Chapter 30

THIRTY

"Is this really necessary?" Paris gestured at the caged corner of the basement barrel room where Mac's family kept a collection of library wines... and today, a warlock of dubious intent.

"It's for his protection more than ours," Mac said with a pointed look across the room to Robin seething in a club chair, thinly veiled hate swirling in his golden eyes. The only reason they'd made it back to Talahalusi with Atlas in one piece was because Adam had forced Robin to make the trip on paw to "run the murderous impulses out." Mac didn't think it had worked.

For his part, Atlas didn't seem the least bit fazed, resting back against a barrel and magically stitching together a tear in his kilt. Otherwise, the warlock looked his usual put-together self, not a blond hair out of place, his green eyes bright, his thin black tee hugging his fit, compact torso. Sounded like his usual acerbic self too. "One, I can snap my fingers and be out of here whenever I want." He finished with his kilt and straightened, perusing the shelves of wine behind him. "And two," he said as he withdrew a bottle Mac recognized well, "if memory serves, this vintage had a perfect rating and trades in the high six figures." He was right on both counts, and when he sizzled through the wax and cork and drank straight from the bottle, Mac had to tamp down his own murderous impulses.

Paris did his part to calm him too, turning his back on Atlas and patting Mac's chest, those big brown eyes gazing up at him. "He's an ass, but he saved my life."

"About that..." Robin said. "You two been working together the entire time?"

Atlas laughed out loud. "No, and truth be told, I'm amazed he's managed to stay alive this long."

Paris spun around so fast he almost stumbled, Mac's arm around his waist the only thing that held him upright. The loss of balance didn't stop his "Hey!" from sounding any less indignant. "What about all those tutors? All those books you made me read? You prepared me for this. If I'd failed, it would've been your fucking fault."

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 screaming Children! 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, I don'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 to be bait a few days ago, but that was on my terms. He used me. Twice!"

"Atlas always has his own agenda."

"I just . . ."

"You just what?"

"Want to be respected," he said with a shrug, casting his gaze aside.

Mac closed the distance between them once again, physically and through their bond, sending admiration and affection through it. Finger curled under Paris's chin, he lifted his face and stared into his eyes, wanting Paris to see—to believe—the truth in his. "I respect you. You are smart, caring, and good ."

A beautiful blush warmed his pale cheeks, heat flickering in his eyes too. "You're not exactly impartial."

He didn't take the tempting bait. Gliding his hand lower, he cupped the side of Paris's neck. "Everyone here respects you."

"Except Robin."

"Robin doesn't respect anyone."

Paris's watery laugh under his palm felt like victory. He wanted more of those laughs—Paris needed more of those laughs after the day he'd had—and Mac knew just where to get them.

"Put the stuff back in the fridge," he told Paris.

"I was going to make us dinner. I'll find not gross stuff."

Mac shook his head. "There's something else I want to do instead."

"What's that?"

"Introduce you to my parents."

Adam and Icarus had graciously surrendered their meadow for the family Samhain gathering. A pavilion stood in the middle of the clearing, round tables and chairs scattered underneath, a long buffet table at one end that in a few days would be overflowing with the bounty of their harvest. Mac leaned against a pole, eavesdropping as his mother animatedly explained to Paris how everything would be set up, what all would be served. Paris oohed and aahed in all the right places, asking about recipes and offering some of his own. All of it genuine, his mother taking to him right away, and when the topic of bread came up, Paris won a mega fan in his father too. Just as Mac had suspected he would. Same as Paris had won Liam over from the start, then Rena and the kids; even Declan had warmed up to him over the past hour as they'd helped with the setup.

Because as Mac had told Paris in the kitchen, he was good. Caring and smart, a kind soul who was loyal to his friends, who'd made sure they were protected, who still carried guilt over the one he'd betrayed, and who'd helped save the pregnant then-stranger now laughing at a table with Mary and Kai. Even if Mac had saved Paris's soul out of some selfish instinct, it had been the right call, because he hadn't truly known then what Paris's soul deserved. Not like he did now.

"You're in love with him," Adam said, the truth not startling, nor the man, his footsteps heavier now that he was human again. He leaned against the next pole over, arms crossed, gaze tracking Icarus as he and Jason chased Cherry and Abernathy around the tables with the gingham cloths they were supposed to be spreading on each, not trying to wrap the kids up in them.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," Mac said. "When you told me how you felt about Icarus. I get it now."

"In fairness, you took a few days longer."

Mac shook his head, a small resigned smile—fate—making his lips curve. "He grabbed hold that night at the altar, and I didn't deliver him."

Gasping, Adam shot off the pole. "He's on your list?"

"Has been since that night."

Adam clasped his shoulder. "Mac?—"

"There may be a way around it," he said, cutting off the sympathy that threatened in his friend's voice. He didn't need condolences. He needed a miracle, the same kind that had held his family together once before. "My father was on my mother's list. That's the real reason they retired."

Adam's gaze drifted back out under the tent, to where Paris stood chatting with his parents. "They're still here. Happy and healthy."

Mac's attention drifted elsewhere, to his brother snatching up his kids midrun, hauling them under his arms, all of them laughing, free and easy, unburdened. His gut churned. "I don't know if I can do it to him."

"Liam wants it, Mac. He's ready."

"But Rena and the kids . . ."

"Will keep him grounded. And when it's Declan's turn or one of the kids', it'll pass to them. No one expects you to do this forever, except you."

He swung his gaze back to Adam. "So Paris and I just go off to our happily ever after?"

Adam chuckled. "You two would fail at that as badly as me and Icarus. Paris has a gift, and so do you, as a detective and as a raven with acute observation skills. Those won't go away just because you give up the reaper. And we'll all help Liam because that's what family does." He squeezed his shoulder and gifted Mac one of his rare smiles, though thanks to Icarus, they were coming more frequently again these days.

Mac hated to wipe it from his face, but he had one more favor to ask, and Adam was the only person he trusted to fulfill it. "If for some reason he doesn't make it, I don't want to either. Not again."

Using the hand still on his shoulder, Adam pulled him into a crushing embrace. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, you have my word."

Mac hugged him back, blinking back tears and forcing words out around the lump in his throat. "Thank you."

"Hey, wallflowers!" Icarus shouted, yanking them out of their melancholy moment. They drew apart, eyeing the courtesan standing with Paris mid-tent, the former holding up an orange gingham, Paris a violet one. "Need your votes."

Paris's smile grew wider with each step Mac came closer, his gaze bright with happiness, with the confidence Atlas and Robin had tried unsuccessfully to chip away at, with the love that had been growing between them these past few weeks, that Mac had no intention of existing without.

"I like the violet," he said as Mac reached him.

"I should hope so." Smirking, he looped an arm around Paris's waist, trapping him in said violet and kissing him with his whole soul.

Cheers erupted and a camera clicked somewhere, capturing the second love of his life. His last. "Forever," he whispered against Paris's lips.

"Forever," his mate promised back.