The Singer

Irin Chronicles - 2

Elizabeth Hunter

For my mother

A remarkable, powerful woman, and an inspiration to her family.

Prologue

The Fallen appeared on the summit of Mt. Ararat. Golden eyes reached west, settling on some point unseen by the hawks circling overhead. The wind whipped past Jaron, brushing the black hair that fell to his shoulders. He wore his human form, content to cloak his true nature and enjoy the sharp pleasure of the sun on his skin. Ancient talesm covered his shoulders and chest, gold against bronze. He was a vision of glory, resting against the snow.

His brothers appeared beside him: Barak with his wolf-grey hair, gold eyes watching the birds overhead; Vasu, already pacing, his lean human form dark against the snow.

“You gave up your city, brother.” Vasu stared down as he spoke, seemingly mesmerized by the tracks his bare feet made in the snow. The angel chose to reside in warm climates, though none of their kind were truly bothered by either heat or cold. They commanded their senses at will.

“You imply defeat. I simply chose not to fight for it. It no longer interested me.”

Barak murmured, “And the rest of your territories? Are they secure?”

“Volund knows better than to challenge me. I allowed his child to overrun Istanbul because it served my purpose. No doubt, he was confused to find my people withdrawn.”

“Where are they?” Barak asked. “And do not underestimate Volund. I thought the same about him until he attacked. Now my children think me dead. They hide, afraid of their own shadows.” Barak’s lip curled. “I would cleanse the earth of their presence if doing so wouldn’t give away my continued existence.”

“I am watching,” Jaron said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the city. Something was churning there. Some pain reaching out. The sun fell in the west, slipping below the clouds to shine pink over Asia Minor. “I am always watching.”

“But for what?” Vasu asked. “I hope your visions sing true.”

“Have they ever not? I warned you of Galal’s attack, didn’t I?”

Gold eyes flashed from behind Vasu’s curtain of black hair. His talesm sparked gold. Black and gold, the Fallen glared at his brother. “And I allowed you to persuade me. Now my children think their father murdered by a foreign god. They fight to remain true, even as Galal’s soldiers slaughter them.”

“Tell them to be more careful then.” Jaron shrugged. “When the time comes, you will breed more.”

Vasu curled his lip. “I have not consorted with human women for years. You know I tire of their attention.”

“I hear sorrow,” Barak growled, rising to his feet and looking west to the ancient city. “What is this? I thought the female was unharmed.”

“She formed a bond with one of the Irin scribes. He sacrificed himself for her.” Jaron’s voice held a faint note of admiration. “She mourns.”

“Does this change anything?” Vasu asked.

“No.”

Barak cocked his head. “Why did you allow the sacrifice? Did you foresee it?”

“I did. I was… curious.”

“And she mourns him?” Barak’s voice held no pity. His gold eyes were impassive as he stared into the distance, the evening sun flushing his pale skin a gold-tinted rose.

“She does.”

“You were curious?” Vasu asked, his voice holding more judgment than Jaron expected. Then again, Vasu was younger than his brothers, a mere boy when the Fallen had left their home. He had lived longer in the human realm than the heavenly. “Toying with humans is beneath you.”

“His sacrifice was necessary for the pieces to be put into place.”

The three angels rested at the peak of the mountain, the hawks circling above them, screaming at their intrusion. Jaron, bronze and gold in the light, eyes watching the distance, seeing beyond time and space. His children, when it served him, bore traces of his foresight. Vasu stood slightly behind him, dark and brooding. His physical presence dwarfed his brothers, not in size, for the tall, lean human form he donned was not imposing; but his energy, the tightly chained physicality of his presence, marked him as different, more terrestrial, than his brothers.

Barak sat next to Jaron, his brother’s mirror in eternity. While Jaron saw, Barak heard. His solemn presence was the eternal and constant punctuation of Jaron’s curiosity. Friends. Brothers. The two angels had existed in tandem for millennia. And now they struggled to attain what others thought was lost.

“Do you truly think it possible?” Barak asked, rising to his feet. “After all this time?”

Jaron continued to stare. Something was stirring in his vision. “Seven years or seven million, brother. He does not see time as we do. It has to be possible.”

