Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The end of May in New York City came with a burgeoning heat that Wade Espinoza never really noticed. Being a fire dragon came with some perks, and not being bothered by heat or really feeling cold was one of them. During the cooler months of the year, he usually forgot his jacket or sweater at home, which resulted in odd looks from fellow New Yorkers and resigned scolding from his pack.

But it was almost summer, and Wade was happy to leave the cold-weather clothes he never cared for shoved in the back of his closet whenever he left for school, work, or to handle their pack business. The one good thing about jackets, though, was their pockets, which could carry snacks. The pockets of his jeans were never deep enough, even for the short walk home after a night working a shift at Tempest, his pack's bar.

Tempest was the epicenter of the New York City god pack's outreach for pack needs. It was neutral territory, open to anyone who wandered inside, and Wade had been helping to supervise the staff there since he turned twenty-one two years ago. He was, admittedly, a terrible bartender, but he could pour a beer, a glass of wine, or a shot of whiskey with the best of them. As far as bouncers went, when the need arose, no one was better than him.

Wade's one-bedroom condo was located in the East Village, the same neighborhood he'd lived in since joining the New York City god pack five years ago. The condo overlooking Avenue A was cozy and messy and where Wade stored his various hoards until someone from his pack inevitably showed up and told him to clean the place. The building was also where his favorite food cart made a special stop once a week. Wade looked forward to the food cart's arrival every Tuesday morning for a tasty, greasy breakfast of the best kind after a work shift.

He could already smell the bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich before he turned the corner, along with the unwelcome pungent scent of sulfur and the sound of heckling from people who weren't local to the neighborhood. He wrinkled his nose as he caught sight of three men standing in front of the food cart parked halfway down the street, light shining through its open window. It was almost 6:30 a.m.—he'd closed the bar at 4:00 a.m. and stayed late to handle some pack business—and he was now late for his breakfast pickup.

Clearly, some assholes were trying to steal it.

"Give us the money and we'll let you keep parking here every week," one of the men on the sidewalk said.

Or not.

"Are you seriously trying to do some racketeering? In my neighborhood? In front of my building? With my favorite food cart?" Wade asked loudly as he lengthened his stride.

The small group turned to look at him, the cocky expressions on their faces not impressing Wade. The scent of sulfur got stronger, the particular odor of demon making Wade scowl. Gross. If they ruined his breakfast sandwiches, he was going to be so pissed.

"Keep walking," said one of the men—an ifrit, if Wade had the scent right, and he usually did.

"Uh, no. You're in my territory. You walk."

One of the ifrits swaggered closer, flashing sharp teeth and giving off a threatening aura that might have worked on a mundane human but which Wade only found laughable. He'd faced down plenty of demons and gods in his twenty-three years, and Wade hadn't found anything dead or alive these days that he couldn't eat, ifrits included.

He flashed his own teeth, the skin on his face getting that particular itch that happened when he shifted mass just enough to push dragon scales through it. The ifrit froze midstep, one foot hovering over the sidewalk as all the color washed out of his tanned face.

"Walk, or I get a side of demon with my BEC," Wade said. The group of ifrits as a whole spun on their heels and sprinted away with a burst of supernatural speed without another word. Wade snorted, clearing smoke from his nose. "And don't come back!"

Wade was still scowling in the direction the ifrits had run off to when he stepped up to the food cart's open window. Paolo leaned through the opening, turning his head in the same direction, but the ifrits were already gone.

"Thanks, kid," Paolo grunted. He was a tall, burly cook in his late thirties. His entire family ran a food cart business in New York City, and Wade had hit up every single one of them in his time living there, but he liked Paolo's BECs best.

"Have they been by before?"

"First time for mine."

Wade turned to look at him, frowning as he dug out his wallet. He'd lived around Patrick Collins for years and knew how to read between the lines of what people said and meant, thanks to the mage and former special agent of the Supernatural Operations Agency. "But not for the rest of your family?"

Paolo grimaced as he shoved away from the window to rummage at the counter to his left. "Some of the cousins said they got hit up by a gang the other week. They closed the carts early rather than pay."

"Were they in pack territory?"

Paolo snorted out a laugh as he came back with a bulging plastic bag. "You know we only park in pack territory. Werecreatures make great customers."

