BORN TO BE LEGENDS

A SOULBOUND UNIVERSE NOVELLA

HAILEY TURNER

© 2025 by Hailey Turner

All Rights Reserved

Cover design by James T. Egan, www.bookflydesign.com

Professional Beta Reading by Leslie Copeland.

Edited by One Love Editing.

For the fans.

1

Six years out from the Battle of Samhain and Patrick Collins still wasn’t used to sleeping in, but he was getting better at it. The man dozing beside him in their king-sized bed certainly helped with that.

Jonothon de Vere lay on his stomach, arms curled underneath the pillow, head turned toward Patrick, lips parted a little as he breathed softly. The dark curve of his lashes brushed his cheeks, a faint prick of crow’s feet shadowing the corners of his eyes, black hair sleep-mussed. He’d gotten it cut recently, in deference to the encroaching hot New York City summer, and Patrick itched to run his fingers through it. But Jono had crawled into bed sometime around 3:00 a.m. after a stint at Tempest, dealing with pack issues.

Patrick would have been at the bar to help, as was his duty as co-alpha of the New York City god pack, but his side job as an expert witness for the Supernatural Operations Agency was currently taking up most of his time this week. Prepping for a high-profile federal trial in the Southern District of New York to help put away a coven that was barely one step removed from the mafia was important, but so was the peacekeeping they both did with the packs under their protection.

Still, he wasn’t looking forward to getting out of bed just then. Not when he had everything he ever wanted within reach. Patrick soaked in the sight of his lover and marveled that he got this. That he’d survived everything—from war to gods to hell itself—to have a quiet morning like this was a gift he never took for granted.

He reached out and carefully brushed a few strands of black hair away from Jono’s forehead, resisting the urge to trail his fingers across the sharp planes of his lover’s face. Patrick wanted Jono to have time to rest, but apparently, he wasn’t as stealthy as he’d hoped.

“What time is it?” Jono murmured, not bothering to open his eyes, his British accent thick with the North London cadence of his youth when he was tired.

“Not worth you getting up,” Patrick replied just as softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Hm.” Jono slid his arm out from beneath the pillow, wrapping it around Patrick’s torso to haul him closer with an easy strength that could break bone and snap steel but was only ever used with care when touching Patrick. “Don’t have to apologize for that, but if you mean to, I’ll take a cuppa in bed.”

Patrick snorted out a laugh, looping his own arm over Jono’s torso. “You’d have to let me go in order for me to get you your twig water.”

“You say that like you haven’t been getting me tea since we first lived together in Chelsea.”

Thinking about the apartment they’d shared when Patrick first came to New York City nearly a decade ago made him smile a little wistfully. These days, they called a four-story building in Tribeca home. Patrick still refused to know how much it had cost Marek Taylor to buy a building full of condos, pay everyone to move out, and then convert it into a single connected home before gifting it to him and Jono. Patrick hadn’t grown up rich, and Marek’s billions were his own, but he wasn’t going to say no to a home, not when it came with Jono and the rest of their pack.

Still, there was something to be said of that first year together when they’d formed their pack out of a tiny one-bedroom apartment. Back then, both of them had been lost souls looking for a port in the storm, and they’d found it in each other. The soulbond that still tied them together was something Patrick didn’t think he could live without, the same way he couldn’t live without Jono.

“I have a meeting to get ready for,” Patrick said, making no effort to move.

Jono made a grumpy sound, still not opening his eyes. “You could always not go. It’s not like we need the money.”

They really didn’t. Their god pack subsisted on tithes from all the other packs in the five boroughs. On top of that, Sage Taylor, their dire, was married to Marek, and she had no problem making sure all their personal bank accounts were filled for whatever was necessary. Patrick was just glad they could afford to keep Wade Espinoza fed. Having a fledgling dragon in their pack would be hard on the wallet otherwise.

“I like making the government pay a stupid amount of money for my expertise.”

Jono cracked open one eye, the wolf-bright blue of his iris standing out starkly. Only god pack werecreatures had eyes that brilliantly blue or a metallic amber, courtesy of the god strain of the werevirus running through their veins. It marked them prominently in society, and they used such a distinguishing characteristic to advocate on behalf of the werecreatures who could pass as human.

Patrick, being a mage, shouldn’t have been an alpha of a god pack. He couldn’t be infected by the werevirus because of his magic, which meant he couldn’t shift forms. But he was pack, and he’d earned his spot to lead their god pack, and no one questioned his place.

“You need to get a new hobby,” Jono grumbled.

Patrick laughed, lifting his head so he could kiss the corner of Jono’s mouth. “Maybe one day.”

He was no longer a special agent with the SOA, and while he sometimes missed working a case in the field, Patrick had no desire to return to it. Not like he could. The SOA would never hire him back in that capacity, not after the Battle of Samhain and everything that came to light before that.

Patrick was fine with where the fallout had settled, but it meant he’d had to figure out a different professional tract because he was crap at bartending. Being an expert on how black magic could harm a person’s soul while living with his own soul wound was a lived experience few others had.

Sound rumbled in Jono’s chest as he turned his head, capturing Patrick’s mouth in a lazy kiss. Patrick let him, sliding closer, bare legs tangling together. Neither of them wore pajamas during the summer, and Patrick made do with a T-shirt and boxers during winter because Jono put off so much heat. His skin was warm beneath Patrick’s fingers, muscles firm beneath. Patrick used to think when he was younger that he’d never have this—a pack, a family, a man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. In the end, the fight had been more than worth it.

He broke the kiss with a sigh, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll bring you some tea, and then you can go back to sleep.”

“I promised Sage I’d pick up Lillian from school today after I finish meeting with a couple of packs in Queens.”

Their niece was almost five, as she liked to tell everyone, and in a private pre-K school that cost more than most people’s yearly salary. Some legal wrangling had been done to allow for a god pack member to always be present at the school as Lillian’s private security. Patrick had done his own walk-through, and while the school was public property and couldn’t hold a threshold, he’d discreetly set some protective wards. While that wasn’t his magic’s affinity, he’d do anything for his niece.

“You’re going to need all the rest you can get before you go over.” Patrick pushed himself up on one elbow and rolled away. Jono groaned but let him go. “I’ll be back.”

He took a quick shower, dressing in jeans and a T-shirt rather than a suit. He saved those for trial, and this was just a preparation meeting with the SOA Special Agent in Charge Henry Ng and the US Attorneys’ Office.

Patrick headed downstairs for the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove to boil before making his coffee from the fancy coffee machine Jono had gifted him last Christmas to replace the one Wade accidentally broke. Patrick swore it was something out of NASA, but it really did make an excellent cup of coffee.

The kettle started to whistle, and he pulled it off the burner, pouring the hot water into a mug for Jono’s tea to steep. Patrick had become an expert over the years at making tea for Jono and no longer used a microwave. He still thought coffee was superior, but Patrick liked the ritual these days of making tea for Jono.

“Here,” he said once he made it back to the bedroom, holding out the steaming mug. “Your favorite twig water.”

Jono laughed, rolling onto his back before sitting up, the sheets pooling around his waist. At thirty-seven, Jono still carried muscle definition Patrick liked to explore with his mouth. They had a home gym on the ground floor of the building, adjacent to the garage and accessible by the building’s elevator. Jono used it more than Patrick, but he still carved out time to exercise, preferring cardio over the weight training that Jono indulged in.

“Ta, love,” Jono said, taking the mug from him.

Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, sipping at his coffee. “What’s going on in Queens?”

“Border dispute because of a business license. Someone wants to buy space in another pack’s territory. Need to sort it out.”

“At least it’s not Night Court related.”

“I’d be taking the meeting after dark if that were the case.”

They had firm treaties with every Night Court in the five boroughs delineating pass-through rights and more. There’d been few upheavals between werecreatures and vampires since the Battle of Samhain. It helped that the mother of all vampires had a soft spot for Patrick, even if he hadn’t seen her in a few years. Ashanti was traveling the world again, no longer dust in the desert, and Patrick could only be happy about that.

New York City was as quiet as a major metropolitan area could be more than half a decade after the threat of the end of the world came to its streets. Patrick wasn’t ever going to be unhappy about that.

Jono reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers together before bringing both to his mouth. He kissed Patrick’s knuckles, lips dry and warm. “Best get going. You’ll be late otherwise.”

Patrick sipped at his coffee, in no hurry to move. “A few more minutes won’t hurt.”

It was nice to be able to spend time together in the morning. It’d taken some years to get to this point, but at thirty-six, Patrick had finally learned to savor the quiet moments. Living with Jono had helped with that.

When they finished their drinks, Patrick offered a kiss and a casual “I’ll come back.”

He left Jono to get ready for the day and took the small elevator down to the garage, where his Mustang was parked. Getting to downtown Manhattan from Tribeca was a lot easier than if they’d taken up residence in the traditional territory god packs before them had held in the Upper Manhattan neighborhood of Hamilton Heights.

The dozens of homes Uptown were where the rest of the god pack resided, overseen by Linh Nguyen, who’d settled into a role of leadership behind Wade’s position in the pack with ease over the last few years. Patrick had first met her after his return from beyond the veil six months after the Battle of Samhain ended, but he’d grown to like her steady loyalty and sly humor.

It made it easier for Patrick to continue taking retainers as an expert witness for the SOA. Most of the cases he worked on were venued in the Southern District of New York or out of Washington, DC. Sometimes he ended up sitting in courtrooms in other states, but SOA Director Priya Kohli tried not to attach him to cases outside New York too often. She was aware that Patrick could say no, and he had in the past, but he was still one of the best experts in the field despite his age. His experience spoke for itself.

The SOA field office in Downtown Manhattan hadn’t sustained too much damage during the Battle of Samhain, but it’d still needed repairs. It’d taken nearly a year, and during that time, the skyline of Manhattan had been full of construction cranes, detours everywhere, but New Yorkers had weathered the cleanup with pride.

Patrick greeted the security guards at the lobby’s reception desk with an easy “Good morning” as he checked in. He got his visitor’s badge and draped the metal chain around his neck before being beeped through the security turnstile that now blocked the way to the elevator bank.

Midmorning and the lobby wasn’t bustling, most of the agents already clocked in for a Thursday workday upstairs, if they weren’t already in the field. Patrick didn’t need an escort—he knew the building well enough, and Henry saw no need to greet him until he reached the upper floors—but his access was restricted since he was no longer employed by the SOA. The security guard had called the elevator for him, and Patrick took the one he’d been directed to, the doors sliding open with a soft ping.

Patrick shifted the strap of his messenger bag holding the case files with his notes, watching the electronic floor numbers flicker across the small screen as the elevator ascended. It finally slowed on the twenty-fifth floor, opening onto a maze of cubicles and hallways leading away to offices on the outskirts. A receptionist desk was positioned prominently outside the elevator bank, and the woman seated there flashed him a quick smile.

“Welcome back, Patrick,” Tori said. She was about a decade older than him and preferred a vintage sort of look with her clothes and cat-eye glasses. Tori handled communication and records research for the floor she was on, and she was usually the first person he saw when arriving in the SOA proper for these kinds of meetings.

“Hi, Tori. How late am I?” Patrick asked.

“About ten minutes” was her cheerful reply.

Patrick sighed. “Cross-town traffic was terrible.”

“That’s what you always say. But if I was married to a man like the one you have at home, I’d hate to leave him, too.”

“We’re not married.”

“Still a good excuse.” She locked her computer and pushed her chair back, getting to her feet. “Come on. I’ll take you to the conference room. Everyone else is already there, including the rebuttal expert.”

Patrick frowned. That was the first he’d heard of another witness being brought on board. Usually, his testimony was more than enough. “Rebuttal expert? No one told me they needed that.”

Tori shrugged, clearly not bothered with something outside her pay grade. “You can take it up with the attorneys. He arrived a little before you.”

Dealing with the SOA attorneys and the ones from the United States attorneys’ general office always made him so glad he’d never gone into law. That’s what Sage was for.

Tori led him down a long hall to a conference room tucked away in a corner of the building. He couldn’t see into it, the room built for privacy, and the silence ward set prominently on the door was activated. Tori didn’t bother knocking, merely turned the knob and pushed the door open, waving Patrick inside.

His ears popped as he passed through the silence ward, coming into the conference room filled with summer sunlight shining through the windows. Patrick recognized six of the people seated at the table—four attorneys and two paralegals—but the seventh was unknown to him. Recognition sparked through his magic, letting him know the outlier was a sorcerer who hadn’t bothered to shield themselves. The feel of their magic was dark in a way he hadn’t sensed in years, immediately putting him on edge.

“Sorry I’m late,” Patrick said slowly, letting the door close behind him, glancing around the table.

No one responded to his greeting, everyone sitting rigidly in their seats.

Everyone except the rebuttal expert.

It might have been years since the last time Patrick was in a combat situation, but some instincts would never die. He no longer carried a sidearm, but the magic in his soul and his ability to tap a ley line as a mage meant he was never without a weapon. The sorcerer who was the supposed rebuttal expert and looked to be in his late twenties seemed to recognize that fact.

“I wouldn’t cast any magic if I were you. Not if you want everyone in this room to keep breathing,” the sorcerer said, clutching at a small, carved piece of bone. The artifact pulsed with pale red magic that spread across the skin of everyone seated at the table, mapping out veins, arteries, and capillaries.

Patrick knew blood magic when he saw it, and while he was perfectly willing to attack, it wasn’t worth risking everyone else just then. Their lives were literally held in the hands of the sorcerer, and Patrick didn’t know what would happen if he initiated an attack. Nothing good, he was certain. “Who are you?”

“Someone who has quite a few demands. The first of which is my wife.”

The case set for trial next week had ensnared the heads of a rather large coven of magic users spanning several northeastern states under a RICO charge. Patrick didn’t know who the guy was talking about, other than the wife in question was probably locked up somewhere. If the guy thought Patrick had the power to get her out of prison, he was sorely mistaken.

