Page 56 of Paris and the Reaper

“That might be an apron Brett is wearing,” Liam said, peering at the photo he’d snagged from in front of Paris.

“Store clerk, janitor, mechanic would make sense for an erased person,” Adam said. “He bounces around, gets paid under the table.”

Paris shoved back from the table with a frustrated grunt. “If,might,could be... We don’t know anything for sure,” he said, raking his hands through his hair as he paced away from the table.

Mac rose slowly, not cutting him off abruptly this time, but letting Paris wind down as he circled back to where Mac stood. When he was in front of him, Mac laid a hand over his stomach. “Who do you think it ishere, in your gut?”

“It could be any of?—”

He splayed his fingers. “Who, Paris?”

“Brett,” he answered without hesitation. “Adam is right, and the malice in his eyes... Whomever he was looking at, he hated them. That was the way he looked at Lola.” His whole body shivered, and Mac wrapped an arm around his shoulders while the remembered fear passed.

“Brett is priority one,” he told the group over his shoulder. “But we still need to be ready for Samuel or Neil.”

“If we can find them,” Mary said. “I’ll keep digging, but no known addresses as of yet.”

“What if I’m wrong?” Paris said, quietly, as if intended only for Mac’s ears, but in a room full of shifters and magical beings, everyone heard him.

And of course Robin was the one to press, the coyote strolling over to where they stood. “You can’t go into this and be knocked off your game if it’s not Brett who shows up at the Stick tomorrow.”

He was an asshole, but he wasn’t wrong. Given the geography of the location, the plan depended on Paris keeping the giant,whomever he turned out to be, talking long enough to one, incriminate himself, and two, allow the teams to converge from the water, air, and land.

The asshole, it seemed, tended to bring out the fight in Paris. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin, glaring Robin down. “As long as you’re on your game to catch the fucker.”

Behind them, Icarus and Jason high-fived, and Robin even cracked a smirk. “We’ll be ready,” he said, then gestured to the table. “Let’s go over those mission specs one more time so you’ll know exactly where we’re coming from.”

With a nod, Paris led them back to the table, and after another hour of planning, the meeting broke up, folks scattering for the evening.

Paris moved to stand too, but Mac placed a hand on his knee, holding him seated until it was just the two of them left in the room. He rotated Paris in his chair toward him, their knees bumping. “It’s just me now,” he said. “I know you can do this, I believe in you, but if you have any doubt, or if you don’t want to do this, you always have an out.” They were asking a lot of someone who was relatively new to this war, who hadn’t been fighting it for decades like him and many of the others. “You just have to tell me.”

Paris shook his head, sharp and certain. “I’m the last line of human defense,” he said, repeating the mantra he’d said to Icarus the other day. “We need a place in this fight. This is our home too. I intend to defend it.”

“All right,” Mac said, standing and offering Paris his hand. “Tomorrow we fight. But tonight, I have something else in mind.”

THIRTY-TWO

Mac had been sneakingglances every so often at Paris in the passenger seat, watching his smile grow wider as he grew more certain of their destination. He was beaming by the time Mac pulled his car into the drive at the cabin in Calera.

Paris climbed out, inhaled deep, then spun, asking him over the car roof, “What are we doing here?”

“I know I’ve kept you away from your ocean lately. And this isn’t right on it either, not like your condo, but it’s close. I thought it might help center you before tomorrow. And...” Heat rushed to his cheeks, making him feel hot all over, the romantic sentiment on the tip of his tongue big. And telling. Not that he hadn’t told Paris already about his history or how he felt about him, but this seemed different. More. Like putting it all on the line—his heart, his hopes, his forever.

“And what?” Paris said, as he rounded the front of the car and cozied up to his side, hand on his chest.

Mac covered it with his, sliding his fingers between Paris’s. “And this is where I fell in love with you. I wanted to spend tonight with you here. Make love to you here.” In their own littleoasis, away from the rest of the world that was horribly fast and dangerous these days.

Paris shoved him against the side of the car and stole a hard, deep kiss that had Mac seriously considering whether to skip the next surprise of the evening and go straight to the finale, right here against the side of the car. But then Paris drew back, his brown eyes staring up at him. “You’re a good man too,” he said. “More than you give yourself credit for.”

“I hope you continue to think that.”

“Oh!” He drummed his fingers on Mac’s chest. “You have more surprises for me, don’t you?” As fast as he’d spun getting out of the car, he did so again, darting for the cabin door. Only to find it locked.

“Oh!” Mac parroted back. “You need a key, don’t you?” He took his time, unloading their bag from the trunk and strolling to the door.

“Now you’re just being mean,” Paris said with an adorable pout. Which disappeared as soon as he walked through the door into the candlelit cabin. He stood in the center of the space, wide-eyed and rotating to take it all in: the wildflowers on every surface, the spread of cheeses, nuts, and fruits on the table, the jazz music playing softly in the background. “Who did all this?” he asked. “The rest of the cabins were dark when we drove in, and all the witches’ cars were gone.”

“They’ve moved on.” As the covens did, never too long in one place. “Mom and Dad helped out, with Rena and the kids”—he pointed at the cake under the glass dome on the counter—“pitching in too.” He dropped the duffel at the end of the bed, then wandered back to where Paris stood in a stunned daze. Wrapping his arms around him from behind, he pulled him against his chest and nuzzled the crook of his neck, swaying them to the music. “I wanted us to finish that dance that got interrupted.”

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