Because werecreatures, like magic users and Wade and others who were part of the preternatural or supernatural communities, needed more food than mundane humans for energy. He was thankful for the fact that, tithes to the god pack aside, Marek Taylor was a billionaire who never minded Wade's grocery bill. "Yeah, but which one?"

"The carts were in Downtown Manhattan and Midtown."

Wade knew every single werecreature pack in those neighborhoods and made a mental note to send an email to those particular pack alphas. "I'll let the packs know to keep an eye out for the ifrits."

"Is that what they were?"

"They were assholes."

" Dumb assholes."

"That's the only kind."

Paolo laughed and handed Wade his bag of precious BECs. "Your breakfast. On the house today."

Wade made a face, then quickly pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and shoved it in the tip jar bolted to the food cart's counter. "Thanks."

Paolo didn't even try to stop him. "See you next week?"

"I'll be out of town."

"Then let me know when you're back, and I'll stop by."

"Thanks," Wade called over his shoulder as he walked toward his apartment building. He dug into the bag and pulled out a steaming hot BEC, unwrapping it to take a large bite. He had eleven more in the bag and ate through three of them before he even made it to the front door of his apartment on the third floor. Putting his key into the lock, he shouldered the door open while shoving the last bite of his latest BEC into his mouth to free up his hands.

Wade snagged another sandwich, carrying the bag with him into his bedroom, which was a mess by Patrick's standards but perfectly comfy by his. The custom-tailored suit Sage Taylor, his god pack's dire, had paid for was currently at her mansion on Fifth Avenue, but Wade needed to change his clothes anyway. Lillian Taylor, Sage and Marek's daughter and Wade's favorite niece ever, had hit the toddler stage of being particular about the scents that came around her. She threw a temper tantrum when any of the core of the god pack smelled like someone else.

So Wade ate the rest of his BECs around a quick shower and getting dressed in new clothes, tossing his old ones in the direction of the overflowing laundry basket in the corner. At some point, he'd have to actually do his laundry, but he figured he had enough jeans and T-shirts in his dresser and closet to get him through another couple of weeks. He ate his last BEC while running out of the building to catch his rideshare, phone chiming with an incoming text from Patrick.

Where are you?

On my way. Wade slid into the back seat of the car and snapped a selfie, sending it to Patrick.

Judging by the crumbs on your face, you ate already, didn't you? Sage made waffles.

Don't eat my waffles! A few seconds later, Wade received a selfie of Patrick holding an entire Belgian waffle on a fork and staring at the camera. That's just mean.

I'm feeding it to Lillian.

Wade groaned, knowing he couldn't deny his niece anything to eat. Fine. But only her. Be there soon.

Heading Uptown on a Tuesday morning wasn't as bad as going in the other direction, but it still took some time to get through rush-hour traffic. Wade passed the time scrolling through one of his favorite social media accounts, checking out any new restaurants in Manhattan that he needed to add to his list of places to try. Some of the viral food dishes looked absolutely ridiculous, which meant, of course, he wanted to eat them.

Eventually, the rideshare dropped him off in front of an Art Deco mansion overlooking Fifth Avenue and Central Park, the entire block god pack territory by virtue of Sage's name being on the deed of trust to the building. Wade had a key to it, just like he had a key to Patrick and Jono's building in Tribeca. Marek had dropped a ridiculous amount of money to buy an entire four-story condo building with a rooftop patio and garden, had it renovated into a single connected home, and then gave it to Patrick and Jono three years ago.

Despite Patrick and Jono being the alphas of the New York City god pack, neither of them, nor Sage nor Wade, called the ancestral territory in the Upper Manhattan neighborhood of Hamilton Heights home. They left those blocks of buildings to the rest of the god pack that had built up around them after the Battle of Samhain at the end of the world.

Linh Nguyen, Camilo Rivera, and Sahil Agarwal had been the first god pack members Jono had accepted into their ranks a few years ago, and they pretty much oversaw the housing situation in Hamilton Heights. The underground challenge ring was an aspect of the territory there that both Jono and Patrick detested and which the Crescent Coven had done multiple cleansing rituals to eradicate the rancid vibes there that always creeped Wade out.