Inwardly, Patrick sighed and reached for the soulbond that tied him and Jono together, giving it a firm tug. The tight pull would be enough of a warning while Patrick played hostage negotiator to keep the attorneys alive, the case on track, and deal with a renegade magic user.

He needed to remember to charge the SOA extra for a hazard fee after this.

2

Jono was a few minutes from the Queensboro Bridge when the soulbond went tight in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Swearing, he resisted the urge to slam on the brakes in moving traffic and cause an accident. He fumbled for his mobile even as he flicked the indicator on, aiming for the next right turn that could get him heading back downtown.

“Come on, pick up,” Jono muttered, but the line rang out to voicemail, Patrick’s recorded voice filling the SUV’s speakers for a second before Jono ended the call. He didn’t bother trying again, instead calling Sage. “We have a problem.”

“What’s going on with the packs in Queens now?” Sage asked, sounding distracted.

“Not the packs. Patrick.” The sharp, indrawn breath on her side of the line and the way he heard her heartbeat spike told Jono he had all of Sage’s attention. “Just felt Patrick yank on the soulbond in the way he’d do when he was in trouble.”

“He hasn’t done that in years.”

“I know. I’m not on the bridge yet, so I’m heading to the SOA field office.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Jono blew out a breath, glad he didn’t even need to ask. “Call Wade.”

“I will. Don’t treat the streets like the highway.”

Sage ended the call, which let Jono focus on Manhattan traffic while trying to ring Patrick again. Each time, it went directly to voicemail, while the pull on the soulbond never let up. It’d been so long since he’d felt the clawing tightness after so many years of peace that he did, indeed, treat the streets like the highway, despite Sage’s warning.

By the time he reached the street the SOA field office was on, he couldn’t turn because a detour had been put into place by the police. Traffic was a snarl as cars tried to funnel away from that block and into a bottleneck that wasn’t moving. Jono clenched his hands tightly around the steering wheel, trying to remember not to break it with his greater strength.

Someone pounded on the passenger-side window, grabbing his attention. “Hey!”

Jono jerked his head around, staring in surprise at Wade standing in the street between Jono’s SUV and the neighboring taxi, traffic stalled all around them. Jono stabbed a finger at the window controls to roll it down. “You better not have flown here.”

Wade at twenty-five was no different than at eighteen when he retorted, “I know better than to do that in Manhattan!”

It was everywhere else in the country that was sometimes the problem. People still talked about Boston, and as far as Jono knew, the suburbs outside Seattle still told stories about a dangerous beast in the night. Wade thought it was hilarious. It only gave Jono a headache.

Riordan McGuire gently pushed Wade aside and ducked down, catching Jono’s eye. “I’ll take the SUV. You both head for the police line. It’s not like I’ll be of much use on land right now.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Wade immediately said, always Riordan’s defender.

Riordan rolled his eyes, a fond look on his face as he shoved Wade toward the sidewalk. “I never do.”

Their relationship was something Jono heartily approved of, as did everyone else in the pack. Riordan was a selkie whose clan had split for business purposes to break into the New York City restaurant business. They all still considered Boston home, and Riordan commuted between the two cities every other week. He was fiercely dedicated to his people and to Wade, and Jono was happy the two had found each other.

Jono shoved open the car door and flipped off the driver behind them who honked their horn. It was anyone’s guess if the bloke understood what the two-fingered salute meant. Riordan ducked around the front of the SUV and slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll find a place to park nearby.”

“Not too close. We don’t know what’s going on, and Patrick used to have a tendency toward property destruction,” Jono said.

Riordan winced. “Duly noted.”

Jono left him to navigate the now bumper-to-bumper traffic and went to join Wade on the sidewalk. Wade bounced on his heels, waiting impatiently, mobile in hand. “Apparently, it’s a hostage situation.”

“How the bloody hell do you know that?” Jono asked as they hurried down the street, going in the opposite direction of everyone else.

“It’s all over social media. The SOA building is on lockdown, along with the other ones around it. Everyone outside the block is being told to evacuate.” Wade had his eyes glued to his mobile but was keeping up. “How are you going to get through the police line?”

Jono had his own mobile in hand, scrolling through his contacts for the one person who had the authority to clear them. “Who do you think?”

The line rang out and picked up after the first ring, the voice of the NYPD Police Commissioner Giovanni Casale coming through gruffly. “How’d I know you’d be calling?”

“Who’s being held hostage?” Jono asked, figuring Casale’s question was rhetorical.

“Social media will be the bane of my existence.” The sound of traffic on Casale’s side of the line sounded similar to the area Jono and Wade walked through. His gaze swept the street, looking for where Casale might be. “Aaron Javic somehow got through the SOA’s security and took the defense team working his coven’s case hostage.”

Jono went cold, the soulbond still a tense line drawing him forward. “Is Patrick one of the hostages?”

“We have snipers on the roof with eyes on the conference room where the hostages are, and they confirmed he’s one of them.”

“That’s a rookie move with all those windows,” Wade muttered, clearly listening in. “Someone could easily blow the asshole’s brain out.”

“Why isn’t the guy in jail?” Jono asked, ignoring Wade. They were half a block from the police line, and Jono was fully prepared to argue his way past it. For that matter, he wondered why Patrick hadn’t fought his way out of the situation yet.

“Javic escaped arrest some months back and went on the run. My understanding, based on news reports, is the SOA has been searching for him but had no luck in finding him,” Casale said.

“So who is in charge of negotiations?”

“SOA is working in tandem with the NYPD to handle the situation. I’m on the way to the scene right now. Patrick has a direct line to me and the SOA headquarters in DC. He convinced Javic to let him act as a mediator of sorts to pass on his demands.”

Jono sighed. “Of course he did. And what are Javic’s demands?”

“He wants his wife freed from jail and a flight to a country that doesn’t extradite.”

Wade gave Jono an incredulous look. “Does he really think that will work? This isn’t a movie.”

“Is anyone going to free his wife?” Jono asked.

Casale snorted. “Hell no. Javic is coming out of this mess in handcuffs or a body bag. What do you know about the case Patrick is working on?”

“Nothing that hasn’t been in the news because of confidentiality. Patrick doesn’t talk about the cases he’s called in to act as an expert for.”

“The Javics head up the Evergreen Coven, which controls other covens in roughly half a dozen states. Alleged criminal enterprise that sells off magical artifacts powered by mining people’s souls for their magic, sometimes until the victims die. The coven then fences the artifacts through supposedly legitimate sellers.”

“Sounds like the government followed the money.”

“It’s why there’s a RICO charge. None of the magic users in the Evergreen Coven or the ones they control are mages. They couldn’t tap a ley line for the work.”

“So instead, they tapped people.”

“Yeah, using blood magic. Our snipers confirm there are active spells on the hostages in the room, most likely controlled by Javic. We don’t know what will happen to them if we give the green light to take him out.”

Jono wanted to punch something. “Did the sniper see if Patrick was affected?”

“He didn’t appear to have any active magic on him, but we can’t confirm,” Casale said slowly.

“That doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“When I spoke with him, he seemed annoyed but didn’t let on about anything that might have been done to him. I told him to call me back in twenty minutes so I can get on scene and have the call set up to record. I’m almost there.”

“How close are you?”

“Why?”

“Because we’re at the police line.”

Casale let out an aggravated sigh. “Of course you are. You do realize this is a matter for the police, not your god pack?”

“Patrick is part of our god pack, which makes it my business. I want to know what’s going on as it’s happening.”

“I’d say you don’t have clearance for a situation like this, but I remember the Battle of Samhain. I’ll call in the permission to let you through. Where are you at?”

Jono rattled off the cross-street as he and Wade reached the corner, catching the attention of one of the uniformed police officers on duty there. “Call it in quick because we’re not going anywhere.”

Casale didn’t bother with responding to that and simply ended the call. Jono tucked his mobile away into his back pocket and shoved his sunglasses on top of his head. He stared down the approaching officer, who hesitated for half a step once she got a good look at Jono’s eyes.

“God pack,” the officer said, sounding only a little wary with just a faint trace of fear in her scent.

“Casale is clearing us,” Jono said brusquely.

“You could always let us through anyway,” Wade said hopefully.

The officer shook her head, one hand resting on her holster, but she didn’t draw her weapon. “You know I can’t do that.”

Wade opened his mouth to argue, but Jono nudged him lightly in the ribs. “We’ll wait for Casale. It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Wade scowled at the police officer, practically vibrating in place with the urge to go after Patrick, but he stayed put. Jono dialed up his hearing a little, trying to parse the conversations happening further down the street. More police vehicles were pulling up, adding to the crowd. A SWAT team arrived moments later. Jono watched those officers leave their vehicle behind and hurry down the street toward the ever-growing group of officers in uniforms and others who weren’t.

Jono and Wade were the only civilians in the area by the time another officer jogged toward them, chevrons on their sleeves, marking them as a sergeant.

“Jonothon?” the officer asked, a little out of breath. “Casale asked me to come find you.”

Jono didn’t bother waiting and instead walked right past the officer who’d been keeping watch on them, Wade right on his heels. “Take me to him.”

This officer didn’t reek of fear and wasn’t as skittish as the other one, which made Jono believe he was probably part of the Preternatural Crimes Bureau. Those officers dealt with the preternatural and supernatural communities far more often than others in the NYPD. The lack of fear directed toward them was nice, but the scent of it in the air near the mobile command the NYPD had set up was sour in the back of his throat.

The sergeant led them up the metal stairs into the mobile command. Space was tight, and voices talked over each other at a fast clip. Officers and SOA agents huddled in tight knots around several desks, but the only person Jono cared about was Casale.

The commissioner had more gray in his dark hair than when Jono had first met him, wrinkles fanning out from the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, face weathered from years working the streets of New York City. After the Battle of Samhain, Casale’s wife had urged him to take a step back from uniformed duty. Casale used to be chief of the PCB and maybe once had aspirations for chief of department of the entire NYPD, but being the commissioner was a nice intersecting position that kept his family happy.

Jono could understand wanting to do right by the community they served but still come home to the people who loved them. Taking over the New York City god pack had been a daunting choice way back when, but he’d never regretted it.

“Casale,” Jono said by way of greeting, catching the older man’s attention.

Casale looked up from the table he was huddled around, peering past a few officers to meet Jono’s gaze. “Jono. Still no news. We’re waiting on Javic to call.”

“So the plan is to just wait? No one is going to go in and confront him?”

“It’s a hostage situation. Moving on his location risks the hostages, including Patrick.”

“We have an agent up on the roof trying to scope out the type of magic in use,” a woman said, turning around to face Jono. “I was against Casale allowing you to be on-site, but he insisted you be allowed inside command. That doesn’t mean you get to make any decisions.”

She smelled like a witch. Jono didn’t know her name, but he definitely didn’t like her attitude. “That arsehole is holding Patrick hostage.”

“Along with half a dozen other people working for the federal government. He isn’t the only victim here.”

Jono knew Patrick always hated when people painted him as a victim. In the aftermath of his return from beyond the veil six months after the end of the Battle of Samhain, people kept wanting to interview him once the public knew he had returned. When he wouldn’t give them the time of day, they ran their own stories with their own opinions, not all of them flattering. But feeding the twenty-four-hour news machine would only ensure the story never died. They’d kept quiet, and eventually, everyone had moved on.

“Why didn’t the wards react to Javic?” The SOA building was covered in wards that had all been redone after the Battle of Samhain. Jono didn’t profess to know how they all worked, but he thought they should have.

“The building is public space, and the wards are geared toward defense. The use of blood magic triggered some of them, but Special Agent in Charge Henry Ng won’t let them target Javic for fear of what will happen to the hostages.”

Jono glanced around the tight space, searching for the man who used to be Patrick’s boss in New York City years ago. “Where is Henry?”

“Still on the premises,” Casale said.

The woman’s lips twitched, as if she wanted to scowl. “He refused to evacuate.”

“We’re sending in a SWAT team soon to back him up. He’s not on the same floor as the hostages yet.”

“I’m going with them,” Jono said.

“Me, too,” Wade added.

Casale sighed deeply. “No. It’s not a situation for civilians, which you both technically are, so don’t argue.”

Wade opened his mouth to do just that, but Jono discreetly stepped on his foot to make him be quiet. Wade shot him an affronted look but closed his mouth. Before Jono could try to convince Casale to let them into the SOA building, the mobile on the table started ringing, Patrick’s name coming up on the screen.

Casale reached out and swiped the icon to answer the call while everyone around the small table erupted in a flurry of motion. “Casale speaking.”

“Aaron wants an update on his wife,” Patrick said, sounding calm. Jono dialed up his hearing and focused on his lover’s heartbeat, breathing a soft sigh of relief at how steady it was, with no spike that could have been attributed to pain.

“We’re working on opening communications at Rikers.”

“That’s not good enough!” someone else snapped on the other side of the line. Aaron Javic’s heartbeat drummed loudly in Jono’s ears, the stress he was under clear in every rapid spike of his pulse. “I gave you a deadline. If you don’t meet it, then everyone in this room will die.”

“Let’s talk about this, Aaron,” Casale said, keeping his voice calm and soothing, using the man’s first name. Jono doubted that would build the kind of connection everyone hoped for. “You don’t want to kill anyone today.”

“Are you willing to test me on that?”

“He can do it with the artifact, Casale,” Patrick said, not sounding rushed. “It won’t be pretty if he does. I think you should work on getting his wife out of Rikers.”

A couple of SOA agents near the table started talking quietly over the head of the officer in charge of relaying video feed of the conference room from one of the snipers. The aspects of magic they argued over were a little esoteric, but Jono had been around Patrick and other magic users long enough to get the gist of it.

He hooked his hand around Wade’s elbow and tugged the younger man away from the table, drawing him out of the mobile command without anyone noticing. Casale was too busy with his conversation about the hostages to notice their departure.

