he made it here—standing beside Patrick, ready to fight a