A flicker. A wavering in the heavenly realm as the stars danced above. Jaron stood and walked to the edge of the cliff.

Barak asked, “What is this I hear?” His eyes sought Jaron’s, which were wide and filled with a long-lost emotion.

Wonder.

“A… complication.”

Vasu darted to his side. “What? What do you see?”

“Look, my brothers.”

Then Jaron opened his vision, sending it to the two angels at his side. All three looked curiously at the woman crouched in a hotel room. All three heard the words she uttered, then the tearing of the heavenly realm.

Vasu blinked. “Unexpected.”

“Does this change anything?” Barak asked.

“No. He was necessary to keep her alive. Other than that, he is incidental.”

“The female did this,” Vasu said.

“So it would seem.”

Barak said, “We knew her powers would be unstable.”

Vasu lifted an eyebrow, a decidedly human gesture Jaron wondered if he was aware of. “Is it any wonder our sons fear them?” he murmured.

“She is a means to an end,” Jaron said. “That is all.”

Barak and Vasu exchanged a look but did not argue with their brother.

Vasu and Barak asked in unison, “Does this change our course?”

“No,” Jaron said, his eyes narrowed on a dark riverbank. “We do what we always do. We watch.”

Chapter One

Anatolia, Turkey

He stared at the whirl of stars overhead, feeling their loss even as the soft grass caressed his back. They danced, tremulous in his vision, as her voice floated away on the night breeze.

Come back to me.

As the words drifted away, he caught flashes of another life.

Dark curls lifting in the breeze as the sun flashed on water. Rocking. Snatches of foreign voices and scents.

“Do you like to travel alone?”

“What?”

“Am I not allowed to ask you questions?”

“It’s unusual.”

“Call me unusual, then.”

He closed his eyes to the stars. Another vision. Arms and legs tangled together. Sun-darkened skin against milky-white. She arched above him, her hand pressed to the carved wall of the cave as she sighed a name.

His name.

“Malachi…”

Her face flush with pleasure.

Her face.

Gold eyes and fair skin. Her mouth parted. She was speaking.

Speaking.

Screaming…

Hidden in the shadows, he saw her. Surrounded by grime and the scent of foul water. Saw her eyes widen in horror. Then…

Black.

The man sat up with a gasp, looking around with wide eyes. The river was familiar. But not. The air didn’t smell as it should. There was an acrid tinge of smoke in the breeze and lights in the distance. He pushed to his knees, his legs feeling stiff and uncertain, as if he hadn’t used them in days. He stared down at his bare chest and arms, frowning. Something was missing. Something lacked. But he couldn’t find it in the jumble of his thoughts.

Everything was confusion.

He finally stood and, ignoring the rocks on the riverbank, made his way downstream. There were always humans if you followed the water. His father had taught him that.

He thought his father had taught him that.

The man walked for what could have been hours. He had no sense of the passing time. There was only night and one foot stepping in front of the other. The sound of water and the occasional low of a cow. Step by step, he made his way toward the lights.

The lights appeared from behind a grove of olive trees. As he approached, he realized it was a home, but not like any other in his hazy memory. A dog began barking at him, so the man hung back near the edge of the trees, not wanting to frighten the humans.

Humans would be afraid of his kind.

There was a slamming door, then a man walked out, calling something in a foreign tongue. He looked like a farmer, his pants were stained with the mud from the fields, and his grey hair was mussed as if he’d worn a cap all day. The farmer’s voice rose as he shushed the dog and looked into the dark orchard.

The man stepped forward, holding up his hands to show he wasn’t dangerous. As the farmer caught sight of him, he stopped. He shouted, gesturing for the stranger to go away, no doubt alarmed by the man’s nakedness.

The farmer couldn’t understand him, and the man knew that was wrong.

Shaking his head, he held out his arms, trying to make the farmer understand he wasn’t a threat. That he needed…

What did he need?

Come back to me.

He needed to get back to the woman.

He didn’t know her name, didn’t know where she was or who she was…

Then he realized he didn’t know who he was, either.

I don’t know who I am.

