Page 61 of Paris and the Reaper

“No,” Mary said. “But he’s thinning it out more.” Belying her typically confident voice was an undercurrent of very real fear. Mac had only heard her sound like that once before, that day in Portola when she’d faced down Vincent, ironically under Atlas’s arm. “I can feel it.”

And in the next instant, Mac felt something too.

Paris.

A single pulse—agony—pushed down the bond, and then the earth groaned, as if torn apart by some awful magic, and a blast of light that Mac could see through the fog lit the Stick.

“He’s here,” Jenn confirmed. “With Paris.”

That was all the go-ahead Mac needed, and this time, Liam didn’t stop him, taking to wing beside him, the flock at their backs as they streaked toward the site.

Comm no longer in ear, Mac couldn’t hear whether Jenn and Icarus were leading the pack members into the fight, nor whether Jason and Kai were powering the boat of magical reinforcements to shore, but he had to trust his team. Trust that Adam’s contingent would get here too as fast as magic and motors would carry them.

He and Liam sliced through the fog, and when they emerged on the other side, the battle was already in full swing. Jenn and other members of the pack in their big coyote bodies, tumbling with other shifters. Icarus and Jason and their warlocks engaged in combat with several other warlocks. Kai in the air, a white beacon surveying the scene, causing others to look up and gasp, giving their own fighters a chance at the upper hand.

But as Mac scanned past the battle to the altar, he wobbled in flight, the sight of Paris in pain rocking Mac to his core. Blood poured from fresh cuts on his arms and legs and his back bowed and hands fisted as souls poured through him. The scene had been gruesome the first time around, but now that was the man Mac loved on the altar, his forever being tortured, and Mac felt every ounce of his pain in his own soul.

KRAA!Liam screeched beside him and, wing under his, kept him aloft as the initial shock—the agony—ripped through him.

Then morphed into anger, into single-minded purpose.

He called back his thanks, and Paris’s head on the altar lolled their direction, his eyes wide and glowing violet, tracking his and Liam’s flight toward him, before they squeezed shut again and his back bowed once more, his mouth forming the same words, over and over.

Help me.

What horrible deaths was he reliving behind those eyes each time a soul traveled through him? How many could he bear before his own weakened body gave out? Before his soul joinedthem and the bond between him and Mac was severed? They didn’t have time to waste.

Mac pushed love and strength, pride and reassurance along the bond, everything he couldn’t say in raven form, then, with his brother at his side and his flock at his back, dove for the giant.

And streaked back when fireballs and magic sliced through their wave of black, searing the tips of his wings. He banked left, taking half the flock with him, Liam going right with the rest, and they spread wide, too many targets for one warlock and one giant, the rest of the witnesses otherwise occupied.

And more of Mac’s forces arriving by the second, Robin’s big rusty-blond body tearing onto the scene, Abigail’s feline form on his heels, and Adam with his guns at the ready. More of the pack and Paris’s recruits charging in and overwhelming the witnesses.

The giant hurled his fireballs, growing more distracted and disoriented by the second as souls that passed through Paris escaped to the water, toward where Nature called them away from Chaos. Atlas spun, as if sensing her there, and Robin pounced, taking a fireball hit to his pointed ear yet still sailing across the altar at the warlock and taking him down. He opened his jaws on a roar... and then nothing but yellow mist, Atlas snapping away from the scene.

Mac called to Kai, pointedly directing him back to the boat, to Mary in case Atlas reappeared there and sending half the flock with him. He kept the remaining corvids with him and Liam, circling the giant, the heat rolling off him in waves, no doubt scorching Paris where he lay in front of him. They needed to neutralize him before he disappeared into another fireball and charred everything, including Paris.

Mac circled back over Adam, Liam gliding to his flank, in position for them to build on their experience with the ridge giant. And Robin was already where they needed him.

“Robin!” Adam shouted, as if reading Mac’s mind. “Grab him!”

The coyote reared up and snapped at the shreds of the giant’s clothing, using it to pull him back, exposing his chest for Adam’s silver bullets, then clamping hold of his shoulder and dragging him back further, heedless of the heat and flames. The smell of burnt fur tickled Mac’s senses as he and Liam swarmed with their brethren around the giant’s head, pecking and flapping their wings, drawing his fire and fists their direction and away from those on the ground below.

“Brock!” Icarus called. “Chains, now!”

The warlock they’d recruited spread his glowing blue hands, a heavy silver chain appearing out of thin air between them. Adam grabbed one end, Icarus the other, the two humans who could handle it running around the altar, then splitting off in opposite directions, circling the giant’s waist. Brett howled and flailed, shaking off Robin, but Adam and Icarus, the pack at their backs, the flock harassing the giant from the front, dragged him back, back, back over the rocks and to the water’s edge.

Where Mary waited, hanging off the side of the boat, her hands in the water, ripples of green cresting and crashing, circling Brett’s ankles as Adam and Icarus hauled him in.

Turning him back into nothing but a small power-hungry, hate-filled man.

The silver chain dissolved, and before Brett could make a run for it, before he could transform back into the giant, Robin crashed into the waves and held his body under, the assassin doing what he did best, Nature his witness to the kill.

“Mac!” Jason yelled from behind them, and Mac wheeled in the air back toward the altar where Jason was hauling Paris down with Brock’s help. “Mac! We’re losing him!”

THIRTY-FIVE

Mac landed on his feet,in a dead sprint, chanting “No, no, no...” as he slid onto his knees beside Jason. He hauled Paris into his arms, holding his body close. He was too cold, too still. The bond between them pulsed erratically, dimming bit by bit.

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