Page 41 of Paris and the Reaper

“Where he needs to be.”

Fuck her riddles.

He tore off past her and out the front door, took to wing, and scoured the grounds for any sign of Paris or the team he needed to help find him.

A flash of pale skin and red hair caught Mac’s eye, and he sailed to the edge of the woods near Adam’s favorite meadow. Needing his words, he shifted right into a dead sprint toward where he’d glimpsed Icarus, heedless of the noise he was making, footfalls heavy and words louder. “Adam!” he shouted. “Icarus!”

He crashed into the meadow, into what must have been an intimate moment, the two of them clutching clothes to their fronts, but then Adam took one look at him, handed his pistolto Icarus, and rushed to his side, hand on his arm. “Mac, what’s wrong?”

The warmth of his hand—the kind of warmth Mac had felt when he woke, that he’d fallen asleep to in Paris’s arms, that he might never feel again—brought reality crashing down, and Mac with it, falling to his knees and burying his face in his hands. “Paris is gone.”

Adam kneeled beside him. “What do you mean Paris is gone?”

“Babe.” Icarustsked. “Give him a minute to breathe. And give me my skirt.”

Mac snarled at the blue-eyed former vampire. “Your sister.”

Icarus rolled his eyes as he and Adam dressed. “What about her?”

“She knows where he is, and she wants us to rescue someone else.”

“Maybe Paris doesn’t need rescuing.”

“Mac,” Adam said as he shoved his gun in the waistband of his jeans, then crouched in front of him again. “Start from the top.”

“You’re in love with him,” Icarus said from behind his mate, and Mac’s snarl escalated to a full-on growl.

“Babe,” Adam said, returning the earliertsk. “Not helping.”

Icarus just shrugged, insolent as ever. “Wait until Robin hears this.”

Robin—that was who they needed, on multiple fronts. The time for revenge and wild goose chases was over. “Get him back here,” Mac said to Adam. “We need a tracker.”

Adam didn’t argue. They’d been partners on the force for years; yes, emotions were running high, but tactically, they could read each other like a book. “Call Jenn,” he said, handing Icarus his phone. “Tell her to call the pack. Robin won’t ignore it. Not after last time.” The last time Robin had ignored the pack call,his twin sister, Adam’s late wife, had been killed along with their husband. As Icarus stepped a few feet away, phone to his ear, Adam turned back to him. “What happened?”

Mac rocked back on his ass and accepted the shirt Adam handed him, spreading it over his lap. “He must have had a dream. I woke up and he was gone, but there were paintings. One was of the giant who took him, faced off with a warlock from my list in some kind of underground tunnel. The other was?—”

“Pati Miwra,” Mary said, walking toward them under Icarus’s arm. “She’s the daughter of one of the Huimen tribe’s leaders. She carries an eagle. She’ll name them Pax, after her savior.”

“An eagle?” Adam gasped. “I thought they were gone.”

The reappearance of eagles was significant. Perhaps more so, though, was this one’s name. “Pax, as inpeace?” Mac asked.

Mary nodded, and Mac propped his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. She was right; they had to rescue this woman. But fuck, where was Paris, and why couldn’t he feel his soul?

Mary laid a hand on his shoulder, and a wave of warmth washed through him, holding back the threatening chill. “Kai and Jason are with him. He’s going to help us find Pati. You need to believe in him.”

He hung back his head and stared at the woman with all the answers, the deity who held his fate, his heart, in her hands. “Why didn’t he wake me?”

“Because you wouldn’t have let him do what he needs to do.”

“Which is what?”

“Be Vincent Cirillo’s son.”

TWENTY-THREE

Robin rose from his crouch,wiping his muddy fingers on his denim-clad thigh. “Tracks are fresh,” he said, voice low. “She’s still in here.”

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