“Why aren’t we staying?” Wade asked as they stepped off the mobile command vehicle and back onto the street.

“Because Patrick just said Javic’s magic is tied to the artifact. Which means we need to get it out of his hands,” Jono said. He had no idea if doing so would negate the spell on the hostages, but he trusted Patrick to have a plan for that.

Wade made a sweeping gesture with his arm to encompass the crowd of officers and SOA agents at the end of the block they were on. “They’ll see us if we try.”

“Not if you’re the one walking us inside.”

Wade perked up at that, clapping his hands together. “This feels like old times.”

Jono shook his head, reaching out to drag Wade close. “We could do without that, mate.”

The most they’d dealt with over the last few years were disgruntled packs, and Jono liked the peace they had. It felt deserved. This whole trip down memory lane? He could do without it.

“You’re getting cranky in your old age.”

Jono rolled his eyes. “I’m not even forty.”

“Give it a couple more years.” Wade grinned at him before latching onto Jono’s left arm. “Alright, stick close. We got a lot of cameras around, and I have no idea who will see us on a screen. It’s different from radar.”

Jono didn’t know how Wade’s ability to keep people from noticing him really worked, but it came in handy right then, allowing them to reach the front doors of the SOA building without anyone yelling at them to stop. The glass doors themselves were unlocked but smelled of active magic, even though the building was public space and couldn’t carry a threshold.

“Huh,” Wade said, squinting at the door. “Give me a second. I’m going to have to drag you through.”

“What?”

“Hold on!”

Wade’s grip on his arm became bruising, and then Jono found himself being yanked through the door Wade opened, only it felt as if he were moving through molasses. Every step took effort, pressure bearing down on him that somehow slid away after a heartbeat. Wade didn’t let up, using his supernatural strength that far outranked Jono’s to haul them both into the SOA building. They stumbled into the high-ceiling lobby, nearly falling to the ground as whatever had tried to block their way finally let them go.

“Do I want to know?” Jono asked as he straightened up, pulling free of Wade’s grip.

“The spell didn’t want to let you through. I had to make you like an extension of me.”

Jono wasn’t going to question it. “Alright. Let’s go find Patrick.”

Somewhere up above was his lover, and Jono wasn’t going home without him.

3

In the past, Patrick might have taken the risk to fight his way out of the situation at hand alone and hope for the best. These days—with no agency badge to stand behind, no gods-given dagger, and his hypervigilance long since treated and mostly put to rest—Patrick was willing to bide his time.

Sage would be proud of him.

The artifact Aaron held—an idol of some sort carved out of what looked like bone—reeked of blood magic, leaving a metallic tang in the back of Patrick’s throat when he breathed. The legal team hadn’t moved a centimeter since his arrival, bound by the magic crawling through their veins, magic which Aaron had tried to apply to Patrick and failed. The spell on the artifact hadn’t taken root because of Patrick’s personal shields and literal lifetime of knowing how to deflect that kind of magic.

“Listen, I’m worth more to you as a voice than sitting frozen in a seat,” Patrick had calmly stated, making no move to attack. “I have a direct line to the people who can get you what you want, whatever that is.”

Aaron had glared at him, ten years Patrick’s junior and full of a bravado that stemmed from desperation, because only the desperate were this stupid. Patrick should know. He’d done enough stupid things in his past that had contributed to Jono’s collection of gray hairs.

“I want my wife,” Aaron had growled.

“Okay. So let’s talk.”

Calling up Casale had been the first order of business, and the city’s police commissioner had been about as thrilled as usual to take a call from Patrick in the midst of trouble. The conversation had gone as well as expected, with Aaron spouting off his demands and Patrick offering up his own observations as discreetly as he could. He knew Casale would pick up on what was and wasn’t being said but that Aaron wouldn’t.

Still, if there was anything Patrick had learned during his time fighting to save the world, it was how to stall.

“How did you meet her?” Patrick asked, still not having moved from the seat he’d been directed to, hands pressed flat to the table at Aaron’s order.

“Who?” Aaron muttered, pacing the length of the conference room.

“Your wife.” Patrick’s gaze slipped past the sorcerer, catching on the flutter of a blind moving in a window on the high-rise across the street. He doubted Aaron knew the police or SOA had stationed a sniper out there. He hoped Casale would heed his warning about the artifact. He didn’t know what would happen to the others at the table if he ripped the artifact from Aaron’s hands but hoped whoever they sent in could deal with it.

In what sometimes felt like another life, Patrick had been trained to fight against such magic, to hunt demons and the magic users who summoned them. He’d left the Mage Corps for the SOA before finally putting down his weapons after the Battle of Samhain, but that didn’t mean he was going down without a fight.

Patience was something he’d learned, but he’d learned it.

This was what his therapist called growth. It had only taken Patrick, oh, three and a half decades or so to learn it.

“Don’t you know how I met her? Aren’t you one of the people trying to put my family away?” Aaron snapped.

Patrick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m not actually a lawyer. I was hired as an expert witness.”

Aaron paused in his pacing, glancing at Patrick as he turned the idol over in his hands. The magic in it pulsed briefly, a sickening beat of power that grated over Patrick’s shields. “You don’t look like much of an expert.”

Patrick glanced down at the clothes he wore, knowing he definitely didn’t look like he worked in the corporate sphere. “Everyone always says that.”

He flexed his fingers against the tabletop, letting his hand lift up a fraction of an inch, allowing just enough space to form a hollow between his palm and the table. He didn’t call up his magic just yet, keeping his attention on Aaron, who had his back to the sniper, focused on Patrick.

“What kind of expert are you?”

Patrick arched an eyebrow. “Someone who knows a lot about magic. Your coven has a reputation.”

“My coven is being targeted by the government with false charges. Any expert worth their degree would know that,” Aaron spat out, back to pacing the length of the conference room.

Patrick carefully pressed his fingers together, made it so no light could seep through his skin when he conjured up a mageglobe. “I never went to college, just the school of hard knocks.”

He was momentarily distracted by the tug on the soulbond, his sense of Jono putting the other man closer than earlier. Patrick closed his eyes, centering himself, letting his awareness spread down the soulbond to pinpoint Jono’s exact location.

Ten floors down and moving up.

“You’re helping them put my wife away. What makes you think I shouldn’t kill you now?”

Patrick opened his eyes, trying to hide his disdain as he stared at Aaron. “Then you really aren’t leaving New York if you try.”

Aaron brandished the artifact in his direction, magic slithering around the carved bone. The pulse of it was mirrored in the veins of everyone around the table. “I’ll be leaving with my wife.”

“You’re making the situation worse for both of you.”

Aaron scoffed. “Are you married?”

Patrick blinked at him. “No.”

“Then I don’t think you can understand the love I have for my wife. I’d do anything for her.”

Aaron had, if the details of the case were anything to go by. That was the whole reason the coven was in jail and Aaron was out here, trying to bargain for his wife’s escape. Patrick would never make the choices Aaron and his coven had made—he’d made others, equally as questionable in some ways—but Patrick had never done so with the intent to harm innocent people.

He and Jono had talked about marriage on occasion over the years, quiet musings in bed and after breakfast in the mornings, on drives around town. Nothing had ever come of those conversations. They had a soulbond that tied them together forever. A wedding ring seemed so inconsequential after everything they’d gone through and survived. Patrick knew where he stood in Jono’s heart, and Jono knew where he stood with Patrick.

But he could see how others viewed the idea of marriage as something to desire and cherish, a form of binding in its most ancient traditions. To declare your love for someone so deeply that you would tie yourself to them forever more.

Patrick had done that before he even loved Jono. The love had come later, built brick by brick through hardship and learning what it meant to care for someone else. Patrick had Jono to thank for a life that wasn’t lonely and buried in the bottom of a bottle.

Love could be a terrible, all-consuming thing, and it seemed to have swallowed Aaron whole, along with his ability to do the right thing. Love made people crazy, and it didn’t even take a potion to make that happen.

“You think I haven’t?” Patrick asked mildly, internally tracking Jono’s ascent through the SOA building.

“You’re sitting there helping put people in jail for life.”

“I didn’t always have a career as an expert.”

“What were you? Former police? Former SOA? You seem to have those kinds of connections.”

“SOA, among other things.”

“So just another asshole who thinks you can tell covens what to do.”

At that, Patrick did roll his eyes. “I never had a coven.”

He had a pack. People might argue there was no difference between the two, but Patrick would. His pack didn’t worship a god, after all, and never would. It didn’t matter that Jono used to be the mouthpiece for Fenrir. Their pack eschewed any sort of religion, but that didn’t mean they were against others finding guidance in prayer. Patrick was just violently allergic to asking the gods for anything.

“No coven, and you’re not married. You must live a lonely life,” Aaron sneered.

The disdain in Aaron’s voice might have been annoying if what he’d said was even remotely true. Patrick kept an eye on the other man even as he conjured up a tiny mageglobe hidden against the table beneath his cupped hand. He didn’t need to tap a ley line through the soulbond for this, just his own damaged soul.

With Jono on his way, Patrick focused the spell to deal with the artifact rather than Aaron. If he disrupted the artifact’s magic, it might give him enough time to save the people sitting at the table. They’d most likely still need medical intervention from a healer. Hopefully, they’d all stay alive long enough to get it.

“You’re sure interested in knowing about my personal life when you haven’t even asked for my name yet,” Patrick said, the pull on the soulbond feeling like it did at home, when Jono was close enough to yell for. Not that he needed to yell. Supernatural hearing meant Jono could hear a whisper from one floor away. “I’m kind of disappointed you don’t recognize me.”

“Should I?” Aaron asked, coming to a stop in his attempt to wear a hole in the carpet. He eyed Patrick suspiciously, and Patrick only smiled at him.

“You should ask for my name.”

Aaron turned, lifting the artifact, the end of it pointing in Patrick’s direction. “What is it?”

“Patrick Collins.”

Aaron’s eyes went comically wide, his hand jerking up higher. His mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say never escaped his lips as Jono crashed through the door to the conference room with a snarling howl. He was massive, all dark fur and blazing bright blue eyes of a god pack alpha werewolf going in for the kill.

Patrick surged to his feet, knocking the chair over, and swung his arm up to fling his mageglobe at the artifact. “Keep him alive!”

“Ugh, you’ve gone soft,” Wade complained as he darted into the room.

The artifact left Aaron’s hand when Jono cleared the conference table in a single leap and slammed him to the ground. Patrick’s mageglobe slammed into it, expanding to contain it as red filaments of magic snapped away from the carved bone, fighting against the disrupting spell. Patrick’s magic pulsed pale blue around the artifact, the mageglobe hovering in midair above the table. With a flick of his hand, he sent it streaking over to Wade.

“Take it into the hall and burn it,” Patrick said, mindful of their audience in the room and the sniper in the other building staring through their scope. None of them needed to know what Wade was.

Wade’s hand passed easily through Patrick’s mageglobe to grip the artifact. He made a face as his fingers connected with the bone. “Ew.”

“You’re not eating it, so don’t complain.”

Wade rolled his eyes before leaving the conference room with a touch of supernatural speed. The sound of him belching fire came a few seconds later. The fiery red lines that traced the veins of everyone seated at the table abruptly disappeared. Every last one of them slumped in their seats, a few sliding right off, groaning in pain.

Patrick went to the closest person, doing what triage he could. No one seemed to be seizing, so hopefully they wouldn’t have to worry about aneurysms, but they’d need to be cleared by someone better skilled in healing magic than him.

“Hey.” A warm hand caught him by the elbow as Patrick stood after making one of the attorney generals comfortable on the floor. “Are you all right?”

Patrick turned to look at Jono, his lover having lost his clothes somewhere between the street and now. Patrick was intimately familiar with all that skin and muscle, but he didn’t want anyone else to be.

“There’s a sniper in the building across the street. You’re probably giving them a show,” Patrick said, trying not to sound jealous.

Jono raised an eyebrow, a smile quirking at his lips. Like every other werecreature in Patrick’s life, Jono didn’t care about nudity. “Suppose I should have Wade get my clothes.”

“Where’d you leave them?”

“In the lift.”

At least he’d had time to take them off so he wouldn’t have to walk around Manhattan naked. Not that it would be the strangest thing New Yorkers would have seen. “Wade, go get Jono’s clothes.”

A confirming shout from the hallway told him Wade had heard the order. Moments later, Wade was back, clothes in hand and smelling like smoke and fire. The artifact was nowhere to be seen. The SOA would probably be mad about that, but Patrick figured they’d be more grateful their people were alive than not.

“Here you go. Get dressed before Patrick murders someone for looking at your dick,” Wade said, very decisively keeping his eyes on Jono’s face.

“I wouldn’t murder anyone with witnesses around,” Patrick muttered.

Jono laughed as he pulled on his pants and did up the zipper. “You know I only love you.”

“Yeah.” Patrick stared at him, listening to the sound of feet thundering through the office in the distance. Reinforcements would arrive in a few moments, and all Patrick could think about was how Aaron had threatened the lives of people he didn’t know, all because he loved his wife. Patrick had done far worse over Jono if he were honest. “We should get married.”

Jono paused in pulling on his shirt, gaze snapping to Patrick’s face while Wade sounded like he was choking on something. “Was that you asking?”

“I’ve asked before.”

Jono finished pulling his shirt at the same time the door crashed open, letting SOA agents and police inside. “You didn’t really mean it before.”

“I meant it!”

“I thought you were happy with how things were?”

“Of course I’m happy. I’m just saying we could get married.”

“And be happier than we are now?”

Patrick opened his mouth to argue before he realized the glint in Jono’s wolf-bright blue eyes and the faint twitch of his lips meant the other man was teasing him. “You asshole. Just say yes.”

