Page 5 of Paris and the Reaper

He wished he had the bucket back, nausea threatening. He tugged at the bandages instead, a distraction and an end to the immediate violence against his skin.

Long-fingered hands covered his. “You need to leave those on,” the stranger said. “Your wounds are still healing.”

He shuddered at the reminder of the searing heat. A sharp contrast to the cold floor beneath him and the cool wall at his back. He gathered more of the sheet around him, the chilly shock working its way inside.

“You’re cold?”

He nodded.

The man stood and crossed the room to the cabinet that was near the door. When he returned, he carried a stack of gray clothing. “Icarus said to bring you these.” He handed the soft sweats to Paris. “He said they would make you feel better.”

His eyes watered again, and he clutched the clothing to his chest. The courtesan was always so good to him. Despite being a vampire, Icarus had never scared him, had never committed a single violent act against him. Unlike Paris, who had given his father’s warlock Icarus’s contact info, knowing nothing good could come of it, knowing their promises to keep Icarus safewere probably a lie, but having no choice, his father’s knee on his neck at the time. He should’ve let him end it then.

A mug appeared in his periphery. “How about some tea?”

Paris accepted the cup, sniffed the drink inside, and, relatively confident it was just an herbal blend, sipped it slowly. It coated his throat and made it easier to get the words out. “Who are you?”

“Liam Kelley.” He shifted out of his crouch and onto his ass, sitting cross-legged across from him. “Mac’s brother.”

“Mac?”

“Cormac. The raven.”

The raven. The witches. More of it was coming back to him. “We’re in Encinal?”

Liam nodded. “With the coven.”

Paris could hear muffled voices, other movement in whatever building they were hiding in. “What are they doing?”

“Packing. They tend to stay on the move.”

Paris had heard that about the witches. He recalled the map in his father’s command center, little green pins identifying each coven’s location. Had there been one in Encinal? He couldn’t say. Everyone knew the nearby shellmound was haunted. That the area was consecrated. But did Vincent know the witches hid nearby too? Would he find him here? “Where will I go?” he asked Liam.

“With them, for now.”

He held the sweats closer, his whole immediate world. But what of the rest? “Can I get a phone?”

“’Fraid not. Mac’s orders.”

“I need to check on my friends. If my father?—”

“Your father has his hands full right now. He probably hasn’t even realized you’re missing.”

“But I was supposed to meet them. They’ll be worried.”

“It’s the week before the Rift anniversary. I doubt they’ll blink.”

Harsh. “I like your brother better.”

Liam’s laugh filled the room. “You might be the first person who’s ever said that.” He stood and offered Paris a hand. “Think you might be able to eat something? Mac said it’s probably been a while. You’re human; magic will only get you so far.”

The thought of food didn’t turn his stomach the way it had earlier. Maybe the tea was helping. “I can try.” He held the sweats in one hand and took Liam’s in the other. It was warmer than Paris expected. “You’re a shifter too?”

“The whole family is.” Liam helped him to his feet and, once Paris was relatively steady, left him leaning against the wall. “Get changed, then give me a shout. I’ll be right outside. Is there anything else you need?”

He shook his head, but just before Liam reached the door, an idea occurred to him. A distraction—an outlet—he’d welcome. “Liam,” he called, and when the raven’s brother turned, he added, “Paintbrushes.”

Liam paused over the threshold, dark brow furrowed. “What?”

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