He felt as if the air had left his lungs. His arms dropped, the farmer’s anger forgotten. The dog’s barks faded into the background as he closed his eyes and tried to control the panic.

I don’t know who I am.

Something in his expression must have given the farmer pause, because he stopped shouting and stepped closer. He said something else the man didn’t understand, but this time it sounded like a question. He ignored the human, clenching his eyes closed, trying to remember. Remember anything. Even his name—

“Malachi,” the woman had sighed.

His name.

Her soft voice had named him Malachi.

If he knew nothing else, he knew his name.

Malachi opened his eyes and took a breath to center himself.

The old farmer stepped through the gate. He’d grabbed a bedsheet from the line in the farmyard and held it out, speaking in a lower voice. Malachi took it, wrapping it around his body and cutting the chill of wind that had begun to bite his bare skin. The farmer motioned him closer, obviously concerned. He waved for Malachi to bend down, so he did. The farmer ran a hand along Malachi’s scalp, turning his head back and forth, muttering under his breath.

Malachi realized he was looking for injuries. Moved by the human’s kindness, he instinctively stepped away from the farmer’s hands.

He wasn’t supposed to touch humans. He did remember that.

The farmer spoke again, motioning Malachi through the gate and pointing at an outbuilding that looked like a metal-clad barn. Then he raised his voice again, shouting at the house until the door slapped open and a female voice yelled back.

There was a confused exchange as the old farmer led Malachi to the barn and flipped a switch on the wall that illuminated the interior with blinding false lights.

No, not false. Malachi knew what they were. They were the electric lights the humans had invented, fed by the manufactured energy they used to power all sorts of things. Lights. Musical players. Machines. Malachi caught sight of the machine at the end of the barn.

A tractor. The name popped into his mind before he had a chance to catch the source. Snatches of knowledge kept bubbling up, unpredictable and elusive. Disconnected from one thing to the next, he realized he knew the name of the tractor and what it did but had no idea what language the man was speaking. And some instinctive part of him knew that he should know. Knew that if he could just find some of the language written…

There.

Malachi blinked, ignoring the old man who ushered him to a chair by the workbench. He didn’t even notice when the farmer walked out; his eyes were glued to the paper on the table. He grabbed it as his heart began to race. Letters and characters always made sense. He sat down in the old chair and traced his hands over each one, learning its shape, letting his mind unlock its secrets.

The curve of an S, like a serpent in the grass, hissing its tongue.

The circled perfection of the O.

The slashing strength of the V.

His mind drank them up like a beast deprived of water. The letters turned into words, the words jumped into sentences. And as the meaning of the letters crept into his mind, Malachi felt a surge of power. The shouts on the other side of the wall began to make sense.

“—could be!”

“…looks hurt, not dangerous.”

“…no head wounds. …if he was attacked? Do you want…?”

Malachi glanced at the front of the paper. Then at the date. He understood the date, even if it didn’t make sense. The year seemed wrong, but then, what did he know? He read the headlines.

Protests Spread to Ankara

Economic Forecasts by the EU Favorable into 2014

Tourism Down in Istanbul for Summer Months

The letters soothed his mind, ordering the chaotic thoughts that tumbled and twisted. More pieces fell into place. He was in Turkey, in Anatolia, where he had been born. But it was hundreds of years later, and he knew his family was no longer here. But others were, and he needed to find them. Others of his race would be able to help him. Perhaps they would know why he couldn’t remember anything. Did he need to go to Istanbul? Part of him latched on to that idea while a darker whisper warned him to avoid that ancient city.

The woman.

Where was the woman? He continued flipping through the newspaper, and every picture jogged different memories. Rush-hour traffic in Ankara. An airplane crash. Charts showing the ebb and flow of commerce. His brain registered it all as he read, but nothing pointed him toward the woman. Nothing jogged the memories he was so desperate to find.

Malachi looked up when the barn door opened. The old farmer and his wife stood side by side, the man concerned, the woman obviously suspicious.

“Thank you,” Malachi said softly, not wanting to frighten them. “I must have been… I’m not sure. I may be in shock. I don’t know how I came to be in your field.”

