Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

Mac stood at the end of the island in his parents' bustling, chaotic kitchen, unsure if he'd made the right decision fleeing his place for the evening to come here. But he'd been shooed out of the infirmary by Monte and Chaz, and he hadn't wanted to stay on the main floor either, listening through the ceiling as Icarus streamed a scene, Adam watched him, and the inevitable ensued. Maybe Mary could tune that out with her headphones and hacking, but he'd nearly died of embarrassment the first time, no doubt would for sure now that he had a better idea of what exactly was going on upstairs. Pati likewise wasn't there to distract him, the elders and midwives from her tribe having made the journey to the mountain and set up camp on one of the outparcels. Not far from where Robin and Jenn were meeting with the rest of the pack to organize the hunt for Wallace Boyle, the giant Paris had identified from his vision at the Stick.

"No Paris tonight?" Rena asked, as if reading his mind. She sat between Cherry and Abernathy at the kitchen's eat-in table, helping the children ice a cake.

"He's in YB with Abigail, Jason, and Kai. Recon for her." Once they'd had a face and name to go with another giant on their map, the search was on. Mac had held Paris through the rest of the day and night, made sure he'd recovered from his dip in the cold Bay, and then reluctantly seen him off yesterday morning to the condo in YB. He would have liked to keep him at home another day, to wallow in the bond between them before it disappeared again, but Paris's drive to do something was irrepressible. "They'll be back later tonight."

"Yay!" Cherry and Abernathy cheered, spatulas in the air, icing more of the table than the cake.

"When do we get to meet this man?" his mom asked as she slid the foil-covered skillet of ratatouille he'd helped assemble into the oven. Normally, he stayed out of the way, but he'd gotten used to cooking with Paris. "The kids can't stop talking about him." She wiped her hands on the front of her apron, then slipped it off over her head, her silver and black braid resettling over her shoulder. "I didn't think anyone could top Icarus as their favorite."

"You should bring him to the Samhain festival," his dad said from where he and Liam were slathering loaves of bread with garlic butter.

"I wanted to talk to you about that," Mac started, only to be cut off by his youngest brother, Declan, who joined Rena and the kids at the table, taking a swipe of icing for himself.

"It's dangerous, thin veil, we know the drill, brother."

"This is different," Mac insisted. "The giants are going to try and open it this year. All the way."

"They try every year."

"This is different ." His family took their role as stewards of the land and souls seriously, but he needed them to understand that it was beyond serious this time. That Chaos was pressing harder and was closer than ever.

"He's not exaggerating," Liam said. "What we've seen this past month..." He shook his head. "We haven't had a fight like this on our hands since the Rift."

"Which we lost ground in," Mac said. "We're more powerful this time, but so is Chaos."

His mother came around the island and pushed between them, her arms around their waists, hugging them both. "We'll keep it small, then. Only family and folks who work with us here."

"Mom."

"It's tradition." Mostly from his father's Gaelic roots, but his mother's people also celebrated, giving thanks for the harvest and honoring the souls they'd delivered. "But we will also stand guard, over our harvest, our plane, and our family."

Mac could live with that compromise. He dropped a kiss on the crown of her head. "Thank you," he said. "I can't go into this worrying about you and also having to protect him."

She tipped her head back, her dark brows waggling. He'd opened the door with a slip of his words, and she wasn't going to let it go this time.

"You might as well tell them," Rena said. "They know."

"Know what?" Declan said.

"That you've bonded again," his father replied as he tucked the garlic bread into the other oven. "We know."

"How?" Mac gasped.

"One, you're in the kitchen cooking," Rena said.

"I missed?—"

"Cooking with him?" Liam said with a knowing smile.

His mother grinned up at him. "Just because we no longer deliver the souls doesn't mean we can't hear them. Especially when they sing."

"I didn't want to tell you, in case?—"

"In case what happens with Hank happens again." She let go of Liam so she could turn fully to him, hugging him tight. "I'm happy for you, son."

"But I don't think I'll survive it when my other half is torn away again." Paris was still on his list; there was no erasing or taking that back. And he'd gone and made himself seen, a blinking target for the giants and for anyone who wanted a piece of his father's empire. He was the center of the storm—and of Mac's world.

His mother patted his chest, over the spot where his bond with Paris lived. "When the time comes, your soul will get what it deserves."

"What does that mean?"

"We didn't just retire, son," his father said. "My name appeared on your mother's list."

Mac jolted, having to use his mother to catch his wavering weight. "What?" He'd been told his parents chose to retire, that they'd handed him the reaper title because they'd decided to create life rather than ferry it elsewhere.

Not this.

How had they even survived?

His mother shuffled him to the stool beside his father, the two of them making sure he was steady. Good thing as she continued to deliver blow after blow. "Nature came to us and gave us a choice. We'd done enough. She'll give you the same choice."

"Why didn't I get a choice last time?" he asked, voice cracking with pain and regret, all of it washing back up, a tsunami of memories. Hank's name appearing, the bond between them fraying, then later that same night, a phone call asking him to come identify a body. Hank's lifeless frame in the morgue, in his arms, the bond between them severed for good as he'd taken Hank's soul across the veil, delivering it to the peace it deserved. He'd never known pain like that day before or since. Had cast love aside, never wanting to feel that sort of agony again, until Paris Cirillo had grabbed hold and made him his.

"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."