Page 16 of Paris and the Reaper

He righted his head, a challenging, devastating smirk turning up one corner of his mouth. “Only if you do.”

“Deal.” He tossed his razor on the palette, capped his paints, and rinsed his brush in another mug he’d claimed for paint water, before ducking into the bathroom to wash his hands and check his bandages. When he reemerged in his tee and boxers, Mac was spreading a blanket on the couch.

“I saidbed. You’re way too tall for that sofa, and this bed is big enough for you and me and two more people.”

Mac eyed the couch, looking anywhere but at Paris. “I’ll be fine here.”

Paris pressed his lips together and waited, hands on his hips, for Mac to glance up and meet his no-you’re-not glare. He caved almost immediately, chuckling as he snatched up the blanketand headed for the other side of the bed. “I see why you and Icarus are friends.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Paris said as he crawled under the sheets and quilt. “He’s all strong and bossy and sexy.”

“There’s more than one interpretation of those words.” Mac stretched out on top of the quilt, fully dressed, the blanket tossed over his feet. Paris let him have that distance, counting it a win that he was beside him at all, that he would get the good night’s sleep he deserved. Counted it a bonus when Mac turned on his side to face him, his dark hair falling across his forehead and making him look years younger. Sweet, almost. His words were even sweeter. “You’re both good people. I didn’t believe it about either of you at first, but like him, you keep proving me wrong.”

Paris would have liked to stay in that gooey good place, but the ache in his heart wouldn’t allow it. “Is Icarus really okay? He was always good to me. I’ll never forgive?—”

Mac’s hand covered his where it rested between them. “He’s fine. So is Adam. For what it’s worth, you helped bring them together.”

“Adam’s the Devil, right? He’s a phoenix?”

“Was. Like Icarus was a vampire.”

Shock sent Paris levering up on his elbow. “He’s not anymore? How did that work?”

Chuckling, Mac tugged him back down. “They were counterbalances—walking rebirth and walking death—whose souls became entwined. Mated, for lack of a better word. Nature released them both, channeling the magic back to her, and giving them a second chance. Their souls chose to come back together.”

That did not sound like an easy task for the reaper who had to guide them. “And how did that work for you?”

Mac closed his eyes, but not fast enough to hide the wretched melancholy that streaked through them. He rolled onto his backand folded his hands over his middle. “We do what the souls deserve. Adam and Icarus deserved that second chance.”

Paris started to reach out, but stopped himself short. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I told?—”

“Whatyoufelt?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, a hard swallow, then a single tear escaped the corner of his eye and raced toward the dark hair at his temple.

Fuck it.

Paris was a tactile person, and it was killing him not to try to soothe the obviously upset man—friend—beside him. He scooted closer and laid a hand on his shoulder. No words, just contact, letting Mac know he wasn’t alone.

He found his words again after another swallow. “When you know the person on your list, when you love them”—he tapped his chest with his fingers—“it’s a special kind of hell. What I want to happen and what must happen aren’t always the same.”

“Your aura was a wreck that day in Encinal and when you first showed up here.”

He whipped his face Paris’s direction, glassy eyes wide. “You can see auras?”

He withdrew his hand, tucking it back with the other beneath his pillow. “I couldn’t before. I don’t know why I do now, and I don’t know how I know what they mean, but I do. Assuming I’m doing it right.”

“What did you read in mine?”

“Loyalty, duty, regret.”

He returned his gaze to the ceiling. “You were reading it right.”

“What do you regret, Mac?”

“So much.”

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