Chapter 10

TEN

Mac was sitting on the front stoop when Liam pulled the car into the driveway. Barefoot, in the same wrinkled slacks and shirt he'd fallen asleep in, Mac clearly hadn't changed, and judging by the wild state of his black hair, he'd spent every minute since waking plowing his hands through it.

"Good luck with that," Liam said, and no sooner had he turned off the car than did Mac vault off the step, charging their direction.

Paris barely got his car door shut before Mac was there in front of him, backing him up against it. "Where'd you go?"

For all the bluster and violet swirling in the raven's eyes, Paris didn't feel an ounce of fear, not like when his father used to loom over him. His dad's posturing had been about power, control, and cutting him down; Mac's was the polar opposite, his aura pulsing with genuine concern and palpable relief. He was overreacting because he cared—about Paris.

Who stood taller for it, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, no fear of a backhand greeting his response. "The coast, like my notes said. Did you find them?"

"Both of them." He erased the scant distance between them and cupped the side of his neck like he had last night, but this time, Paris sensed, for his own comfort, Mac's thumb pressed against his pulse point. "But I didn't have a sample of your handwriting. I couldn't be sure it was you. That you hadn't been taken."

"I texted you," Liam called from behind the open car trunk.

Mac whipped his head to the side, frustration bubbling over in a growl. "Which could have also been faked."

Paris covered Mac's hand with his, holding his palm against his throat, making sure he could feel his heat, his heartbeat. "I'm right here."

Mac's gaze shot back to his, and Paris startled at the naked emotion in his dark eyes. The earlier concern and relief were still there, duty like always, but there was also a depth of loss Paris recognized all too well, the same sort of gaping hole in his chest where his mother lived. His absence this morning had tiptoed too close to that hole for Mac, whomever it was who'd torn it open.

"I'm sorry," Paris said, squeezing his hand. "I won't scare you like that again."

"Could use some help back here with these paint cans?" Liam called, and Mac spun on his heel with another growl that sent heat spiraling down Paris's spine. The last thing Mac needed to deal with was his bubbling crush, but if the raven kept giving him such raw glimpses and sexy growls, there'd be no stopping it from going supernova.

Shoving that distinct possibility aside for now, Paris followed his curiosity to the back of the car. "Why are there paint cans?"

"To paint over the murals when you're done," Mac said. "I assume you don't want to relive those nightmares any longer than you have to."

What was that about an impending supernova? At this rate, it would arrive by nightfall. Paris closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and willed his libido back under control. He waited until Mac's tread hit the front step, putting him far enough out of visual range, before opening his eyes again and grabbing the remaining bag of groceries out of the trunk.

Inside, Liam was already peppering Mac with updates. "She's got a line on two more phoenixes. One that's in hiding, another that Vincent was bleeding dry."

"Is she following the vamps' internet chatter?"

Liam nodded. "They think it's an out, after what happened with Adam and Icarus. Bite a phoenix, be reborn."

"They missed that whole soulmate thing."

"Not to mention a reaper willing to risk his life to pull them back."

Paris dropped the bag of foodstuffs on the kitchen counter, his head spinning like the acorn squash that went rolling. His many hours spent dribbling a soccer ball indoors saved it from splattering on the floor. "Rewind," Paris said as he flipped the squash up into his hands. "My father was bleeding phoenixes dry? That's why he was hunting them?"

"For their power," Liam said as he claimed one of the table chairs.

"We think that may have been who Atlas disappeared with," Mac said, adding more insensibility to the pile.

"Atlas is alive? And gone where? He didn't take over?"

"He vanished from the scene where your father was killed."

"And Adam said none of the captured are talking," Liam relayed. "About who he disappeared with or anything."

Paris continued to put away groceries as his mind raced. Atlas had been his father's number two and his lover, the blond-haired, green-eyed warlock rarely far from his father's side. His father even had a door that led from his bedroom into Atlas's. Most people, including Vincent, had assumed Atlas was in his thrall, but Paris had never believed that. Atlas hadn't struck him as inherently evil nor weak enough of mind or magic for any human to exert such power over. A climber, yes; a monster, no. He'd always made sure Paris was taken care of, from tutors to nurses, and Paris had worked with him on more than one occasion to do the same for those Vincent had manipulated into working for him, cleaning up broken morale and broken noses. Paris had always thought the warlock was just biding his time until Vincent fucked up and got killed, and then he would take over because no one expected Paris to.

Had he actually stayed at Vincent's side all those years because of the person he'd escaped with? They may never know, but Paris did know he wouldn't let all the groundwork, all the connections Atlas—and he—had made go to waste. He folded up the empty grocery bag and rested back against the kitchen counter. "What if I could turn some of them to our side?"

Liam's "Them?" collided with Mac's "Our side?"

"The captured," Paris clarified. "What if I could sway them to Nature's cause? Convince them to give you whatever info about my father's organization you need?"

"It's not safe for you out there," Liam said. "With your father and Atlas both gone, there's a power vacuum in YB. He left behind a lot of money and a lot of banked power and resources that a lot of nasty people are after, human and otherwise."

Paris pushed off the counter, arms spread wide. "But I'm the idiot son. Everyone knows I'm worthless. My own father tried to sacrifice me. Why don't they just take it? They can't seriously think I'm a threat."

"A second ago you implied you weren't worthless," Mac said as he peered at him with shrewd investigator's eyes. "That you have some sway over the people in your father's organization. Someone out there"—he pointed at the window, at the world outside their bubble—"will also want to play that angle. And not for Nature's cause."

"You are the heir," Liam said. "You are target number one for those people trying to climb to the top."

"I can give you a list," Paris said, approaching the table. "Set up a meet." Mac opened his mouth to no doubt object, and Paris held up a hand, pleading his case. "They're not all bad people. Vet them first if you need to. You'll find out my father had a knee to their necks too."

"I can take the idea back to her and Adam," Liam said. "See if it's something they'll entertain."

Paris didn't know who her was, but she wasn't the one he needed to convince right now. He circled the table and kneeled beside Mac. "Whatever we're in the middle of didn't end with my father's death. We've got the Rift anniversary, Samhain too, and possibly solstice." He laid a hand on Mac's knee and waited for him to lay his own over it. "You asked me to help you. Let me."