Page 27 of Paris and the Reaper

Mac’s answering laugh was worth the dramatics.

Paris grabbed the other roller, and they worked together to cover the nightmare mural with cool blue-green, the rhythmic roll of the brushes, the smooth jazz notes filling the cabin, and the crackling fire creating the cocoon of calm they’d both needed. Paris might even go so far as to say an uplift in Mac’s mood, the typically restrained raven swaying his hips to the tune as he ran the roller through the paint tray again. “He dances,” Paris gasped, playing dramatic again, hoping for a similar reaction.

Mac rolled his eyes and swiped at the hair that had fallen across his forehead. “He sways because he can barely stay upright.”

“I don’t believe you.” Leaving his roller propped against the wall, Paris gently removed Mac’s from his hand and rested it beside his, then just as gently drew Mac by the wrist into his arms.

Around a smile, Mac grumbled, “What are you doing?”

“Dancing.” And taking his chance, Mac’s walls and defenses down, his limbs loose and body warm. Paris shifted closer, soaking up the energy that vibrated between them.

“Paris,” Mac whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t?—”

Yes, you canwas on the tip of his tongue, but when Paris looked into Mac’s eyes, when he saw the desire and terrorswirling in the dark depths, he altered course, desperate not to drive whatever had put that fear in his gaze higher. That was the last thing Mac needed. He laid a hand on Mac’s chest and ignored his own desire to drag his fingers through the curls there. “I’m not asking for anything, Mac. Just dancing with a friend and helping you get out of your head.”

The sound that slipped from Mac’s lips was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and he tilted forward, forehead pressed against Paris’s. “You’re doing more than that.” He cupped the side of Paris’s neck, and Paris’s heart leapt. Jumped all the way into his throat as Mac angled his face, breath coasting over his lips.

And then gone the next instant, and it took Paris a disorienting second to realize why. Someone was banging on the cabin door, and every muscle in Mac’s frame had snapped tight, gone battle-ready, his gaze fixed on the door.

“It’s probably just Liam or one of the witches,” Paris said, even as his own pulse raced faster, adrenaline kicking in to help him fight or flee.

“If it was Liam, I would have sensed him. And the witches know to signal.” He stepped out of Paris’s arms and peeked out the side window into the trees. “Why didn’t the crows alert me?”

Had someone found them? Someone who wanted to kidnap him for his inheritance? Or someone who worked for Chaos? Was it the giant coming back for him? “Mac...” he whispered, his voice trembling now.

Mac grabbed the bread knife off the counter and slapped the handle into Paris’s hand. “Take this and go hide in the bathroom.”

“What?”

“Paris,please.” When he lifted his gaze, his eyes were glowing violet, all trace of desire gone, nothing but terror now. He had no idea who was on the other side of that door, andhe feared the worst. Paris grabbed hold of that imaginary rope inside his chest and tugged. Mac tugged right back. “Go.”

FIFTEEN

When a minute passedwithout the pop of gunfire or the crack of furniture, Paris nudged open the bathroom door. Hearing no raised voices or other sounds of a fight, he opened the door wider and peeked out. Mac was standing over the front door threshold, puffed up and growly, blocking Paris’s view of their visitor and their visitor’s view of him. He fed his crush that protective nugget, wallowing in it, until his name—“Paris Cirillo”—reached his ears.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Mac lied.

“I know he’s here,” said the voice Paris would recognize anywhere. Out of any danger, Paris set aside his makeshift weapons and hustled across the cabin.

“How’s that?” Mac practically barked.

“Because I told him,” Paris said, talking over his best friend’s “Because I can smell him.” Strange reply, but whatever... Kai washere. Paris ducked under Mac’s arm and swallowed the smaller man in a crushing hug.

“Youwhat?” Mac barked at him now, and Paris would get to that truth in just a moment.

For now, he wanted to revel in the familiar, in his first taste of home in over a week, and it warmed his heart that Kai hugged him back just as fiercely. The three of them—Kai, Jason, and Paris—were family, the real kind, and Paris had missed them, dearly. He drew back, checking his friend over, from his dark tousled curls to his tan skin to his big brown eyes. “I missed you,” Paris said to him, then glancing over his shoulder at a simmering Mac, color high in his cheeks, fingers white-knuckling the door, added, “He’s a friend. One of my best.”

“No one is supposed to know you’re here,” Mac said, voice strained. “Not after the last time.”

Okay, he had a point, and a right to be angry—no contact was one of the rules—but if it had been a hard and fast one, Liam wouldn’t have let him use his phone that day. And Paris’s position from that day hadn’t changed. He wasn’t going to leave his human friends stranded in the middle of a magical shitstorm without some kind of backup.

Was that why Kai was here now? Were he and Jason in trouble? Where was Jason? All questions he wanted answers to—inside the cabin. “It’s fine,” he told Mac. “We can trust him.” He shifted from Kai’s arms to Mac’s side and patted his chest, seeking to assure the raven in the same place Paris felt his reassurance whenever he needed it. “Now, can we let him in before the witches get even more curious? The crows are audience enough.”

With a combination glare and growl that would turn Paris on at any other time, Mac begrudgingly opened the door wide enough for Paris to slip back through with Kai in tow.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as Kai glanced around the cabin.

Mac closed the door, then stood beside them, arms crossed. “Better question. Why didn’t the crows alert me that you were here in the first place?”

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