“I’m an arsehole, love. Get it right.” Patrick grabbed Jono by the T-shirt and hauled him close, ignoring the questions thrown their way by the new arrivals. “In what world would I ever say no?”

“I’m still not hearing yes, you absolute⁠—”

Patrick’s complaint was interrupted by a kiss that stole the breath from his lungs, not that he was complaining. Jono’s hand on his face was warm and familiar, a heady presence against his body and in his soul that Patrick never wanted to let go of.

“Yes,” Jono finally muttered when he pulled away, the word ghosting across Patrick’s lips, the promise of it something he felt in his bones. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

“That was the lamest proposal ever,” Wade groaned, phone pointed at them while he recorded. “I’m sending it to everyone.”

Patrick flipped him off before stealing another kiss from Jono.

4

Jono tossed Lillian in the air over his head, smiling as she kicked her feet and laughed uproariously when he caught her again. Even at almost five years old, she still enjoyed the game. “I don’t see why we need to fast-track anything. We just decided to get married.”

“If you think I haven’t had your wedding plans drawn up for the last few years, then you clearly don’t know me,” Sage retorted from her spot at the dining table, focused intently on her laptop.

“I can confirm I’ve lost deposits on wedding venues every summer,” Marek called from the kitchen.

“How do you even know where we’d want to get married?” Patrick asked from where he was slumped on the new couch Sage had bought last month when they’d redone the space. “What if we had a destination wedding in mind? We could have gone to Vegas!”

“Please,” Sage scoffed. “As if any foreign country would let you past their borders, and Jono has too much class for Vegas.”

“Barely,” Wade said before shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth and failing miserably at hiding his amusement.

“Hey now,” Jono protested as he tossed Lillian into the air again. “I have class.”

“You grew up in North London. The only class you have is street class,” Patrick muttered.

“You like my street class.”

“My taste is questionable sometimes.” Patrick was smiling though, the teasing tone one Jono never took offense to. He’d grown up poor in a council estate back in England and been cut off from his family after being infected with the werevirus. Class was seen a little differently across the pond than here in America. It was nice being around people who wouldn’t peg his accent as one from a lower socioeconomic and societal background.

Jono settled Lillian in his arms, cradling her close. She curled in and rested her head against his shoulder, drawing in a deep breath that sounded like a gasp. She was still comforted by the closeness and scent of her pack, something none of them denied her.

“Love you, Uncle Jono,” she mumbled.

Jono turned his head to give her a kiss. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“Listen.” Sage glanced over her shoulder at them with a stern look on her face that never failed to make Jono want to hide. “Do you want to get married this week or not?”

“This week?” Patrick yelped, practically jackknifing up from the couch and nearly spilling his beer. Jono sighed deeply, unsurprised that their dire had once again ruthlessly set down their schedule.

“I’m sorry,” Sage said, not sounding sorry at all, “did you think I was joking when I said I was planning your wedding?”

Wade cackled, nearly falling out of his chair. Riordan saved him from face-planting on the floor, the selkie shaking his head fondly. Riordan had certainly made a mark on their pack by the way he treated Wade. The love and care he had for Wade was something Jono was eternally grateful for. After everything Wade had lived through when he was younger, he deserved to be happy now.

“Don’t make it too extravagant,” Jono warned, walking over to deposit Lillian onto Patrick’s lap.

“I won’t,” Sage promised sweetly, with a glint in her eyes that told Jono it probably would be extravagant—for them—and she’d expect them to like it.

Jono winced and looked away, catching Patrick’s eye. His lover looked back with a desperate expression on his face and mouthed Elope? at him.

“I’d like to live to see our honeymoon,” Jono said.

“Don’t even think about eloping. I will confiscate every last form of ID you both have,” Sage promised, clearly a mind reader, a talent she’d picked up once Lillian started walking.

“What’s eloping?” Lillian asked.

“It’s when we escape your mother’s clutches,” Patrick said blithely.

Lillian let out a dramatic gasp she must have learned from Wade. “Why would you want to escape Mom? She’s the best!”

Jono threw back his head and laughed at her clearly affronted tone. He shared a fond look with Patrick over her head. “That she is.”

Marek came out of the kitchen just then, holding a pot that smelled like the fried zucchini pasta he’d been eating often since he and Sage had returned from a weeklong vacation in Italy the other month. Jono had no idea what it was called, but it was good.

“Honey, stop terrorizing your alphas and put your torture instrument away,” Marek said.

Sage sighed but did as asked. She and Marek always made it a point to share at least one meal a day as a family, and half the time, it included someone from the pack at their table. “You both have suit fittings tomorrow afternoon. I’ll email you the location. Don’t be late.”

“What if I had work?” Patrick asked, getting to his feet and carrying Lillian with him to the table.

“I’m throwing enough money at the designer they’d have stayed open until midnight if I asked.”

Being married to a billionaire meant Sage had access to an amount of money that was still difficult to comprehend sometimes. That she had her own successful career as an attorney outside the pack was impressive as well, her expertise in the law something that had gotten them out of plenty of corners over the years.

Patrick set Lillian in her chair next to Sage. Wade immediately took the other spot, grinning at her and pretending to tickle her to get her to laugh. He sat down opposite them, and Patrick joined him. Marek came back a second time with a platter of baked chicken breasts, and Sage followed him with a casserole dish of steamed green beans.

“Do we get to help with anything?” Jono asked as he set about serving himself some of the pasta before passing the pot to Patrick.

“I have it covered,” Sage said.

“What about the cake?” Patrick asked.

“That’s my job,” Wade said.

“Will there be any left for the wedding?”

“Oh ha, ha.”

“I’ll be with him,” Riordan said.

“I have a plan,” Sage said firmly. “It will go exactly how I want before the news gets wind of it. I want you both to have some peace during the ceremony.”

Jono reached beneath the table and gripped Patrick’s thigh for a moment. Neither of them liked dealing with the media, but that was their role as alphas of a god pack. After the Battle of Samhain and then when Patrick returned, they hadn’t gotten a moment of peace for months. The media had followed them everywhere for a while, making it difficult to help the packs under their protection like they were supposed to.

Things had eventually settled down, but Jono could see interest ramping back up again once people found out about the wedding. It didn’t help that the hostage situation yesterday had made national news, and they were once again playing hide-and-seek with the paparazzi.

Sage must have seen something on his face because she offered him a soft, comforting smile. “Don’t worry. It will be a private affair if I have to sue people into bankruptcy to get it.”

Patrick snorted, but the scent that came off him was quietly pleased and relieved. Jono gave his thigh a gentle squeeze before letting go to finish serving up his plate as the food got passed around.

“We appreciate your help,” Jono said.

Sage waved off his thanks. “That’s what pack is for. Oh, and Patrick? You’re picking up Nadine tomorrow morning from the airport.”

“Wait, she’s coming?” Patrick asked, pausing momentarily in serving himself the green beans. Jono nudged his arm to get him to continue.

“Nadine would come after all of us if we failed to inform her of your nuptials.”

Patrick snorted out a laugh, a fond smile on his face. “Yeah, she would.”

“Besides, she’s handling your suit fitting.”

Jono sighed, knowing that between now and whenever Sage had set the date for their wedding, he and Patrick would be at the whims of her schedule. “At least Nadine has good taste.”

Sage nodded. “You can both take a look at the guest list after dinner.”

The idea of putting on a wedding wasn’t exactly appealing to Jono, mostly because he’d be fine with going to the courthouse and calling it a day. But they had a lot of friends and family now, and despite his misgivings about putting on a show, he rather liked the idea of standing up in front of all of them to profess his love for Patrick.

Jono also didn’t doubt that Sage had everything under control. She was their dire for a reason, and she proved it once again that evening after going over everything she had planned.

“You’ve done this every year?” Jono asked as he scrolled through her spreadsheet.

“Since Patrick returned to us,” Sage confirmed.

There’d been that six-month period of gutting loneliness Jono had endured between the end of the Battle of Samhain and when Patrick came back from beyond the veil. Six months of living in the aftermath of a ravaged city while picking up the pieces of their pack. He’d never once wavered in his belief that Patrick would return, but Jono never wanted to live through something like that again.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, and a chin dug into the top of his head. “I’m just going to do what she tells us to. It’s safer that way.”

Jono reached up to grip one of Patrick’s wrists, chuckling a little. “Yeah, love. Seems like Sage has it well in hand.”

Sage looked quietly pleased from her spot at the table, fingers resting on the base of her wineglass. Marek was doing the washing up in the kitchen while Wade and Riordan entertained Lillian upstairs. “Of course I do.”

“We’ve never doubted you. You always had better plans than Patrick.”

“Hey!” Patrick protested, pulling away. “My plans aren’t terrible.”

Jono sighed, reaching back to snag Patrick’s arm and pull him around. Patrick went easily and didn’t fight when Jono shoved his chair back a little so he could drag the other man onto his lap. Patrick went willingly, looping one around Jono’s neck and kissing the corner of his mouth. Jono slid his fingers over Patrick’s hip, slipping them beneath his T-shirt to seek out warm skin.

“Your plans,” Jono said, interrupting himself with a quick kiss, “are absolute bollocks.”

“They worked though.”

“The world only knows how.” Patrick rolled his eyes, but the smile playing at his lips told Jono he wasn’t annoyed. He leaned a little more against Jono, the bitter-tinged scent of him something that was always a comfort. “What made you ask this time and mean it?”

“I always meant it.”

“We talked about it. We never committed to it.”

“We’re already committed to each other. It seemed pointless.”

“So what changed?”

Patrick tilted his head, dark ginger hair catching the light. Jono could see a few strands of gray in the color these days, but not many. “It was something Aaron said, about how he’d do anything for his wife and that I couldn’t comprehend that because I wasn’t married.”

“So you’re marrying me to prove he’s wrong?”

“No, you idiot. I’m marrying you because I want to. But I’d already done everything he said I hadn’t, and I thought, why not finally make it official?” Patrick offered him a crooked little smile, green eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “We’ve earned a quiet epilogue, don’t you think?”

After everything they’d endured, everything they’d fought for, Jono wanted nothing more than to live a life not full of battles and heartache with the man he loved.

“Yeah, Pat,” Jono said, resting his forehead against Patrick’s, breathing in the scent of him. “We’ve earned this.”

5

Tiffany & Co. was not cutting it.

Jono wasn’t going to complain about the whiskey they got to drink for free in the private room Sage had coordinated for them to try on wedding rings. But the fancy wedding band sets with their inlaid diamonds and other jewels weren’t his style. Even what passed as plain sets felt a little too modern for his liking with their angular-shaped bands.

Patrick leaned over once the salesperson stepped away to put back the last example in the case. “Want to head home and get Chinese food on the way?”

That sounded far more preferable than looking at more wedding rings. Jono knew they needed a set, but this was the third store they’d been to that morning. While he wasn’t feeling overwhelmed, he was feeling a bit rushed.

“Can do,” Jono said before picking up his glass of whiskey and swallowing the rest of it down. He grabbed his sunglasses from the glass display case and slipped them on. Sage had assured them the salesperson would not feel uncomfortable around werecreatures, and while that was true—she didn’t smell like fear at all—the same couldn’t be said for everyone else in the building or outside.

Patrick handled their goodbyes for them, telling the saleswoman they’d think about what they’d seen before the both of them escaped the very extravagant flagship shop on Fifth Avenue. Jono reached for Patrick’s hand, tangling their fingers together on the walk back to the subway stop. They’d left their cars at home because the idea of searching for parking at Tiffany & Co., Cartier, and Harry Winston was a headache neither of them had wanted to deal with.

“We could just not have rings?” Patrick mused. “We haven’t had any for years.”

“We haven’t been married for years,” Jono pointed out.

“We don’t have a piece of paper that says we are either, but we’ve basically been married if you go by everything else.”

Jono tipped his head in acknowledgment of that, chuckling a little. “True. But if we don’t find some rings, Sage will find them for us.”

“At least her choice would be less gaudy than Wade’s.”

Jono outright laughed at that. Nothing was too extravagant or shiny when it came to jewelry for Wade. He tended not to wear it himself, just hoarded it. The home he shared with Riordan would have been overrun with Wade’s many hoards if the selkie hadn’t put his foot down.

“We’ll find something,” Jono promised. “I don’t need a ring to marry you.”

If it came down to it, they’d say their vows without one.

Patrick flashed him a smile, green eyes hidden behind his own pair of sunglasses. “You know, it’s probably a good thing Sage is handling all this.”

“If it were you, it might not ever get done.”

“Hey! Don’t forget that you said yes.”

“After you took the advice of a bloke holding you hostage.”

Patrick burst out laughing. “You’re going to hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”

“I might,” Jono drawled, just to rub it in. Patrick tugged on his arm, and Jono let himself be moved, turning his head to give Patrick a kiss. “You know, we could go to the courthouse if you like.”

“I’m pretty sure Sage has some of the pack on watch duty to make sure we don’t pass the front door.”

“Vegas is always an option.”

“We’d never make it off Manhattan.”

“Guess you’re stuck with marrying me.”

“A hardship. Really.”

Luckily, Sage’s plan wasn’t going to be impeded by the case Patrick was retained to appear on the stand for. The whole trial against the criminal coven was still going forward in less than a month, despite what had happened. Aaron would be tried separately at a later date, with additional charges for his antics at the SOA headquarters.

They had time for a wedding and a honeymoon if they wanted. So far, the media hadn’t caught wind of any of it. Jono could do without the media ever sticking their noses in his life again.

They headed for the Fifty-Ninth Street subway stop a few blocks east of Tiffany & Co. and took the 6 train downtown to Canal Street station. Patrick took a seat on a bench while Jono opted to stand, holding on to the bar above and swaying with the motion of the train car as it rolled down the tracks. Glimmers of the protective wards lining the subway walls beyond flickered at the corners of his eyes from time to time.

“Wade says he wants us to bring him some fried rice,” Patrick said, staring down at his mobile.