The old man blinked. “So you are Turkish? We thought you might be a tourist who was robbed. Who are you? What happened?”

“I… I’m not sure, exactly. I know my name is Malachi, but my memory…” He frowned and rubbed a hand through his hair. She’d told him he needed a haircut. He cocked his head at the bubble of memory. “I’m remembering more and more. But nothing makes sense. I was born here, I think.”

“Tell us their name. We will find them for you.”

“No… no, they’re all gone now. I just… I need to find—”

“Who?” The farmer’s wife spoke. “Is there someone we can call for you? Perhaps we can take you to the hospital in Polatlı? Your name is Malachi? What kind of name is that? English? You don’t look English.”

Malachi shook his head. “I don’t need a hospital. I feel fine, just confused.”

The cave. There was a place with many caves. A place he and the woman had been. They’d been safe there. He remembered the feeling of safety. Was the woman still in the caves?

“But if you don’t remember anything, then shouldn’t you see a doctor?” the farmer asked. “That is not normal. You are a young man. Perhaps there is some illness in your mind that—”

“I need to find a place with caves,” Malachi said, standing abruptly, suddenly confident in his destination. He heard the farmer’s wife gasp and her eyes widened as she glanced down. Malachi realized the sheet he’d tucked around his waist had fallen off. Clearing his throat, he reached down and wrapped it around himself again.

The farmer only looked amused. “With caves? A place with caves? There are caves all over Turkey.”

Malachi’s heart sank. “I remember being in a cave. I have this memory of my…” What was the human word? “Wife. My wife and I. There was a house in the caves.”

The old woman cocked her head. “You were living in a cave with your wife?”

“I think so. Or… we were staying there. There was a bed and… a desk. A washroom, even. I… I don’t know more than that.”

They exchanged a look, and the old woman shrugged. “Cappadocia, maybe?”

“One of the cave hotels?” the farmer asked. “Perhaps they took a holiday.”

“I can’t think of any other place. Who lives in the caves these days?”

“Cappadocia?” Malachi said, searching his mind. There was a faint memory… Yes. His father had gone to Cappadocia to study when he was a boy. There were scribes there—

Scribes.

He took a quick breath as another bubble of memory rose. He was a scribe. That was why the letters spoke to him. He was a scribe and others of his kind were in Cappadocia.

“Yes,” he said in a more confident voice. “In Göreme. I have people there. People who will pay you if you bring me back. I need… I need to find her. I think she is there.”

The farmer’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure? I still think it might be a good idea for you to visit a hospital. You can always call them—”

“No.” Malachi realized the farmer was talking about using the telephone. “I… don’t remember any telephone numbers.” The more he searched his mind, the more he remembered. Odd things. He had crystal-clear pictures of his childhood, but couldn’t remember his mother’s name. He knew he wasn’t human, but also knew he couldn’t tell the humans what he was. He could picture faces, but not in context. He’d traveled the world—he knew that—but he wasn’t sure if he could drive a car. It was as if he’d been put back together from pieces, but too many of them were missing to create a clear picture.

And he couldn’t remember her name. He desperately wanted to remember her name. Remember more about her. But other than a few brief memories, his mind was silent.

“I have a friend who could take you,” the farmer said. “He has a truck going to Kayseri tomorrow. I can ask if you can go along.”

“I don’t have any money to pay…”

The farmer shook his head. “I can sense you are an honest man. I know these things. You will pay him when you get there. Or send money back.”

The wife’s raised eyebrow told Malachi she was more skeptical, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she said, “I will get you some blankets. You’re welcome to sleep on the cot over there.” She pointed at the corner where a small pallet lay. “Are you hungry?”

He nodded. His stomach had been aching since he woke. “I don’t remember the last time I ate.”

“I’ll get you a plate then. Osman will bring it out after he’s called Ibrahim.”

“Thank you.” Malachi sat again. “I cannot thank you enough. I promise I will repay your kindness somehow.”

The woman’s voice softened. “I hope you find your wife. Sleep well. I’ll send extra blankets. The nights are getting cold.”

