Page 50 of Paris and the Reaper

“Because the last time it wasn’t about you,” his father said. “Your aura then versus now...” His dark eyes glittered, a sprinkling of the green magic from his mother’s maternal line, some of their coven’s gifts passing to him too. “It’s completely changed. Before, it was red in the center, with blue and violet around the outside, but now... Now you feel everything, blue and violet, the red bleeding through from the outside, and at the center, green. Your connection to Nature wasn’t there before. You’ve changed.”

“He’s right,” Liam said. “And not just because of Paris.”

“Nature needed you,” his mom said. “You’ve delivered her two phoenixes, a white raven, an eagle, and now a medium. You’re her warrior, and for that loyalty, she’ll give you and Paris what your souls deserve, same as she did ours.”

It was past midnight when Mac returned to his thankfully quiet house, only the muffled beep of monitors drifting up from the infirmary below.

Dinner at the main house had been good, the dessert a sticky delicious mess and the Samhain planning afterward reassuring. His family had heard what he and Liam had said and were taking the situation seriously, even Declan. They’d have their celebration, but by keeping it small, they could better protect the gathered people, including Pati and her tribe, and once they were secure, provide support to neighboring farms as needed. Mac didn’t want them stretched too thin, especially if he, Adam,and the rest of the pack leaders were dealing with the giants elsewhere.

Especially if Paris remained in his family’s protection here. Paris would no doubt object, and if he and Adam needed him on the scene, then that was where he’d be. But if not, if he stayed behind here, Mac wanted him safe. Because after what his parents had told him, for the first time since Paris had grabbed hold of his soul—hell, since he’d lost Hank—he saw an alternative to heartache and loneliness in his future. A spark of hope—of love—that might grow into the kind of roaring blaze Paris had loved to build in the hearth back at the cabin.

Granted, part of him was still angry that he’d been denied the chance with Hank, but Nature’s mysteries had been coming hard and fast lately, and as he stood in the doorway of his bedroom, taking in a slumbering Paris in the moonlight, he couldn’t deny he was thankful for the opportunity to get to know this amazing man.

To love him.

He also couldn’t deny that in this moment he understood Paris’s instinct the other morning to leave him asleep in the bed. He looked so peaceful, the steady rise and fall of his tapered back, his dark hair tousled against the white sheets. After two very long days of digging into his father’s dealings, Paris had left his precious ocean to come back to Monte Corvo, back to him. He should let him sleep.

Turning for his office, he barely made it a step when “Come to bed, Mac,” rumbled from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder. Paris was still on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist, but his breaths weren’t as long and steady as before. Mac felt guilty for disturbing his rest. “I can let you?—”

“You need to sleep too,” Paris mumbled into the pillow. “Get in bed.”

Smiling at the gentle, muffled order, Mac undressed and crawled in beside him, soaking in the warmth and trailing a hand down his spine, savoring the goose bumps that rose in his wake. “Everything good in YB?”

“Got what we needed.” Paris scooted more fully into the curve of him, hitching up a leg so Mac could line his up behind it, nestling them closer. “What’d you have for dinner?”

“Ratatouille.”

Mac couldn’t see his smile, Paris’s face angled away, but he could hear it in his sleepy voice. “Can never spell that right on the first try.”

Mac muffled his laughter, his love in Paris’s shoulder. What had he done without this light, this warmth in his life for so long?

“You had a good night?” Paris asked once Mac’s laughter subsided.

“I learned a lot.” That maybe he could keep this light, this warmth, this incredible man for longer than his list prescribed. He trailed his fingers along his back, telling Paris exactly how he felt, Paris’s breaths evening out more with each letter Mac brushed over his skin, from the I to the L-O-V-E to the U. Mac stretched an arm across his back, rested his cheek against his shoulder, and closed his eyes. “I learned that maybe I can keep you. Forever.”

Paris’s reply reached him on the edge of sleep, on the terrifying, wonderful edge of hope. “I love you too.”

TWENTY-NINE

The peaceful reprievelasted barely a day. Paris’s momentum inside his father’s organization was halted by a freeze on the Cirillo funds. Mary had traced the action to Charlotte Taylor, Vincent’s human accountant. Mac had a file on her already; she’d been cooking the books for Vincent for years, moving his money around to keep it sheltered. If anyone had the inside track on where Vincent’s money was and how to tie it up, it was Charlotte.

It had taken another day to arrange a meet. Mac was against it, suspecting a trap. Mary would eventually hack through the wall. But Adam, the traitor, had sided with Paris in the no-time-to-waste camp. Which was how they found themselves in a back office at Club Sutro, a relatively neutral site, and thanks to Kai’s and Icarus’s connections, one they were able to access in the middle of the afternoon, limiting collateral damage if things went sideways. Which they always did.

Paris seemed to sense that, his loafers wearing a hole in the carpet at the far end of the room where he paced. Adam, Icarus, and Robin were more comfortable with the inevitable chaos,lounging around a table in the corner, topping up their caffeine, while Mary sat behind the desk, furiously typing on her laptop.

Mac pushed off the front of the desk and crossed the room, making a barrier of himself in Paris’s pacing circle. “You don’t have to do this,” he told him, as he smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket. “We can send Adam out to negotiate.”

“The Devil?” Paris scoffed. “You know that’s what they still call him, right? They’ll thinkwe’retrying to trapthem.”

Robin set aside his mug. “I fail to see the problem.”

Paris’s jaw clenched, and Mac bit back a laugh. Robin worked everyone’s last nerve, even Paris’s. “Look,” he said, stepping around Mac to address the table. “Folks are on edge. They know I’m working with you. They also need to know there won’t be reprisals.”

“She’s also holding your accounts hostage,” Adam said.

“Which is the trap they won’t see coming,” Paris said, then asked Mary, “How long do you need?”

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