“Tell Wade he can feed himself. I’m not traipsing uptown to his flat.”

“Sage shouldn’t have let him do the wedding cake tasting. He’s still hyped up on all the sugar.”

“He’s Riordan’s problem for now.”

The subway train screeched into the station, the sound making Jono dial down his hearing so he didn’t go deaf. He held out his hand to Patrick, who took it, and hauled the other man to his feet. They left the train behind for a half-packed platform. It was a little after twelve, and Jono knew they’d be fighting the lunch rush to get a table anywhere in Chinatown.

They came up to the street level, and the smell of food mixed with exhaust in the air. The bright signs and awnings were in a mix of English and Chinese. Tourists and New Yorkers crowded the sidewalks, the buildings rising up over the street a mix of residential and businesses that was common in Manhattan. Jono kept close to Patrick as they made their way to their pack’s favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant on Bayard Street.

David Liu—the owner who just so happened to be a fêng huang—greeted them with a wide smile. “Welcome back! I’ve only seen your names come through for takeout lately.”

“We’ve been a little busy,” Patrick said as they squeezed past people gathered near the front door, waiting for a table or their order to go. Most of the tables were taken, but someone in the corner was packing up their food and looked to be vacating the spot soon.

“Yeah, I saw the news,” David said. “You want your usual?”

“Ta, mate,” Jono said.

“I’ll send the order to the kitchen. Give me a minute to clear a table.”

It wasn’t long before they were seated. Jono would feel bad about cutting in front of others, but David’s restaurant catered to the preternatural and supernatural communities more than it did tourists. People knew who they were in this city, and no one typically raised a fuss.

David came back out of the kitchen, nodding at the server passing by before stopping at their table to deposit two already opened Tsingtao beers in front of them. Condensation beaded on the glass, the lone fan in the corner whirring away. David didn’t mind the heat the same way Wade didn’t, fire being intrinsic to their natures. People didn’t come to this place for the atmosphere though; they came for the food.

“Some of your dishes will be out in a bit,” David said. Considering the number of plates they always ordered and the amount of food Jono alone could put away, he knew it would take some time to get everything ready. “You’re not coming through for anything I need to keep an eye on, are you?”

“We’re escaping a morning trapped in jewelry stores,” Patrick said before taking a long swig of his beer.

David raised an eyebrow. “And that’s bad?”

“Only if Wade was with us,” Jono said. Maybe it was a good thing Sage had put Wade in charge of the cake and not the wedding rings.

David didn’t pry, but his gaze dropped down to their hands, a contemplative look on his face. “Well, good luck with your search. Hope you find what you need.”

“He knows,” Patrick muttered once David left.

Jono eyed him calmly. “Drink your beer.”

It wasn’t going to be a secret for very long. Packs were exceptionally good at keeping secrets, and theirs were determined to keep this out of the local gossip mill. But Sage had promised a week, and Jono had faith in her to pull off the seemingly impossible. She was determined that way, and Jono wouldn’t change that for anything.

Their food came eventually, piping hot and full of spices. They had Chinese broccoli in oyster sauce, chow mein, fried rice, kung pao chicken, Sichuan beef, and, since they were there during the dim sum period, several orders of har gow, xiao long bao, and sheng jian bao. They chatted amiably about things that weren’t about the wedding. It was casual, and they weren’t rushed.

A couple of tables near them turned over, but the one in the opposite corner kept its diner. The Chinese man kept glancing over at them, a plastic takeout bag on the table beside his half-empty plate. He didn’t smell nervous or fearful—in fact, he didn’t smell like anything at all. That caught Jono’s attention, and he was prepared for anything—a fight, an insult—just not the offer they were given as they finished up their last few bites of food and the stranger stopped by their table.

“Excuse me,” the man said in faintly accented English. “If you are looking for something unique, I own a jewelry store down the street. You could come see?”

He seemed hopeful, not threatening, but Jono still couldn’t get a scent off him at all. The man seemed mundane human, but Jono knew appearances could be deceiving. He also knew David had a nose for those who were trouble and never allowed it past his door.

Patrick knocked his foot against Jono’s under the table. “It won’t hurt to look.”

“We have time,” Jono replied. If the man pretending to be human became a threat later on, at least they’d know where to look for him.

The man nodded happily. “I will take you there.”

They didn’t have any leftovers, which Jono made a point to tell Wade by taking a picture of all their empty dishes. He got back a string of emojis that made him chuckle before he put his mobile away.

Patrick got the bill paid but left the fortune cookie on the table. They exited the restaurant, finding the jeweler waiting for them on the sidewalk. In the sunlight, he looked even younger than Jono first thought, with thick black hair and dark brown eyes. He still had no scent, which was incredibly off-putting.

Jono stuck close to Patrick as they followed the man to a store with a green awning above it and a banner in the window that said Under New Ownership. The jewelry displayed in the window wasn’t on the typical trays seen in other jewelers in Chinatown but on small, velvet-lined pedestals.

A bell overhead jangled when the door was pushed open. Inside the store was brightly lit, and there was a young woman with long black hair behind the counter, bent over a small worktable with a jeweler’s eyeglass on.

“Bàba!” a child shrieked, darting out from behind the counter before the woman could catch the boy.

The little toddler couldn’t be more than two, if that, and unlike his father, the boy carried a scent that was shockingly familiar. Beside him, Patrick turned his head to the side, squinting as if the lights were too bright when they weren’t.

“Oh,” Patrick said, blinking rapidly. “He’s a fledgling.”

The woman moved with supernatural speed, blurring around the counter to snatch up her son before the boy could reach his father. The fear on her face washed it to whiteness, but whatever her husband said in Mandarin kept her from fleeing to the back room. The little boy didn’t seem perturbed at all, giggling in his mother’s arms.

“My wife, Genji,” the man told them with a hesitant smile. “I am Yutao, and this is our son, Zichen.”

“You’re dragons,” Jono said, a hint of disbelief creeping into his voice. He’d only met two in his lifetime, and that was far more than anyone else ever would. Most people still believed dragons were a myth. Though in Jono’s experience, there was nothing myth-like about Wade’s appetite.

Yutao nodded. His wife said something sharply in Mandarin, to which he responded in a comforting tone before switching to English. “Yes, we are.”

“Why reveal yourselves to us?” Patrick asked curiously, no longer standing as if they were facing a threat. The shift was subtle in his body, but Jono was so tuned to the other man he saw it when no one else could.

“My wife and I were looking for a safe place to raise our son. We had heard your pack had taken in a fledgling orphan some years ago and that he is thriving.” Yutao smiled crookedly, gaze shifting back to his son, the fondness in his expression that of a proud father. “We want our son to thrive as well.”

“You couldn’t where you were?” Jono asked.

“If it was only Yutao and I, we would be okay,” Genji said haltingly. “But raising a fledgling…they cannot hide themselves.”

Years ago, they hadn’t known what Wade was until Patrick removed a god-created collar from his throat. By dragon years, Wade was young, but at least he knew how to fight back now. A toddler wouldn’t know how, though anyone who tried to take the fledgling from his parents was just asking to die, in Jono’s opinion.

“We were told New York City is safe for our kind. You made it safe.” Yutao turned to look at them again, an ancient weight to his gaze that would have made Jono’s hackles rise on instinct if he were in werewolf form. “So we came here. I did not think we would meet you.”

“Please don’t say it’s fate,” Patrick said with a groan.

Yutao laughed, gathering his son in his arms when Genji passed the boy over. “Fate does not drive our kind. But our paths crossed regardless, and it seems we may have something you need.”

Jono looked around the little jewelry shop with its display cases that weren’t bursting to the brim with gold jewelry like in other places. The place smelled like metal, magic, and incense, much like the dragon family before them did now that they weren’t hiding. It wasn’t Wade’s fiery, smoky scent but something more metallic and earthy. “We are in the market for wedding rings.”

Both Yutao and Genji lit up at that. Genji went back behind the counter, appearing more at ease than she had been when they first stepped into the shop. “Let us show you what we have.”

Yutao set Zichen down, and the boy toddled around the store, trailing the scent of dragon behind him as his parents set out pairs of rings for Jono and Patrick to look at. There weren’t many, and none had gemstones or diamonds inlaid in them. But the metal—gold, rose gold, white gold, and platinum—gleamed in a way all the other rings they’d looked at that morning hadn’t. When Jono picked up a white-gold one, it was warm to the touch but not hot enough to burn in any way.

“These—” Patrick cut himself off, turning one ring over and over again between his fingers with a contemplative look on his face. “These were made with magic.”

“They don’t carry any kind of spells in them. What you feel is just from how it was shaped by us,” Yutao promised.

Even if they didn’t, the rings would always stand out as having been made by a dragon. The satin-finish platinum band Jono held had a thin, off-center groove of 18k gold encircling it. The faint flash of the shiny gold gave it a subtle gleam he liked.

Patrick peered over at the one Jono held, a match for the ring he held. “Do you like this set?”

Jono hummed thoughtfully, staring down at the ring. It felt right to get a set of wedding rings from someone whose livelihood was in their work and not a corporate behemoth. “Yeah, I quite like it.”

“Then let’s get them.” Patrick smiled, a crooked little grin that had Jono leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth in response.

“All right.” Jono tipped his head in the direction of Yutao and Genji. “We should bring Wade by sometime. It would be good for him to meet others of his kind.”

“Fair warning, he’s a sucker for kids,” Patrick said.

“We’d be happy to say hello,” Genji said with a half bow. “We’ll pack up your rings. And congratulations.”

The smile she gave them was a far cry from the fearful reaction of earlier. Jono returned the smile and held out his hand so she could take the ring. While they hadn’t made a choice at any of the appointments Sage had set up for them, Jono was happy with the spur-of-the-moment decision that had led them there. As far as unexpected situations, it was a far cry better than the hostage one Patrick had gotten in the middle of.

“Happy?” Patrick asked quietly as they waited for the rings to be rung up.

Jono wrapped his arm around Patrick’s waist, hauling him close. He turned his head and buried his nose in dark red hair, breathing in the bitter-tinged scent of his lover. “I’m always happy when I’m with you.”

Soulbond aside, there wasn’t anything in this world or the next that could ever make Jono leave Patrick behind.

6

“I don’t know how you did this in a week,” Patrick said as he peered discreetly out the window, looking at where all the guests were seated on white chairs in the grass between the mansion and the European-style cultivated garden.

“Money,” Sage said from where she knelt in front of Lillian, adjusting the fall of her daughter’s flower girl gown. “Lots of it. And I never take no for an answer.”

“An endearing quality of yours,” Jono said serenely.

Patrick laughed. “I still say we could have done this at the courthouse to spare you the headache of secretly planning our wedding for the last few years and then it never happening.”

Sage shot him a frosty look as she stood, the dusty blue color of her couture maid-of-honor gown a perfect counterpart to the sage-green wedding suit Patrick was in and the dove-gray one Jono wore. The color scheme was apparently a play on their eye color because Sage was a romantic at heart, and neither he nor Jono was going to make her redo the color scheme on the fly. They wanted to be alive to enjoy their honeymoon.

“Mom, my tiara!” Lillian said, reaching up to grip the glittering Swarovski crystal tiara that had been ordered special for her. “It’s tilting!”

“Well, don’t grab it,” Sage tsked lightly.

“I’ll fix it,” Wade said, stepping forward to help adjust the tiara with deft fingers. Lillian’s long dark hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, the natural wave given a more structured curl from the same hairstylist who had done Sage’s hair. Sage wasn’t wearing a tiara though. Her long black hair had been done up in a fancy loose braided bun with wispy pieces falling away from it.

“Make sure my tiara stays put,” Lillian said, pouting a little.

“I promise it’ll stay in place when we walk down the aisle.” Wade finished getting the tiara to sit just right before pulling something out of his inner suit pocket. “As pretty as you look, you’re still missing these.”

“Wade,” Sage sighed with the air of someone who knew there was no winning this battle.

“Ah, ah,” Wade said as he carefully slid a pair of kids-size reflective aviator sunglasses onto Lillian’s nose. “We’re throwing flowers in style.”

Lillian grinned. “Yeah, Mom. In style.”

Patrick swallowed his laughter and hid his smile behind his hand as he looked down at Lillian. She was like a little princess with her dusty-blue flower girl dress, shiny white shoes with bows on them, her tiara, and completely out-of-place sunglasses.

“Style is something the two of you need all the help you can get,” Wade added as he put on his own pair of sunglasses. His suit was a slightly darker gray than Jono’s, with a sage-green tie, the colors pairing well with Patrick’s.

Sage was going to stand with Jono, and Wade was going to stand with Patrick once they walked down the aisle. But the first ones to the altar would be Wade and Lillian, both of whom had insisted they be allowed to wear sunglasses like they were special agents as they both threw rose petals ahead of Patrick’s and Jono’s entrance.

Patrick thought it was going to be hilarious. He couldn’t wait to see the video.

“How do I look?” Lillian asked, striking a model pose that looked like nothing one would see on a catwalk.

“Like a princess,” Jono said with all the seriousness of someone who hadn’t seen her make a mess as a kid or a cub.

The wedding planner who had been in Sage’s employ for who knew how long sidled up to their little group, phone in hand and with the hunted look of someone who was on a tightly regimented schedule. “All the guests are seated. We can cue the music up when you’re ready.”

“They’re ready,” Sage said as Jono passed her back the bouquet of blue and white flowers with sprigs of green fern. His boutonniere held a white rose, baby’s breath blossoms, and sprigs of eucalyptus, a match for the one pinned to Patrick’s lapel. “By about six years.”

Patrick didn’t bother hiding his laughter at that point. “We’re here now.”

Not like they’d be anywhere else.

