Page 37 of Paris and the Reaper

She nodded, then, reaching around the side of the screen, clicked the right arrow key, and three dots appeared near the road that ran along the western edge of the enclave. “These are cold storage properties your father recently purchased in the area.” Another click, and the map changed, showing a series of pathways that snaked through the peninsular territory. “These,” Mary said, “are river-forged tunnels that run beneath the surface. The rivers are long gone, but the tidewater still comes and goes in the ones close to the water. The tunnels remain.”

The horrible picture came together in Paris’s head, and he covered his gaping mouth with a hand. “To chase the victims through.”

“That’s what we think.” She met his gaze and cringed, apology in her hazel eyes. “There’s more.”

“Do I want to hear it?”

“Not really,” Icarus answered, never taking his eyes off the driveway out the window.

“Tell me anyway.”

“I cross-checked the localized missing persons cases for any known associations with your father.” Mary clicked the forward arrow once more and three pictures appeared, name and descriptions in the captions underneath. “All paranormals. One who was also on Mac’s list.”

Paris didn’t recognize any of them by appearance or by name, but he recognized his father’s MO. Three powerful paranormals—a shifter, a warlock, and a vamp—and one power-hungry human. “Dad used them up, then turned them over.”

“Or he lured them to the giant,” Icarus said.

“Or they betrayed him, and Dad turned them over.” He snagged one of the poker chips from its center holder and flipped it through his fingers the way Atlas had taught him. Like his painting, the repetitive motion provided an outlet for his fearand anxiety so his mind could work. “This must be him. The same giant who took me.”

“Maybe,” Mary said. “Or maybe it’s the ridge giant, who we know Vincent transferred funds to. It’s likely your father had connections to multiple of them.”

Paris tossed the chip aside and propped his elbows on the table, head in his hands. “Ugh. Could he be any more of an asshole?”

Icarus chuckled. “Go easy on him, babe.” He pushed back from the table and circled it to Paris’s side, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Not sure he’s used to the data dumps.”

“I can handle it,” Paris said, as he and Mary likewise rose. “I’ve been with Mac for two weeks.”

Icarus’s ginger brows raced north. “Have you now?”

“I didn’t mean it like?—”

His protest was interrupted by the roar of engines and gravel crunching under tires, but before he could lean to the side and peek out the window, Icarus grasped his chin. “Don’t do anything heroic,” he said, gaze fiery. “It usually ends in death.”

“The way I hear it, you ran off and did something heroic, and you lived. Were reborn, in fact.”

Icarus rolled his eyes. “What are we going to do with you?” He leaned forward and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek, and when he stepped back, Adam and Mac were waiting at the parlor door, while Liam, Jenn, and Abigail continued on to the kitchen, screaming children greeting their arrival.

Icarus greeted Adam by running across the room and jumping into his arms, the older man somehow not stumbling under Icarus’s jacked body. “Fuck or food, baby?”

In answer, Adam turned on his heel and carried his lover toward the stairs, disappearing up them much to Mary’s amusement, her laughter carrying her all the way to the kitchen, leaving only Mac and Paris in the parlor. Paris didn’t run andjump at Mac; he didn’t have to, Mac meeting him midstride, colliding in the middle of the room and wrapping their arms around each other, the bond between them solid. And singing.

“Welcome home,” Paris said as he held Mac close, the raven seeming to want to burrow into him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against his skin, the words more felt than heard. “I didn’t know it was going to take so long.”

Paris cupped his cheek and tilted his face, catching his fading violet gaze. “Please quit apologizing for doing the thing that makes you you. You don’t have to, not with me.” A long exhale later, Mac let go of the remaining tension in his body and went practically limp in Paris’s arms. In his care, right where Paris wanted him to stay. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. I’ve got you.”

TWENTY

Paris woketo sun on his face and heat at his back, to soft skin and softer kisses along his shoulder blades, to pine and earth and Mac’s breath on his nape. A dream, then, one he wanted to stay in for a change. An alternate reality in which, after Paris had finished cleaning up after dinner and returned to his room, he’d found Mac asleep in the guest bed he’d used since arriving at Monte Corvo. He’d crawled in with him, and sometime during the night, the man he was falling for had wrapped around him, was touching him, kissing him, hard for him.

Paris rutted back against Mac’s erection, and the dream Mac grunted. Then glided a hand down Paris’s side, from his shoulder, along the curve of his flank, over his hip, and held him there as he rocked closer, dick notching along Paris’s crack, leaking through the damnable fabric between them. And fucking hell if Paris didn’t want their boxers gone so Mac could shove inside him to the hilt. Fill him full. He leaned his head back on Mac’s shoulder, groaning. “Fuck, I need you.”

Mac’s hand on his hip shifted forward, and for a fleeting second Paris thought it was on the way to where he wanted itmost, to give his aching cock the relief he craved, but then Mac coasted it up his torso instead. Up, up, up, until he clasped his chin and angled his face to look over his shoulder. “Open your eyes, Paris.”

He obeyed—and jolted. Not a dream. So not a dream. Mac’s hair was a mess, a thin ring of violet circled his blown wide pupils, and the color was high on his cheeks, a dark pink like the spider web of desire splintering his aura, cracking through the usual black and blue.

“You brought me home,” Mac said, and Paris felt the pull in his chest. “Every time I crossed the plane, I had a reason to come back. I’ve never had that before. Some part of me always felt adrift, the worst on the day of the Rift and each anniversary since. Like I might just drift away too, into the cold, but that didn’t happen this time. I came back, because of you.”

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