Usually, a god pack clustered together in their territory and didn't have their alphas and dire living somewhere else. Usually, a god pack wasn't headed up by a mage and a werewolf who once channeled an animal-god patron. Fenrir had faded away after some time had passed, unlike the Norns, who Wade knew still claimed Marek as their seer. Marek hadn't lost a shade of color since the Battle of Samhain, but Wade knew the world was washed out for him, with some colors fully gone. He wasn't blind and driven mad by the Norns—yet—and hopefully wouldn't hit that unwanted but inevitable milestone for a few more decades. He had a daughter to raise, after all.

A daughter who shrieked gleefully the second Wade stepped through the front door of the grand apartment Sage and Marek called home in the massive mansion.

"Uncle Wade!" Lillian screamed, throwing her arms up and sending pieces of Belgian waffle flying into the air. She wiggled out of her booster seat with the nimble fearlessness that only came with being born a werecreature, but she still wasn't quick enough to outmaneuver her mother.

"Oh, let's not take a header to the floor," Sage said, scooping Lillian up and settling the little girl on her hip.

Lillian smacked a sticky hand against Sage's cheek before pointing at Wade. "Uncle!"

"Hey, hey, how's my favorite girl?" Wade asked as he hurried through the living area over to the crowded dining table. The curtains were pulled back from the wall of windows, showing off the sunny view of Central Park.

Sage handed Lillian over with a tired smile. "Not done with breakfast. She wants a piece of fruit in every single square of the waffle and each square cut into a piece by itself. Have fun."

Wade kissed Lillian on her forehead, smiling when she giggled. "Of course she does."

Lillian's hair was a medium brown, grown out long, with soft, loose curls she got from Marek. Her brown eyes and the natural-born ability to shift into a weretiger she got from Sage. Her stubborn nature, they liked to joke, she got from Patrick through osmosis. Wade had made it his duty to teach her about the tastiness of snacks, and every time she hit a food milestone, he was there to share it with her.

Syrup and whipped cream–covered Belgian waffles dotted with fruit was definitely a meal they'd shared before. Wade sat in the last empty seat at the table, settling Lillian on his lap. Jono reached across the table with Lillian's plastic plate and cartoon-themed utensils, which Wade snagged and dropped in front of them.

"You're late," Patrick said from Jono's left.

Wade snorted, picking up a blueberry and putting it into a waffle square. "Had some pack business after we closed down the bar, and then some ifrits tried to mess with my favorite food cart outside my place."

Patrick frowned at him, the redhead reaching for the syrup to pass that over. "What were ifrits doing on your block?"

"Trying to start a shakedown business. I don't think they knew it was my block."

"Are they dead?"

"I'd be even later if they were because I'd probably be calling from the PCB."

Patrick made a contemplative sound before drinking his coffee. "Casale wouldn't let you get processed for something like that."

"He's no longer bureau chief of the Preternatural Crimes Bureau."

"No, he's just the police commissioner now."

Their god pack had open communication with the New York Police Department through Casale these days. After the Battle of Samhain, the last act of the outgoing Mayor Doyle Ferbenn—the human identity for the Dagda—had been to appoint Casale to lead the NYPD, not just the PCB. Out of everyone who could've taken over that role after the Battle of Samhain, Casale was top of the list, and no one on either side of the political divide had complained about it, even several years on.

Wade finished fixing Lillian's waffle and handed back her fork. "One square at a time."

Lillian stabbed her fork into a square topped with a strawberry and whipped cream and shoved it into her mouth, smiling around it. Wade snorted and took the plate Sage had made for him that she passed over. "We're expected in Central Park in thirty minutes, so eat fast."

Emma Zhang laughed from the other side of the table. "Like you need to tell Wade that."

Wade tossed a blueberry at her, which she leaned back in her chair to catch in her mouth. Beside her, Leon Hernandez did Wade a solid by passing over the coffee carafe so he could pour himself a mug of what was Kona by the smell of it.

Emma and Leon lived on one of the lower levels in the mansion, co-alphas of their Tempest pack. They'd owned the bar that held their pack's namesake before gifting it to Jono to help him establish a business for his residency in the States. Wade still thought Jono and Patrick should just get married. The paperwork seemed a lot simpler that way.

"Who's babysitting my girl?" Wade asked.

"We are," Leon said.

"Linh is proxy while we're all gone for a week, but we're not advertising our absence," Jono said as he stole some bacon off of Patrick's plate.