Sage had chosen Oheka Castle in Long Island as the place for their nuptials. The French-chateau-inspired Gold Coast mansion was a luxury hotel she’d entirely booked out for one week every summer for the last few years, but this would be the last time she’d have to do that. Away from the bustle of New York City, it made it easy for privacy wards to be laid down around the estate. Nadine had gladly done so yesterday when all their close friends and some family had arrived for the rehearsal dinner. It hadn’t been everyone on the wedding guest list, but it’d been a good number of people.

Patrick’s grandmother had been invited to the dinner, Eloise Patterson someone he’d slowly grown closer to over the last few years. Sometimes he still felt like an outsider in the family he’d been born to and then stolen from at the behest of the gods. Their full-throated acceptance of him and rejection of Persephone as their coven’s goddess had gone a long way to making him feel wanted. They would never be his pack, but they’d become family, and it was nice having aunts, uncles, cousins, and a grandparent.

Patrick looked at the core of his pack in the grand foyer there in the hotel, marveling that he’d lived to see this, to see them happy. Wade danced around in a small circle with Lillian in his arms while Sage looked on with a fond smile. Jono stood beside him, a line of heat and presence that had been his anchor through so much, the soulbond tying them together a quiet thing that had shaped this future for them in ways he couldn’t regret.

Jono leaned over, intertwining their fingers, his voice a soft rumble in Patrick’s ear. “You look happy.”

Patrick glanced at him, the smile never leaving his face. “I am.”

He knew Jono would get nothing but truth from his scent with that answer. The kiss was expected—wanted, even—and Patrick turned into it, ignoring the faint flash of a camera from the wedding photographer that seeped through his closed eyelids.

Jono pulled back, smiling, wolf-bright blue eyes full of the same love Patrick saw every morning when they woke up together. “Then let’s get married.”

“It’s about time,” Wade said loudly, clearly eavesdropping.

“Yeah!” Lillian piped up, making everyone laugh.

It didn’t take long for the wedding organizer to cue the DJ outside. Music that had been soft background noise changed tune and pitch, the notes rising in the air. Patrick could only imagine everyone seated outside turning in their seats to watch the doors open. Lillian skipped out with a nod from Sage, her hand already digging into her basket for rose petals. Wade followed at a slightly more sedate pace, swinging his own basket a little as he walked.

Laughter rose above the music, so whatever the pair were doing with their rose petals, it sounded amusing. Jono laughed softly beside him, fingers still intertwined, neither of them letting go.

The wedding organizer signaled to Sage, who swept forward on her own with her chin held high, dress fluttering around her as she walked with all the grace of a supermodel outside. Then, attendants closed the doors, and Patrick and Jono were urged to stand in front of them.

Jono lifted Patrick’s hand to his mouth, lips brushing over his knuckles, making Patrick shiver just a little. Jono smiled at him, soft and fond. “Ready?”

“Always,” Patrick said, never letting go.

When the doors finally opened, the rich notes of the song they’d chosen for their walk down the aisle filled the air, and they stepped outside together, hand in hand. No clouds in the summer blue sky impeded the afternoon sunlight. The grass was bright green beneath their feet as they walked together toward the flower arch above the altar up ahead. Family and friends stood from their seats on either side of the aisle, heads craning around to look at them.

They’d asked for everyone to leave the photographs and videos to the professionals they’d hired. No cell phones meant no one was jostling for the perfect angle as they walked over the flower petals Wade and Lillian had strewn down the aisle.

The estate’s garden stretched behind the altar, with its many ponds and fountains and trimmed plants an elegant backdrop. Standing at the altar, wearing a pressed Mage Corps uniform gleaming with ranking pins and medals, stood Gerard Breckenridge, former captain of the Hellraisers, currently living his life as Cú Chulainn beyond the veil. He smiled broadly at them, silver eyes meeting Patrick’s with pride.

“Well, it only took years to get you both here. Glad to see the tradition of dragging Patrick along to have a good time is still alive and well,” Gerard said, eliciting laughter from the wedding guests as Patrick and Jono finally stepped up to the altar.

“Oh, screw you,” Patrick said, mindful of Lillian and her very sharp ears and willingness to repeat anything someone said. He couldn’t stop smiling though, happy that Gerard had been able to come on such short notice and had been willing to act as their officiant. “It’s my wedding day. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

“I’m helping you get married, doesn’t that count? Speaking of the reason we’re all here.” Gerard clapped his hands together, the sound catching everyone’s attention as he used magic to allow his voice to be heard easily by everyone. “We’re gathered here today, from near and far, friends and family and pack alike, to see two of the most deserving people I have the honor of knowing be wed.”

Patrick didn’t bother holding back his smile, a warmth blooming in his scarred chest that had nothing to do with the soulbond as he and Jono turned to face each other. He reached for Jono with his other hand, both of them holding on to each other as they stood side by side, as they always had.

Patrick had lived most of his life with gods meddling in it. He believed in them because he had no choice, but they had no place in the wedding. Gerard knew that, and the words he spoke for the ceremony were secular in a way, despite his background.

“Patrick Collins and Jonothon de Vere have walked some desperately hard roads through no fault of their own to find peace. Words and deeds have bound them”—Patrick snorted at Gerard’s subtly arched eyebrow as he did not mention the soulbond, but those in the know would clue in to the unspoken reminder—“in ways many of us will never experience. To that end, I offer this cord as a symbol of your devotion to each other and the way your lives are forever entwined.”

The gold cord seemingly appeared out of thin air in Gerard’s hand, the magic of its making brushing softly against Patrick’s senses. It was suffused with power, made with care, the essence of both Gerard and Órlaith twined through it. Having it wrapped around his and Jono’s hands and deftly knotted was like being wrapped in a warm blanket, Gerard’s words washing over them like a blessing.

“With this binding, may everyone see what ties you together in this life and beyond. May your troubles be less and your blessings be more, and nothing but happiness come through your door,” Gerard said.

The traditional blessing was one both Patrick and Jono had agreed on just the other day when Gerard and Órlaith had come over for dinner to discuss the ceremony. It had been a long night of reminiscing, of laughter and wine and whiskey, their many wars far behind them on some other shore.

Gerard settled his hands above and below their bound ones, a soft smile on his beautiful face. “May you know nothing but peace.”

The flare of warm magic that suffused Patrick as well as Jono, judging by Jono’s rapid blinking, was more than a blessing. It was a godly decree from one whom Patrick had thought of as his brother in arms when they had served together in the Mage Corps and a friend always.

If peace was Gerard’s present to them, Patrick was not going to say no.

“With the handfasting complete, I release you to speak your vows and exchange rings,” Gerard said. A simple tug on the cord with his hand and a bit of magic unraveled it. He tucked it into a pocket to give to them later before taking a small step back.

Patrick let go of Jono’s hands, turning to receive his ring from Wade while Jono did the same with Sage. The metal still held the ghost of dragon magic in it, pricking against his senses. Patrick tipped his head back slightly, looking up into Jono’s familiar wolf-bright blue eyes. Despite all the literal hell they’d gone through, he was glad they’d ended up here.

Jono reached for Patrick’s left hand, fingers warm. Jono had won the coin toss Wade insisted they perform to see who would get to say their vows first.

“A long time ago, I said I would be your weapon if you would be my pack.” Jono’s grip tightened around his hand, as if they were both holding on to forever and never wanted to let go. “I don’t regret my offer, and I’ll always love you, no matter what. You were who I was looking for, even when I didn’t know I was missing anything in my life. I’d fight the gods all over again for you, but I’m glad I don’t have to.”

Jono’s lips quirked up into a smile just for him, and Patrick couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as Jono slid the ring onto his finger. The gold was warm against his skin, the feel of the ring new but like he’d never lived without it before.

Patrick reached for Jono’s left hand, holding the wedding ring over the tip of Jono’s finger. The way his stomach swooped was all excitement, not nervousness, because there wasn’t anything to be nervous about when it came to the rest of their lives together.

“You’re the reason I’ll always come back,” Patrick said, because it was a truth ground down in his bones, the soulbond something that had stretched itself between worlds, forever tying them together. He didn’t need to say anything more than that because Jono already knew how much he meant to Patrick. He slid the ring onto Jono’s finger, the fit perfect.

Jono wrapped his hand around Patrick’s, grip firm, the glint of gold on his finger drawing Patrick’s eye. It looked good on him.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you married,” Gerard said. “You may kiss your—all right then, I hadn’t even finished my sentence.”

Patrick didn’t have time to laugh at Gerard’s verbal stumble, not with the way Jono had dragged him in close so the taller man could dip him back into a kiss that left no doubt how they felt about each other for their audience. The catcalls and whistles and clapping were a distant noise in Patrick’s ears; the only thing he was aware of—like always—was Jono.

They finally straightened up, breaking the kiss, but Patrick didn’t let Jono go, giddy in a way he’d never thought possible. Jono laughed, pressing a kiss to Patrick’s forehead, and Patrick didn’t want to let him go.

“That was the shortest wedding ever,” Wade said, sounding mournful.

“You’ll get fed faster,” Patrick tossed over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah! Hurry up and walk down the aisle.”

Jono laughed, tugging on Patrick’s hand. He let himself be led down the flower-strewn grass, between the rows of everyone who’d born witness to their marriage, tiny mageglobes erupting overhead like fireworks, courtesy of Spencer Bailey. Despite the crowd, Patrick only had eyes for Jono—for his husband—and he refused to look away.

Despite the odds, despite the gods, despite everything in this world and beyond the veil, Patrick had found his happiness in the man beside him.

“I love you,” Patrick said as they made it to the end of the aisle.

Jono leaned over to kiss him, his thumb pressed over Patrick’s wedding ring. “I love you, too. Now, come on, husband. If we don’t get wedding pictures, Sage will murder us both.”

Patrick threw back his head and laughed, even as the word resonated in his soul like a bell.

Husband.

It had a nice ring to it.

7

Wade thrust another glass of golden mead into Jono’s hand with a cheerful “Here you go!” and then wandered off back to his seat at the table where Riordan and his siblings were eating.

Jono peered down into the wineglass, tipping it slightly to watch the mead slosh about. Emma and Leon Hernandez—they’d gotten married a few years ago—had ordered plenty from Thor’s brewery in Chicago for the occasion. The mead definitely packed a punch for werecreatures if enough of it was imbibed. Jono was of the thought he could maybe get tipsy by the end of the night, if he put effort into it.

“He’s trying to get you drunk,” Patrick said from his seat beside Jono.

“I think it’ll take more than a couple of glasses of mead for that to happen,” Jono said as he set the wineglass down. His wedding ring caught the light from the chandeliers in the Terrace Ballroom, the polished platinum edge and line of gold glinting brightly. It kept catching his eye, as did the one Patrick now wore.

He took a moment to look around them, gaze sweeping over the ballroom. The floral centerpieces on every round table and the arches curved around the nearly dozen windows were a gift from Órlaith. The fae flowers were ethereal and beautiful, giving off a subtle scent tempered by magic to keep everyone from sneezing.

The catering had been done by an award-winning chef who owned and headed up a three-star Michelin restaurant in Manhattan. Jono could admit that the four-course meal was absolutely delicious, not the least because extra portions had been allocated for the werecreatures in attendance, as well as others in the supernatural community with larger appetites, and Wade. Marek had paid for the food and drinks at both the earlier outdoor cocktail hour everyone had enjoyed while Jono and Patrick took a metric ton of photographs and the reception meal.

The person handling the wedding music was a professional DJ from one of the packs under their protection. She had gladly agreed to handle the music for the evening, and right now, it was a subtle background noise while everyone finished up the dinner and chatted with their neighbors.

The table Jono sat at with Patrick had Sage, Marek, and Lillian seated with them. Joining them were Nadine and her new partner, Pascal, along with Spencer, Gerard, and Órlaith. It had been nice catching up with people they hadn’t seen in a while. Knowing that their friends were happy was a gift in itself.

Patrick nudged Jono in the side, catching his attention. “Yeah?”

“We should make the table rounds before we cut the cake,” Patrick said.

“All right.” Jono picked up his wineglass and downed the mead in a couple of quick swallows before pushing his chair back. He stood, offering his hand to Patrick, who rolled his eyes but took it with a smile on his face. “Let’s go say hello to everyone.”

They hadn’t been present at the cocktail hour, so this was the first chance they’d really been able to greet everyone who had come to the wedding. The first table they stopped at was the one where some of Patrick’s family sat, all of the Pattersons excited to see them.

It had taken some time for Jono to trust the lot of them, even after the coven had denounced Persephone as their goddess. But he’d come around eventually, and he greeted Eloise with a kiss on her cheek as Patrick’s grandmother smiled up at them from her seat.

“I’m so happy for you both,” Eloise said, beaming at them. “It was a lovely ceremony.”

“We’re happy you could make it,” Patrick said.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She cast a loving glance at Patrick, who leaned down to hug her, better at expressing emotion these days with his family than when they first met. Eloise clutched him back, whispering something soft into his ear that Jono politely didn’t listen to.

It went like that for their trip around the ballroom, spending time at every table to greet the friends and family who had joined them for the wedding. They’d kept the number small for a wedding, not wanting or needing an extravagant day. Jono and Patrick were both of the same mind that spending the day together with the people who meant something to them was all they wanted. Sage had understood that without them even needing to tell her, and Jono needed to remember to thank her for handling the wedding for them. It was everything they both would have wanted if they’d sat down to talk about it.

Wade leaned back in his chair when they finally reached his table, circling back around to the front of the ballroom. “Is it cake time now? Please tell me we can finally eat the cake.”

“Please tell me you ordered one for yourself,” Patrick retorted, but he was smiling as he spoke.

Wade gave him the most affronted look. “Of course I have my own cake! It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else if I didn’t.”

Jono laughed, well aware that Sage had planned for that scenario when she’d sent Wade to do the cake tasting. “If you get your own, then hands off ours.”

Wade put his hand to his chest in mock outrage. “I would never.”

