Chapter 19

NINETEEN

It was a good thing Mac's kitchen was huge because everyone was in it this evening. Some of the team had returned last night, more had trickled in throughout the day, and the remainder were expected back any time now, including Mac and Liam. Rena and the kids were up from the mansion, Jason and Kai were up from the lake where Jason had been recovering, and Mary and Icarus had emerged from the barrel room where a handful of returning pack members had needed medical attention. All in all, a full house, with Cherry and Abernathy—and Jason, especially—making the meal Paris was attempting to prepare a challenge. Mostly the good kind, until Jason conjured up a ball of fire to "put a little char" on the homemade garlic bread Paris had just pulled from the oven, at which point the chef put his foot down.

Paris swatted his friend's big biceps and hip checked him toward the end of the massive island. "I love you, buddy, but you have got to get out from behind here, or Mac's not gonna have a mansion to come home to."

"Aww, come on, Paris," he whined. "Let me flamethrower it." He draped his massive body over the back of Paris's, his long arms dangling over his shoulders, glowing hands palms up in front of them.

"What's a flamethrower?" Cherry asked from where she sat on the other side of the island beside Kai.

Paris could feel Jason's grin against his cheek. "Me!"

"Jason!" he, Kai, and Rena all chided... to absolutely no avail.

If Mac reminded him of a domestic cat sometimes, then Jason was the epitome of a puppy, one of those big blond breeds that liked to throw itself into walls while endlessly chasing a ball. Good natured, carefree fun until said wall gave way. Or until Jason lit the pot holders on Paris's hands on fire, and Paris had to fling them to the floor and stomp the flames out.

"Oops," Jason said, grinning as he unwound from around Paris and stole the charred heel of the bread.

Paris hung his head back on a heavy sigh, dramatics turned up to Icarus levels, and everyone laughed, as he'd intended; the antics were good for lifting spirits, including his own. Food would do the same. He wisely waited until Jason was safely across the room before pulling the bubbling vegetable and cheese lasagna out of the oven. He'd just gotten the pans on the trivets and recovered in foil, holding ready until the rest of the team arrived, when Mary called from the hallway opening. "Hey, Paris, can I borrow you for a second?"

"Sure." He untied his apron, tossed it on the island, and wagged a finger at Jason as he crossed the room. "No more touching."

"No promises," he said with a wink from between a giggling Cherry and Abernathy.

"That's the trio of trouble right there," he said to Kai and Rena.

"We'll keep them in line," Rena assured him as she slid off her stool and took up kitchen guard duty. "That lasagna looks too good to end up on the floor."

Paris had to agree, the sweet potatoes, beets, and butternut squash creating layers that reminded him of the sunset he'd painted the other day. He hoped it tasted as good as it looked, once they got a chance to dig in. For now, he followed Mary into the parlor at the front of the house where Icarus, in combat boots, patchwork jeans, and a strappy tank, waited at the poker table by the corner window, his blue gaze fixed on the driveway out front. She slid into the chair behind the open laptop, beside her brother, and Paris claimed the one across from them. "Did you find something?" he asked.

"Prepare yourself," she said, then turned the laptop to face him. The warning should have been enough—he knew to expect the worst at this point—but the worst still took his breath away. Like at the ridge, the altar in the silent video had been reduced to rubble, though not as charred as the other crime scene. Fresher when the video had been taken. Blood still soaked the ground, witness corpses smoldered, and a pile of bones smoked atop the broken altar. Bones that could have been Paris at a different altar if not for Adam, Mac, and the rest of the team that had rescued him. He glanced away and swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "That's definitely a giant's altar," he said. "The Stick?"

"Yes," Mary replied. "Likely from the seventeenth. A source sent me this video."

He shifted his gaze to Icarus, whose brows had furrowed. "Not your team on the scene?"

"No," Mary answered for him. "I didn't want to add this to their plate. Or this..." She rotated the laptop back around, then after a few keystrokes, turned it back to Paris. "This is arial footage of the Huimen Enclave."

"One of the thin spots we talked about the other day."

She nodded, then, reaching around the side of the screen, clicked the right arrow key, and three dots appeared near the road that ran along the western edge of the enclave. "These are cold storage properties your father recently purchased in the area." Another click, and the map changed, showing a series of pathways that snaked through the peninsular territory. "These," Mary said, "are river-forged tunnels that run beneath the surface. The rivers are long gone, but the tidewater still comes and goes in the ones close to the water. The tunnels remain."

The horrible picture came together in Paris's head, and he covered his gaping mouth with a hand. "To chase the victims through."

"That's what we think." She met his gaze and cringed, apology in her hazel eyes. "There's more."

"Do I want to hear it?"

"Not really," Icarus answered, never taking his eyes off the driveway out the window.

"Tell me anyway."

"I cross-checked the localized missing persons cases for any known associations with your father." Mary clicked the forward arrow once more and three pictures appeared, name and descriptions in the captions underneath. "All paranormals. One who was also on Mac's list."

Paris didn't recognize any of them by appearance or by name, but he recognized his father's MO. Three powerful paranormals—a shifter, a warlock, and a vamp—and one power-hungry human. "Dad used them up, then turned them over."

"Or he lured them to the giant," Icarus said.

"Or they betrayed him, and Dad turned them over." He snagged one of the poker chips from its center holder and flipped it through his fingers the way Atlas had taught him. Like his painting, the repetitive motion provided an outlet for his fear and anxiety so his mind could work. "This must be him. The same giant who took me."

"Maybe," Mary said. "Or maybe it's the ridge giant, who we know Vincent transferred funds to. It's likely your father had connections to multiple of them."

Paris tossed the chip aside and propped his elbows on the table, head in his hands. "Ugh. Could he be any more of an asshole?"

Icarus chuckled. "Go easy on him, babe." He pushed back from the table and circled it to Paris's side, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Not sure he's used to the data dumps."

"I can handle it," Paris said, as he and Mary likewise rose. "I've been with Mac for two weeks."

Icarus's ginger brows raced north. "Have you now?"

"I didn't mean it like?—"

His protest was interrupted by the roar of engines and gravel crunching under tires, but before he could lean to the side and peek out the window, Icarus grasped his chin. "Don't do anything heroic," he said, gaze fiery. "It usually ends in death."

"The way I hear it, you ran off and did something heroic, and you lived. Were reborn, in fact."

Icarus rolled his eyes. "What are we going to do with you?" He leaned forward and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek, and when he stepped back, Adam and Mac were waiting at the parlor door, while Liam, Jenn, and Abigail continued on to the kitchen, screaming children greeting their arrival.

Icarus greeted Adam by running across the room and jumping into his arms, the older man somehow not stumbling under Icarus's jacked body. "Fuck or food, baby?"

In answer, Adam turned on his heel and carried his lover toward the stairs, disappearing up them much to Mary's amusement, her laughter carrying her all the way to the kitchen, leaving only Mac and Paris in the parlor. Paris didn't run and jump at Mac; he didn't have to, Mac meeting him midstride, colliding in the middle of the room and wrapping their arms around each other, the bond between them solid. And singing.

"Welcome home," Paris said as he held Mac close, the raven seeming to want to burrow into him, hiding his face in the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against his skin, the words more felt than heard. "I didn't know it was going to take so long."

Paris cupped his cheek and tilted his face, catching his fading violet gaze. "Please quit apologizing for doing the thing that makes you you. You don't have to, not with me." A long exhale later, Mac let go of the remaining tension in his body and went practically limp in Paris's arms. In his care, right where Paris wanted him to stay. "You're here now, and that's all that matters. I've got you."