Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

The one thing his parents, Rena, and the kids forgot to stock the cabin with was more tea. Not surprising, given their family was a coffee one, Paris the odd-tea-drinker-out. And not surprising that Mac had caved when Paris had rolled over in bed, stuck out that adorable bottom lip, and, arm slung across the rest of his pretty face, claimed dramatically that he would never be able to get out of bed without his leaf water. Mac had considered saying no just to keep him there in bed, looking like the beautifully debauched lover he was—his brown hair rumpled, his pale skin marked from lips and teeth, his morning wood tenting the sheet over his hips—but they had a day ahead of them, one in which Paris would carry the heavy mantle for their team and for Nature. Grabbing him the morning beverage of his choice was the least Mac could do.

He'd paused, however, over the threshold, fear creeping up his spine at leaving Paris out here alone, no witches in the other cabins, only a half arsenal of corvids in the trees, their numbers having been needed elsewhere overnight. But then Paris had reminded him that no one except Kai had found them in the woods before, and the only reason he had was because Paris had told him exactly where to look.

"Ten minutes down to the motel and back," he'd pleaded with another pout. "I'll be fine."

Mac had relented, and thankfully, the little store had the olallieberry tea he favored.

"Anything else?" the clerk asked.

"I'm go—" he started to say, then noticed the collection of mugs behind her, one that made him think of Paris and grin. "Actually, can I get that yellow mug that says Not Paint Water ?" The words were in black brush strokes, big and bold, on a can't miss background.

The clerk laughed as she rose on her tiptoes to reach it. "Painter in your life?"

"Yes," Mac said, smiling wider. "And he steals all the mugs for rinse buckets."

"My husband too," she said as she wrapped the ceramic mug in craft paper. "I ordered a half dozen of these and kept three for us."

"Did they work?"

She smiled, an amused, commiserative thing, as she handed him his bag of purchases. "Not one bit. Let me know how it goes with your man."

"Will do," Mac said, as he exited the shop for the car. He figured they probably would be back here, and that it would probably go about the same with Paris as it had with the store clerk's husband. And Mac wouldn't give a damn if it did, wouldn't care one bit if Paris filled any place they lived with paint mugs, as long as Paris was in his li?—

The sudden, hard yank on the soul bond dropped him to his knees, the mug shattering beneath his hand on the concrete, his heart and mind racing to decipher the fear and fire—the betrayal—coursing along the bond.

The resignation.

Mac yanked back. To no response.

Fuck.

He shifted, soaring into the air, and as soon as he did, he saw the smoke billowing through the treetops of the forest. He sailed across the highway and up the hill, cutting a direct path, slicing through the trees, the heat ratcheting up the farther into the woods he flew, the closer he got to the cabin.

A wall of smoke met him at the last dense arch of foliage where the other corvids had retreated. Sailing past them and under the arch, fire and flames greeted him on the other side, stinging his eyes and singeing the ends of his wings as he sailed around the burning cabin, searching for any signs of Paris.

Then hurtling back as a blast of heat erupted from inside the cabin, shattering the glass windows, buckling the walls, and caving in the roof, the entire structure collapsing.

He wasn't in there, Mac told himself. He couldn't have been. He would've gotten out, and the corvids would've escorted him to safety, to him, except they hadn't. They'd fallen back instead. Like they'd been ordered.

He dove closer to the ground, to where the front step of the cabin once existed. And that was when he saw it, in the morning damp earth, beside the massive footprint that could only belong to a giant.

A familiar oval-shaped paw print.

Mac shifted into human form a few feet shy of the villa's front door where Liam waited, trench in hand. "I felt you coming." His brother handed him the coat, and by his pinched brows and anxious gaze, Liam had also sensed the anger and desperation warring inside him. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Where's Paris?"

Mac shoved his arms into the sleeves and belted the coat around his waist. "Robin's in the barrel room?"

Liam nodded. "With some of the others. Where's Paris?" he asked again, voice pitched higher with worry for his friend.

Mac was sure his "Gone" didn't help, but he needed to get to Robin before the coyote was gone too. As it was, he was shocked the traitor had the gall to return here, unless he wanted to be caught. Which seemed to be the case, his golden gaze locking with Mac's as soon as he cleared the bottom step. "I can explain."

Mac flew at him, shoving him two-handed against the nearest wall and snarling through clenched teeth. "What did you do?"

"What he would have."

"Mac," Adam said, his footsteps approaching beside him. "What's going on?"

"I went out this morning to get Paris some tea, and this asshole led the giant right to him."

"How do you know it was the giant?" Liam asked.

Mac splayed a hand over his chest where the soul bond should be. "Because I felt it, here. Paris's fear and the fire he associated with him, the resignation when he surrendered himself." He pressed harder with the other hand against Robin still. "The betrayal. I found your paw print next to the giant's in the dirt outside the burning cabin. Why'd you do it? Why'd you betray us?"

Robin didn't put up a fight, didn't even try to skirt out of the hold Mac had on him. He could have—Robin was bigger, more powerful—but he gave him an explanation instead, their gazes locked. "I was patrolling last night. I found Brett on the outskirts of the property. Paris was right; he was the giant who attacked him. And he was coming after Pati. I offered him a different target."

"You brought him to our doorstep."

"He was ready, Mac. You're ready."

"He's on my fucking list, Robin." One more hard shove and Mac stepped back, desperation eclipsing anger, his voice ragged as he confessed the secret he'd shared with only a few. "I was supposed to deliver his soul that night at the altar in YB. Same as I had to deliver the first person I ever loved, and now you might've just doomed me to do it again."

Startled sounds echoed around the room, while in front of Mac, Robin paled and slumped against the wall. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

"What else did Brett offer you?" Mary asked from where she stood at the head of the table. "Information on Atlas?"

Robin lowered his chin, running a hand across the back of his neck, a guilty tell Mac had seen countless times over the years, and anger surged once more. But not as fast and fiery as Jason's, the phoenix's glowing red fist connecting with Robin's nose. He reared back for another, but Kai backed him off at the last second.

Only for Icarus to take Jason's place, seething in Robin's face. "This vendetta of yours is going to get all of us killed. Do you get that?"

Robin wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve. "I get it, okay."

"Do you, Robin?" Adam said, as he pulled his partner back. "Because your actions say otherwise, time and again. How many more good people have to die for your selfishness? How many more souls can your conscious bear?"

It was a blow that even Mac, despite his own fury at Robin, felt in his gut, empathy not something he could just turn off.

Robin's guilty gaze shifted past Adam to him. "I'm sorry," he said, and Mac believed some part of him meant it. But another part of him also knew he'd make the same choice again, evidenced by his words. "But we know who the giant is now, and we know he'll be in one of two places tomorrow."

"What if I'm at the wrong one?" Mac said, letting the anguish he felt creep into his voice, the last hour of adrenaline burning out of him, leaving only fear and the very real prospect of despair. "What if I'm not there to save him again?"

"The Canyon Lands," Adam said, shifting into tactical mode. "We don't control and couldn't cleanse that one. There'll be more lingering souls to offer to Chaos."

"Or trust Paris to sell the Stick," Icarus said. "I'm angry as fuck at the dog, but he's not wrong about Paris being ready."

"We'll cover both," Mary said as she joined their group. She laid a hand on Mac's shoulder, her warmth pushing back at the threatening cold again. "Paris will show you, and when he does, we'll be ready."