“You say that like you haven’t eaten right off our plates before,” Patrick drawled before tugging on Jono’s hand.

A nod to the wedding organizer had the DJ calling for everyone’s attention. Despite the multi-course meal, everyone was excited for dessert. Jono was impressed when he finally saw the cake Wade had decided on for them. The little sign depicting the flavors of the three tiers showed Wade had picked out Jono’s favorite flavor of chocolate salted caramel, a Grand Marnier–spiked lemon cake for Patrick, and blackberry-and-elderflower sponge cake as a flavor they both liked.

Gerard offered up his ceremonial dress sword with a smile before either of them could look for a knife. “A little longer than the blades I know you’re used to.”

Patrick snorted as he took the sword, delivered hilt-first to his hand. “A little overkill, but it’ll do.”

Patrick no longer carried a blade. Ever since returning the gods-given dagger at the end of the Battle of Samhain, he’d given up keeping weapons, letting his concealed-carry permit lapse after Lillian was born. None of them had wanted a gun in the home where a child was present, and keeping the weapons seemed like an acknowledgment they expected another fight. Jono was never going to tell Patrick what to do to feel safe, but he’d been relieved when his lover had willingly set his weapons aside.

Patrick readjusted his grip on the sword in his right hand with an almost absent-minded ease. Jono stepped up behind him, resting his left hand on Patrick’s hip before reaching for the sword hilt to settle his other hand over Patrick’s.

“Don’t cut mine!” Wade yelled from the crowd.

“I’m taking the middle piece of it just because you said that,” Patrick called back. Wade’s squawk of protest had everyone laughing.

Jono chuckled, brushing his lips over the shell of Patrick’s ear. “We could always shove the cake in his face.”

“Let’s not teach Lillian bad manners,” Patrick said. He raised the sword a little, and Jono followed the movement with his own hand. “Ready?”

Together, they raised the ceremonial sword until the tip of the ceremonial blade rested against the edge of the top tier of the cake. With a seamless motion, they brought the sword down, cutting through all three layers at once as camera flashes went off from the photographer. Jono let go of Patrick’s hand and stepped back just enough that he had room to return the sword to Gerard. A server deftly handed over a linen napkin to clean the blade off.

Another server stepped forward with a much more manageable knife and cake server set, smiling at them both. “What would you like?”

“A slice of each. We’ll share,” Jono said.

The porcelain plate the wedding cake was served to them on felt delicate in Jono’s hands as he held it steady while Patrick cut a bite from the chocolate salted-caramel piece. He lifted the fork to Jono’s mouth, feeding him the bit of cake, laughing as he did so. Jono was barely aware of the pictures being taken, all his attention on his husband.

The cake was delicious, but what Jono enjoyed the most was the pure delight on Patrick’s face, his smile, and the sparkle in his green eyes. Years ago, he never thought they’d reach this moment, yet here they were, surrounded by pack and close friends and family, with their battles forever behind them.

“Okay, Wade did pretty good with the flavors,” Patrick admitted.

“I told you to trust me!” Wade said as he walked past them carrying the tray that held his own sheet cake. “I wouldn’t pick out boring flavors for your wedding.”

“Your efforts are appreciated,” Jono said.

They returned to their table, where they discovered the wineglasses had been swapped out for champagne glasses. Speeches had already happened during the meal in between the courses from quite a few people, so it was a much quieter affair during the cake course. They traded the fork between them, offering each other bites in between conversation with those who stopped by their table. The cake slices were quickly devoured, and a server brought them a second plate, to which Jono helped himself when Patrick professed he was full.

Jono ate with his left hand, his right holding Patrick’s, absently stroking the wedding ring there with his thumb. Letting him go seemed impossible just then, so it was probably a good thing that, once everyone had their fill of cake, it was time for the first dance.

“Just don’t step on Uncle Patrick’s feet,” Lillian warned Jono.

Their table cracked up at her words, and Jono shook his head as he pulled Patrick to his feet. “I would never.”

He drew Patrick past tables and onto the dance floor, the pair of chandeliers above sparkling brightly. The wedding guests crowded around the space, everyone watching with smiles on their faces as Jono drew Patrick into his arms. The first notes of the song they’d picked filtered through the speakers, and it was easy to drift over the floor with the love of his life in his arms. Patrick was pressed up against him, body familiar the way breathing was, and they only had eyes for each other.

So it was a little startling when Jono’s feet left the ground, magic lifting both of them into the air. He finally dragged his attention away from Patrick to look for the guests casting magic and was unsurprised to see Nadine and Spencer at the edge of the crowd, tiny mageglobes spinning against the palms of their right hands. They waved cheerfully, mischievous smiles on their faces.

Jono could only chuckle at the trick, letting Patrick take the lead now, the air strangely solid beneath his feet. They drifted together over the dance floor, magic trailing in their wake, and Jono kept his eyes on Patrick. “Are you happy we’re married now?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, lips twitching into a smile. “I would have been happy either way, you know that.”

They hadn’t taken each other’s names, keeping their own, because they didn’t need to change anything about themselves to show their love. It was the same reasoning why it had taken forever to get married in the first place—they loved each other. They hadn’t needed a marriage certificate to prove it, but the wedding was a nice way to bring everyone together.

Jono pulled Patrick closer, listening to his heartbeat that was the sound of home, no matter where they were. As the song reached the end, the magic they danced on gently lowered them back to earth. When his feet touched the ballroom floor, Jono dipped Patrick backward to the sound of applause, kissing him soundly. Patrick laughed against his lips, never pulling away.

“I love you,” Jono said when they broke the kiss and straightened up as others came onto the ballroom floor.

Patrick lifted a hand to touch his jaw, thumb ghosting over his lips. “I love you, too.”

“My turn! It’s my turn!” Lillian shouted as she wiggled her way between two people to throw herself at their legs. “Dance with me!”

Jono leaned down and easily lifted her into his arms. “With me or Uncle Pat?”

“Both.” Lillian grinned at him, a bit of frosting stuck to the corner of her lips.

“All right then, love.” Jono set her back down on her feet and took one of her hands in his. She reached for Patrick, who gamely joined their circle. “Then let’s dance.”

It’s how they spent the next hour, dancing indiscriminately with friends and family, one-on-one or in groups. Jono never once left Patrick’s side, always within arm’s reach, the scent of his husband easy to pick out in the crowd.

They took a break after that hour, slipping free of the crowd to head toward the cake table again, intent on getting another slice to share. The server manning the table had their back to them, and Jono didn’t think anything of it until the sharp, unwanted scent of ozone hit his nose.

“Congratulations,” Hermes said as he turned around, dressed like a waiter and holding a small plate with a cake slice on it, fork in his other hand. “Cú Chulainn spoiled our surprise by giving you our gift before I could. I’m devastated, Pattycakes.”

“Not as devastated as you will be if you don’t fuck off back beyond the veil where you belong,” Patrick snapped.

“You weren’t on the guest list, so piss off,” Jono said, stepping forward before Patrick could. “We don’t want anything from you gods.”

“You already got it.” Hermes took a bite of the slice of cake, arching an eyebrow. “Peace.”

They’d gotten a lot more than that over the years, but the life they’d built after the Battle of Samhain wasn’t because of the gods but in spite of them. Jono wasn’t going to let Hermes think he’d given them what they’d carved out on their own.

Jono wrapped his arm around Patrick’s waist, fingers digging into his lover’s hip to keep him from lunging at the trickster god they’d hoped to never see again. “The blessing came from Gerard, and he’s family. We don’t want anything from the rest of you. So leave. Now.”

Hermes chuckled before turning away from them and disappearing how only the gods could, taking the slice of cake with him. Jono didn’t miss the trickster god in the slightest, glad to see him go. Jono turned his head and kissed Patrick’s temple. “Don’t let that arsehole ruin today.”

Patrick snorted. “There’s no way in hell I’d give him that satisfaction.”

“Good.” The last thing Jono wanted was for Patrick to feel down on their wedding day. “Then let’s head back to the dance floor.”

“After we eat some more cake.”

Jono wasn’t about to deny Patrick anything, so he stepped up to the cake table, snagged three slices, and carried the plates with him through the archway that led to the hall at the rear of the ballroom. An unoccupied sofa was the perfect place to have a few minutes alone, and Jono sank down onto the soft cushion with the plate. Patrick settled beside him, their bodies aligned from knees to shoulders, and Jono sighed contentedly.

“I’m glad we did this,” Patrick said after a moment, staring at everyone enjoying themselves in the ballroom.

Jono wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and turned his head to take a bite of cake offered up on the fork. “Me, too. But I would have been happy even if we’d never got married.”

Patrick smiled, tilting his head for a kiss Jono was glad to give him. The taste of caramel frosting lingered on his tongue, flavoring the kiss. “I know.”

“You’re supposed to be dancing!” Lillian announced imperiously as she darted out of the ballroom, Sage and Marek close behind her.

Jono quickly lifted the plate out of the way as Lillian scrambled onto their laps, her tiara askew and sash loose around her waist. “We were dancing, but we needed a break.”

“For more cake? I guess that’s all right.”

Jono laughed at her grudging tone and fed her a bite of cake. “We’ll head back inside once we finish these.”

“I’ll help!”

“Hey, save some for me,” Wade said as he came out of the ballroom, leading Riordan by the hand.

Lillian curled her arm protectively around the plate Jono was holding. “No, get your own.”

Everyone burst out laughing. Riordan elbowed Wade in the side, shaking his head. “She took your snack lessons to heart.”

“They grow up so fast,” Wade said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

Sage sat down on Jono’s other side, reaching over to pull Lillian into her lap. The plate went with her, and Jono let the little girl have it. “Happy to finally be married?”

“You put on a good wedding,” Patrick said.

“I’ll be glad not to keep paying out deposits.”

Jono chuckled, looking around at the core of his pack, happy to be able to share the day with them. “I’m sure.”

“There’s a breakfast in the morning for guests, but you’re not obligated to stay for it.”

The hotel room where they’d gotten ready for the wedding was nice, but Manhattan was only a drive away. Jono tilted his head, catching Patrick’s eye. Patrick shrugged, hand resting on Jono’s thigh. “We might head back. It would make it easier to reach the airport for our flight tomorrow.”

They were borrowing Marek’s private jet and heading for Maui, intent on taking a week away for their honeymoon. New York City would be in Sage’s safe and capable hands while they enjoyed themselves on a tropical beach.

“The jet won’t leave without you,” Marek said.

“I asked them to fill it up with your favorite snacks,” Wade added.

“Ta,” Jono said, a warmth settling in his chest that came from being cared for and loved, not just by Patrick, but by their pack.

By family.

He wouldn’t change this moment for anything.

8

They drove back to Manhattan at 1:00 a.m., checking out from the estate under cover of darkness with Sage to give their excuses in the morning. Not that anyone would mind, and if they did, well, that was their problem. Patrick had more important things to think about on the drive home—like the way Jono’s hand rested high on his thigh, half an inch from his clothed cock, and refusing to go higher.

“You’re such a damn tease,” Patrick groaned when they finally pulled into their garage.

“You’re just easy,” Jono drawled, the smirk on his face something Patrick wanted to kiss away.

“Only for you,” Patrick retorted, coming around the Mustang. He wasted no time in grabbing Jono by the tie and pulling him down into a searing kiss, pouring all of his pent-up frustration over the last hour or so into it.

Hands curled over his thighs, and Patrick found himself being lifted into the air with an ease that never ceased to amaze him, even all these years later. He wrapped his legs around Jono’s waist, wrapped his arms around Jono’s neck, and did his best to breathe for the both of them.

“Can’t believe we’re married,” Jono muttered against the corner of his mouth. “Can’t believe I’m going to go upstairs and fuck my husband.”

“Don’t trip,” Patrick said, grinding against Jono because he could, and he liked the way it made Jono groan.

“And you say I’m a tease.”

Patrick laughed, sucking kisses down Jono’s throat, safe in the knowledge that Jono hadn’t ever dropped him like this and wouldn’t now. He was carried down the hall to the elevator, where he was pressed up against the wall, Jono’s body keeping him in place while the other man fumbled at the buttons for the top floor.

Patrick’s cock was hard in his pants, and it was difficult to get enough air with the way Jono rocked against him. The soft vibrations of the elevator as it ascended thrummed through his ribs, a counterpoint to the motion of their hips. He ran his fingers through Jono’s hair, making a mess of the black strands before getting a good grip to pull Jono’s head back so he could kiss him properly. It wasn’t new, but it felt new—a comfort he wanted to never live without.

The elevator door pinging open was background noise he didn’t pay attention to until Jono hauled him away from the wall, spinning around and walking them both into the hallway. It was dark, so Patrick freed one hand long enough to scatter some magelights up ahead, shining the way to the bedroom.

Jono walked with unerring steps into it, ignoring the light switch in favor of the magelights that Patrick sent up to the ceiling with a thought. Patrick finally deigned to pull his mouth away from Jono’s, dragging one hand down his lover’s face, feeling the bump of his wedding ring slide over the sharpness of Jono’s jaw. The weight and feel of it was strange and new, and he never wanted to take it off.

“Hey,” Patrick said, staring into those wolf-bright blue eyes full of so much love. “We’re married.”

Jono smiled, slow and easy. “Yeah, Pat. We’re married.”

Patrick unwound his legs from Jono’s waist, letting his feet sink back to the floor. His body dragged against Jono’s as he did so, the friction against his clothed cock making him suck in a breath. Patrick shrugged out of his suit jacket, watching Jono do the same, both of them stealing kisses as they helped each other get undressed from their wedding finery, finding excuses to touch skin with every movement of their hands.

The air in the bedroom was warm, the air-conditioning having been kept off for the day. Patrick’s skin prickled from desire as he let Jono push him down onto the bed, spreading his legs. His fingers caught on Jono’s hips, urging him closer, and he sighed against the warm skin beneath his mouth as Jono settled on top of him. Their cocks brushed together from the motion, sensation pricking along Patrick’s nerves. He bit down lightly on Jono’s collarbone, worrying the skin between his teeth as Jono ground their hips together.

