Page 10 of Paris and the Reaper

Paris whipped his gaze back to him. “I don’t work for my father.”

Liam stepped back, hands raised, palms out. “I believe you. Icarus vouched for you. And your dad tried to kill you. Evidence is in your favor.”

“You talk like a cop too.”

“I would be, if Mac let me.” There was a resigned tilt to his smile, a wistfulness in his voice that Paris recognized. Dreams that someone else had quashed, though he suspected Mac’s motives were more altruistic than his father’s. Before Paris could question him further, Liam opened the door and left it that way while he gathered a stack of clothes from his duffel.

He was giving Paris an out. To who the hell knew where, but the gesture, the intention was loud and clear. Paris was free to go.

He stayed instead, sensing his chances were better with his rescuers than the man who’d repeatedly tried to kill him. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never been on my father’s side.”

Nodding, Liam passed him on the way out the door. He didn’t go far, just over the threshold to the outside bin on the tiny porch, stashing the stack of clothes inside it.

“Who are those for?” Paris asked.

“Me, after a shift.” He glanced over his shoulder, a devilish smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. “Unless you want to see me naked.”

“I’d rather see your brother naked—” Paris slapped a hand over his mouth, as if he could somehow hold in the words that had already escaped.

Liam rolled his eyes as he stood, but his smile gave away his amusement. “Is it the dark and broody of it all?”

“You’ve got dark hair and dark eyes too.”

“But not the broody.”

Paris shrugged as he followed Liam back inside. He hadn’t known Liam long, but he didn’t think the good-natured man had a broody bone in his body. And broody, for better or worse, was Paris’s type, hence why he’d never fallen for Jason, whose ease and carefree attitude reminded him of Liam. And he’d never made a move on Kai because anyone with half a brain could see Jason and Kai were destined for each other.

“Tell me about him,” Paris said as he sank onto the couch in the middle of the cottage. “Why is he all dark and broody?”

Liam claimed the oversize chair to Paris’s left and propped his socked feet on the coffee table. “He’s the oldest.”

“That can’t be all of it.”

His gaze drifted past Paris to the fire and in the serious expression that crossed his face, Paris saw the resemblance to his brother beyond just their similar features. “He’s the reaper for our clan.”

“What does that mean?”

His dark gaze swung back to him, and in it was a hint of the violet Paris had seen in Mac’s. “He carries souls to their ends.”

Paris had read about ravens and other psychopomps who ferried souls. Had heard his father talk and brag about manipulating them to do his bidding. But Mac seemed to beheaping the torture on himself. “And he’s a cop? That’s misery on top of misery.”

“You’re not wrong, especially when it’s the lost ones that keep him up at night.”

Paris quirked his head, not quite following. “Lost ones?”

“Cold cases, that’s his specialty. Souls he can’t find. Icarus was one.”

“Well, he found him now.”

“And he may have to deliver him soon.” Unmistakable sadness streaked through Liam’s eyes before he averted his gaze again. “And a family friend too. It’s almost as bad—” He cut himself off and swallowed hard. “Mac’s not in a good place right now.”

And yet he’d rescued him and seen him to safety. Had made sure his brother looked after him, even after Paris had compromised their safety. “Is there anything we can do? To help?”

“What he asks.” Liam pushed to his feet, then around the coffee table, headed toward the kitchen. “We stay here, safe and sound, until the coast is clear.”

Paris twisted on the sofa. “What’s happening to Icarus... to Mac’s friend... it’s because of my father, isn’t it?”

“In part, but there’s a lot more going on than just one evil man.”

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