"It better only be a week. I need to be in DC for that trial, and Priya wants me to consult on a new case, but the evidence she wants me to review is restricted to SOA headquarters," Patrick said.

"You're the one who told Gerard we'd accept his wedding invitation, no matter when or where it was."

"I couldn't tell him no . I just thought he'd hold it somewhere in Ireland, not past the veil."

Wade liked former Captain Gerard Breckenridge. The half-fae immortal-born Cú Chulainn had been a huge help at the end of the world, but Wade also liked the way he could piss Patrick off. He found it hilarious. The rest of the Hellraisers, Patrick's old Mage Corps team, hadn't been half-bad either.

What Wade didn't much like was going past the veil. Every single time they'd done so, it had been because of a fight. He just hoped Gerard's upcoming wedding to órlaith wasn't going to devolve into a feud of some sort. Wade had been assured they'd all get to eat the food without it impeding their ability to get home, and he was looking forward to dessert.

"Chew faster," Sage said, looking at her watch.

Everyone dug in, shoveling food into their mouths and finishing their breakfast quickly. Wade cleaned his plate before Lillian finished hers, but he stayed at the table when everyone else left to gather their things. Their wedding clothes would be carried over in garment bags, but Wade let Sage handle all of that while he kept Lillian distracted from the fact they would be leaving.

Going past the veil always messed around with time. Spending a day in Underhill would have them losing a week or more in the mundane world. It would be the longest time spent away from Lillian for Sage and Marek, as one of them typically tried to stay behind with her, even with the pack on hand. Gerard had allowed a plus-one for Sage and Wade, and Marek had decided to come along.

Wade didn't have a plus-anything at the moment, and he was fine with that. He still had one more year of college before he'd earn his BA in Humanities, and Wade had no desire to get sidetracked any more than he already had during and after the Battle of Samhain. Being in college was always a nice excuse for whenever General Noah Reed inevitably called him up every six months or so to see if he wanted to join the military and be trained by an actual dragon. Wade kept hanging up on Patrick's old superior officer, wondering when the other dragon would figure out the answer was, and would always, be no .

He'd done his time fighting, both with his pack and when he'd been forced to as a young teenager in order to survive the wrath of a god. Wade's therapist had given him the green light years ago to say no to whatever he didn't want to do, and he was going to stick to that. Reed could keep listening to the silence of an ended call.

"I have your clothes," Jono said when he wandered back into the dining room, two garment bags draped over one arm and a Louis Vuitton duffel bag held in the other.

Wade glanced down at Lillian's almost empty plate. She still had her fork clenched in one little hand, but she'd been poking at his phone for the last couple of minutes, watching a cartoon. "I think she's done."

"Playtime?" Lillian asked, looking away from the screen and giving him a sticky-looking smile.

"I think it's bath time for you."

Wade picked her up and held her aloft over his head easily, spinning once and no more than that because he didn't want to upset her stomach. She shrieked gleefully at him, and he carried her upstairs. Emma met him at the bathroom with a smile. Lillian didn't mind going into her aunt's arms too much, but it still took a few minutes before she was distracted by bath toys and bubbles and Wade could make his escape.

Everyone who was leaving had already exited the apartment, with Patrick holding open the door that led to the foyer and the elevator. "Ready?"

Wade nodded and lengthened his stride. "Are we walking into the park?"

"The hawthorn path isn't accessible by car, so yes, we're walking."

Wade stepped past Patrick into the foyer, then ducked into the elevator that Jono was holding open. He nearly tripped over the small carry-on Sage was bringing along but caught himself in time. As the doors closed, Wade's sharp hearing picked up Lillian's angry cry as she realized her pack was leaving.

Sage let out a soft little sigh, to which Marek said, "It's only a day or so, sweetheart."

"But it's a week for her," Sage replied.

"She's in good hands."

Emma and Leon might not be god pack, but they were still pack , and Wade knew Lillian would be safe. "We'll need to bring her back something. Gotta bribe our way back into her good graces."

Patrick scowled over his shoulder. "Do not bring back any snacks for her to try."

"Hey, the fae promised the food would be safe!"

"No," everyone in the elevator said in unison.

Wade rolled his eyes. "Fine."

He'd still try to sneak something back for her, even if it wasn't food.