“Didn’t want to have you like this in the hotel,” Jono muttered against his temple, dragging his lips down over Patrick’s cheek.

“You can have me anywhere we won’t be arrested. I don’t have a badge anymore to talk my way out of public sex,” Patrick told him.

Jono laughed, burying his face against the curve of Patrick’s neck and shoulders. “The travesty. Guess I’ll make do with our bed.”

Patrick ran his hands down the length of Jono’s broad back, feeling how his wedding ring bumped over the ladder of Jono’s rib cage. “I like our bed.”

“Suppose it’s a proper marriage bed now.”

Patrick rolled his eyes, hiking up a leg to dig his heel against Jono’s ass. “Only if you fuck me.”

The heat in Jono’s eyes seared right through Patrick, thrumming through his nerves. To be wanted and loved like this was a heady thing he savored, arching beneath Jono’s hands and his mouth. They moved with the knowledge of each other’s bodies having been embedded in their fingertips over the years, a touch memory they could shape without even looking.

When Jono’s mouth slid over his cock, tongue flicking at the tip, Patrick let out a quiet groan, hips jerking up. A strong arm settled over his stomach, bearing him back down to the bed, keeping him in place. The curve of Jono’s wedding ring against his cock made Patrick bite his lip, the sensation new. Jono’s mouth slid lower, and Patrick reveled in the wet heat, in how good Jono always made him feel. He threaded his fingers through Jono’s hair, giving it a light tug.

Jono released his cock with a slick-sounding pop and shifted upright. He leaned across the bed to pull a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Patrick watched him through half-lidded eyes, gaze caught on the glint of Jono’s wedding ring. He propped himself up on both elbows, spreading his legs as Jono slid both hands between them, fingers stroking over sensitive skin.

“I want to ride you,” Patrick said, tipping his head back and breathing through his nose as Jono’s finger pushed into him.

“Never going to say no to that.”

Jono took his time opening Patrick up, teasing him, and Patrick wasn’t going to complain. The first time the edge of Jono’s wedding ring brushed up against his hole had him twitching. Jono rubbed it against the edge of his hole, three fingers deep inside Patrick, who was unashamedly grinding down against the touch.

Patrick reached for him with grasping hands, pulling Jono down into a deep kiss even as those long, talented fingers inside him pressed against his prostate, sending fire licking across his nerves. Patrick scraped his fingernails over Jono’s back before pressing on his shoulders. They didn’t need words to express what they wanted, and Jono sat up, hooking an arm around Patrick’s back to haul him upright as well. The fingers inside him slid out, and he sucked a kiss against the side of Jono’s neck to keep the whine from escaping his throat.

Jono knelt on the bed, knees spread wide, and Patrick had no choice but to let his own slot on the outer side of Jono’s thighs. He rose up onto his knees, dragging his lips up Jono’s neck, licking at the pulse there, before letting his mouth hover over his husband’s. Jono’s hands settled on his waist, fingers still slick, holding him steady as Patrick reached behind for Jono’s cock and guided it to his hole.

He slid down onto it in one long glide, the moan that tore free of his mouth swallowed up by Jono’s. The sensation of being filled was like coming home, the length and breadth of Jono’s hard cock sliding into him everything he wanted. Patrick sank down all the way to the root, clenching around Jono’s length until he groaned in Patrick’s ears, fingers digging into his ass.

“You keep teasing me like that and I’ll just lay you out on the bed and fuck you,” Jono growled.

“Like I’d ever complain about that,” Patrick muttered against his throat. He nipped at the warm skin there as Jono’s hands flexed against his ass. Acceding to that silent request, Patrick rose up on his knees again, the drag of Jono’s cock sliding out of him making him groan.

Finding a rhythm was second nature, everything about how they moved together proof of their partnership. Patrick fucked himself on Jono’s cock with a covetous sort of desire that clawed at him, pleasure building in his gut and snaking up his spine. Jono moved with him, hips snapping up every time Patrick ground down against him, both of them chasing their need for each other in frantic motions.

The sound of their sweat-slicked skin slapping together, the creak from the bed, and their moans echoed in the bedroom. Patrick dragged his mouth back to Jono’s, stealing frantic kisses even as the aching pressure built in his gut from the need to come. Jono slid his left hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Patrick’s cock to stroke him in a counterpoint to the movement of their hips.

“Let go,” Jono muttered against his throat. “I want to feel my husband come.”

It shouldn’t have been as triggering as it was, but Patrick had no recourse in that moment for the acknowledgment of what they were. He came riding Jono’s cock, head thrown back with a ragged cry, spilling over his husband’s hand, entire body shivering from the intense release.

Jono kept thrusting up into him, grinding deep, and Patrick clenched down around him as best he could, wanting to share the moment. It didn’t take long for Jono to tip over the edge, cock throbbing inside Patrick as he came. For a moment, they just held each other, hands pressed against hot skin, Jono’s face buried against Patrick’s shoulder, both of them heaving for breath.

Patrick closed his eyes, cradling Jono in his arms, thinking about how much he’d wanted Jono that night in Tempest so long ago when he’d first laid eyes on the Brit. He hadn’t known then what Jono would become to him, but he wouldn’t change any of it—not the loss or the betrayals or the heartache that had pitted the road to the end of the world. Because giving all that up meant giving up his pack, his family, and the future that surrounded him, forever promised in the waves of Maui and tied up with dragon-made wedding rings years later.

“I love you,” Patrick said when they were curled around each other after the glow of orgasm had faded, skin warm, body sated.

Jono took his left hand and drew it to his mouth, kissing the wedding ring. His wolf-bright blue eyes nearly glowed in the near darkness of their bedroom, the magelights dimmed to starlike pinpricks against the ceiling.

“I love you. I always have and always will,” Jono said.

Years ago, they’d fought together at the end of the world, refusing to be remembered in a myth of someone else’s making. And maybe all of this was inevitable, maybe Patrick had always been born to exist in such a way, but this life was theirs now—theirs to live however they wanted.

This was forever, and Patrick would live in it and love Jono as his husband without regret.

Looking for more found family and spicy action? Check out the Metahuman Files series.

Looking for meddling gods, intricate world-building, and epic romantic fantasy? Check out the Infernal War Saga.

Don’t miss out on sneak peeks, exciting news, and more! Sign up for Hailey Turner’s newsletter to stay up-to-date on her upcoming books.

GLOSSARY

Short descriptions of words, acronyms, and phrases used in the story that weren’t readily explained in text. Included as well are character names.

Bailey, Spencer: Mage. Former combat mage with the Mage Corps. Former PIA special agent. Currently an SOA special agent.

Breckenridge, Gerard: Immortal. Current identity of Cú Chulainn. See, Cú Chulainn.

Casale, Giovanni: Human. Commissioner of the NYPD.

Collins, Patrick: Mage. Former combat mage with the Mage Corps. Former SOA special agent. Currently alpha of the New York City god pack he co-leads with Jono.

Cú Chulainn: (Pronunciation: ku CULL-ann) Immortal. Celtic god and son of the god Lugh. Member of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Irish warrior. Carries the Gáe Bulg in fights.

de Vere, Jonothon: God pack werewolf. Originally from London, England, currently resides in New York City. Alpha of the New York City god pack he co-leads with Patrick.

Dire: A rank held only within a god pack. The moniker is taken from the dire wolf but has been shortened to account for different werecreature species. Essentially a rank held by a loyal pack member who helps enforce the alphas’ orders.

Espinoza, Wade: Fledgling fire dragon. Part of Jono and Patrick’s god pack.

Fenrir: Immortal. Wolf in the Norse pantheon. Former patron to a god pack.

God pack: A pack of werecreatures infected with the god strain of the werevirus. They act as spokespeople for hidden werecreature packs in their territory. They are supported by monetary tithes from the packs under their protection. Very few retain a connection to their animal-god patrons.

Hermes: Immortal. Greek messenger god and god of trade, thieves, travelers, sports, athletes, border crossings, and guide to the Underworld.

Hernandez, Emma: Werewolf. Alpha of the Tempest pack.

Hernandez, Leon: Werewolf. Co-leader of the Tempest pack.

Kohli, Priya: Mage. Director of the Supernatural Operations Agency.

Mage: Highest rank of magic users and the only practitioners who can tap external power from ley lines and nexuses.

Magic: Emanating from and powered by a person’s soul. Roughly one-quarter of the world’s population has magic. Strength varies, with different titles being bestowed depending on a person’s magical reach. Casting is divided into defensive wards and offensive spells.

Maguire, Riordan: Selkie. Chief of Clan Maguire.

Mulroney, Nadine: Mage. Works counterintelligence for the PIA. Is fluent in French and based out of Paris, France.

Night Court: Vampire group that oversees claimed territory. Headed by a single master vampire. Several Night Courts can exist in the same major city.

Órlaith: (Pronunciation: OR-lah) Immortal. Daughter of Ruadán. The Summer Lady of the Seelie Court and heir to Brigid. Married to Cú Chulainn.

PCB: Preternatural Crimes Bureau. A PCB is usually found only in the police departments of major metropolitan areas in the United States. The PCB in New York City is headed up by a bureau chief. The five detective boroughs within the NYPD all field detectives specializing in preternatural crimes through the PCB. The PCB has jurisdiction throughout the five boroughs and its own detachment of cops that work in homicide, narcotics, major crimes, and CSU. The PCB is one of the least manned departments in the NYPD due to the type of cases it handles.

SOA: Supernatural Operations Agency. SOA is the domestic intelligence and security service of the United States that focuses on magical and preternatural crimes and terrorism. Employs human, preternatural, and magically affiliated people to field positions for domestic defense. (Equivalent to FBI)

Sorcerer/Sorceress: Second-highest rank of magic users and moderately more common than mages but are outnumbered by witches and wizards.

Soulbond: A binding of two or more souls to tie people together for magical needs. Illegal under the laws of all governments.

Taylor, Lillian: Weretiger. Daughter of Sage and Marek.

Taylor, Marek: Seer. CEO of PreterWorld, a social media platform geared toward the preternatural and supernatural community. His patrons are the Norns.

Taylor, Sage: Weretiger. A Diné lawyer who works for the fae law firm Gentry & Thyme. Dire to the New York City god pack.

Veil: The metaphysical barrier between Earth/mundane plane and other worlds/dimensions/planes, and versions of hell and heaven derived from myths.

Werecreatures: Humans who are infected with the werevirus. Can change form into various animalistic shapes. Werecreatures are either infected later on in life or are born with the disease.

Werevirus: An incurable disease that makes those who are infected change into monstrous beasts. Created by an ancient Roman mage, the werevirus was one of the first recorded instances of magically created biological warfare introduced into society. People are born with the werevirus or become infected through intercourse or blood. Two strains exist: a normal strain and a god strain. The god strain has stronger magical properties, which can cause the infected to be susceptible to an immortal patron.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

Thank you to the fans who love the Soulbound series so much. I’d always meant to eventually write Patrick and Jono’s wedding. It just took me a little while to get to it.

Your love for the series will always be something that makes me happy.

I would be thrilled and grateful if you would consider reviewing Born to Be Legends on Amazon or Goodreads. I appreciate all honest reviews, positive or negative.

CONNECT WITH HAILEY

Keep up with book news by joining Hailey Turner’s newsletter and get several free short stories.

Join the reader group on Facebook: Hailey Turner’s Hellions.

Follow Hailey on Instagram.

Follow Hailey’s author page on Facebook.

Follow Hailey on Facebook.

Follow Hailey on Goodreads.

Follow Hailey on Pinterest.

Follow Hailey on BookBub.

Follow Hailey on TikTok.

Visit Hailey’s website for books and merch: www.HaileyTurner.com

OTHER WORKS BY HAILEY TURNER

M/M SCIENCE FICTION MILITARY ROMANCE

Captain Jamie Callahan, son of a wealthy senator and socialite mother, is a survivor.

Staff Sergeant Kyle Brannigan, a Special Forces operative, is a man with secrets.

Alpha Team, the Metahuman Defense Force’s top-ranked field team, is where the two collide and their lives will never be the same.

Metahuman Files

In the Wreckage

In the Ruins

In the Shadows

In The Blood

In The Requiem

In the Solace

A Metahuman Files: Classified Novella

Out of the Ashes

New Horizons

Fire In The Heart

M/M URBAN FANTASY

Patrick Collins is a broken mage running from his past.

Jonothon de Vere is a god pack alpha werewolf searching for a home.

In a world where magic is real, myths and legends exist, and gods walk the earth, Patrick and Jono are thrown together by the Fates themselves to fight against an enemy that threatens to consume the world. For if the gods fall and demons from every hell rise up, humanity won’t stand a chance.

Soulbound

A Ferry of Bones & Gold

All Souls Near & Nigh

A Crown of Iron & Silver

A Vigil in the Mourning

On the Wings of War

An Echo in the Sorrow

A Veiled & Hallowed Eve

Soulbound Universe Standalones

Resurrection Reprise

Secondhand Skin

Born to be Legends

LGBTQ+ EPIC STEAMPUNK-INSPIRED FANTASY

Welcome to Maricol, where the land will kill you, kinship turns the gears of war, and burning the dead lest they come back to life is the only way to survive.

Infernal War Saga

The Prince’s Poisoned Vow

The Emperor's Bone Palace

The Queen’s Starfire Throne

Infernal War Saga Novella

An Emporium of Hearts

CONTEMPORARY GAY ROMANCE

Short stories previously published in the Heart2Heart Charity Anthologies.

From the Heart: A Short Story Collection

AUDIOBOOKS

All of Hailey Turner’s audiobooks are available on your favourite listening platform.

Thanks for reading!