Page 53 of Paris and the Reaper

Atlas shrugged and took another slug from the bottle before wiping his mouth on his leather gauntlet. “I did what I could, but you still made some questionable choices.” His green gaze slid toward Icarus, who, sitting on Adam’s lap at the table across from Robin, flipped him the middle finger.

Mac was on the verge of screamingChildren!when Paris laid a hand over his on his waist, refocusing Mac on the matter at hand—what role had Atlas played in another giant coming after Paris today? More than timely savior? Robin was right to question.

“Why are you here?” Mac asked.

“Because I got wind you”—he nodded at Paris—“had sent some of Vincent’s soldiers to look for the giant in La Purisima.”

Robin pushed out of his chair and strolled closer to the cage. “You buddies?”

“Don’t think so, seeing as I put a bolt in his chest too.”

Adam bumped Icarus off his lap and stood too, joining Robin in front of the cage. “So it’s just the one who tried to kill Paris left?”

“Like he wants it to be. He wants to do it himself. Your father,” he said to Paris, “wanted to be Chaos’s right hand. The giant wanted to be Chaos’s champion.”

Mac instinctively drew Paris closer, tightening his hold. “Then why did you hand Paris over to him?”

“Because I was trying to find out who he is. He’s erased. Vincent always talked about him as a partner but never by name. I would have found out that night, tracked him down and killed him, if all of you hadn’t interfered.”

Paris shivered in his arms. “I could have died.”

“The sacrifice would’ve been worth it.”

Only Paris in his arms kept Mac from flying at the cage. Icarus, though, did it for him, growling as he wrapped his hands around the iron bars. Atlas lifted a hand, like he was about to snap himself out of near death, but then Mary stepped out of the shadows and laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder, backing him off while her gaze remained locked on the warlock. “That wouldn’t have made me happy,” she said to Atlas.

He sneered... but tellingly rocked back a step on his leather knee-high boots. “Unlike others,Idon’t take orders from you.” He tipped back the bottle and took an even healthier gulp.

“But you sent me that footage from the Stick, didn’t you? Were they both there?”

“Only Wallace. I needed to try to draw him out again.”

Paris’s shivers turned to vibrations, a rare flash of anger riding a wave of hurt. He pushed out of Mac’s hold, shoved himself between Icarus and Mary, and stared Atlas down through the bars. “So you used me as bait. Again.”

“I won’t say I’m sorry. That’s one less giant we have to deal with.”

“I defended you to them.”

He tipped back the bottle one last time, then tossed the empty aside, the glass shattering against the concrete floor. “Don’t bother.” And with a snap, he was gone.

Mac found Paris upstairs in the kitchen, head in the fridge, yanking out ingredients and tossing them onto the island behind him. Seemingly at random: mushrooms, yogurt, onion, cilantro. Afraid of what might come next, Mac hustled across the room and pushed the fridge door closed, forcing Paris out, but not before he’d snatched another carton of mushrooms.

“I’m gonna cook,” he sniffled, spinning toward the island as he swiped at the tears on his cheeks.

“No,” Mac said, curling an arm around his waist and drawing him into his arms. “You’re gonna breathe.” He gently tugged at the carton of mushrooms in Paris’s hand. “And you’re going to let these go because in no world do they belong with the rest of those ingredients.”

“I was going to make dill sauce,” he said as he released his hostage mushrooms.

“With cilantro?”

His gaze shot to the island, eyes widening. “Fuck, that’s gross.”

“Very.” Mac chuckled, tossed the extra mushrooms aside, and pulled Paris the rest of the way into his arms, gliding a hand up and down his back until his breathing calmed and his tears subsided. “You good?”

“Debatable.” A heavy sigh later, he took a half step out of his arms, resting back against the island. “I know I volunteered tobe bait a few days ago, but that was on my terms. He used me. Twice!”

“Atlas always has his own agenda.”

“I just . . .”

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