He slept deeply that night. Malachi dreamed he was running in a dark forest. He knew he was searching for her, but no matter which way he turned, the paths all led to dead ends. He could hear her crying somewhere. The sound almost brought him to his knees. She needed him. She was as lost as he was, but so far away.

Come back to me.

He heard her whisper it again. His soul raged in pain and anger, and Malachi knew he would hear her his whole life. She would call and he would answer. He belonged to her as surely as she belonged to him.

When he woke, the sky was still black, but he was more determined than ever.

The truck came at dawn, the honk of the horn answered by the old farmer’s friendly yell and the smell of breakfast wafting from the house. Malachi dressed in the too-small clothes the farmer named Osman had given him, apparently left from a cousin who’d lived there briefly. The pants were too short and a little baggy, but the T-shirt fit him well enough. He kept looking down at his arms, sensing something was wrong… but they were fine. The skin was smooth and unmarred by injuries or scars. He shook his head and went out to meet the driver.

Osman’s friend, Ibrahim, was a delivery driver for a shipping company out of Ankara. He was taking a load of wool to Kayseri and bringing back finished textiles. As he was an old friend of Osman’s, he was more than happy to do the favor, though he couldn’t promise how fast Malachi would be delivered. They took off as the sun was rising, Malachi shaking Osman’s hand briefly, conscious of his growing strength, careful not to hold the farmer’s hand too long.

Malachi could sense some energy growing. It made him edgy. Uncomfortable.

Luckily, Ibrahim didn’t ask many questions; he mostly wanted an audience. Ibrahim liked to talk. Malachi sat back, amused by the humorous old man, smiling for the first time as he listened to the raucous jokes and fantastic stories of the truck driver. Two hours later, he drifted into a fitful sleep, only to wake when the truck jerked to a halt.

Ibrahim was smiling. “What was that?”

“What?”

“That language you were speaking! I’ve never heard it before, even in Istanbul.”

What language had it been? Probably the language of his thoughts and dreams. The one he knew the humans weren’t supposed to know about.

Malachi decided to play dumb. “I have no idea.” He smiled. “How could I? I was sleeping.”

Ibrahim laughed. “Fair answer, friend! Well, we’re here.”

Malachi looked around the dusty town, but nothing seemed familiar. “In Cappadocia?”

“Osman said you had people in Göreme. I brought you to Göreme.”

Cars and pedestrians were scattered around a lively intersection, but Malachi could tell it was a very small town. Surely, once he was walking, he’d recognize something.

“Where are the caves?”

Ibrahim laughed again. “It’s Göreme! There are caves everywhere. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to a hospital?”

“No.” Malachi sat up, spying something out of the corner of his eye that looked familiar. It was a restaurant with a balcony. Red umbrellas shaded the tables. There was something about the balcony… “No, I just realized where I am.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, reaching for the door handle, suddenly eager to explore. He halted when Ibrahim’s arm shot out.

“Wait.” The old man reached for his wallet. “I like you. Take a little money, just so I’m not so worried, eh?”

“I don’t—”

“Please, take it.” He held out some notes. “I’ll give you my card. If you want, you’ll pay me back when you find your people. But Allah would not be pleased if I sent you away with nothing. Take enough to be safe for a day or two, okay? And you’ll have my phone number, too.”

Touched by the man’s generosity, Malachi smiled. “You are a good man, Ibrahim. And you tell very good jokes, even though I didn’t understand all of them.”

Ibrahim roared with laughter. “Well, you have brain damage! What can I expect?”

A few minutes later, Malachi waved as Ibrahim drove down the road, then he turned and searched for the restaurant. He walked slowly, hoping that, somehow, things would start to make sense. As he passed the restaurant, he caught the edge of a sign for a rug shop and knew he’d walked by it before.

She swung her arms as she walked, and Malachi let his brush against her. Just the brush of contact. Just so she knew…

He turned right, then right again at a cafe with a cracked window.

She stopped, her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she caught the tenor of his thoughts. Embarrassment, but desire, too. He knew she wanted him…

Up the hill he climbed, until he’d left the shops behind and the streets were filled with stone houses. A striped cat walked along the top of a wall, following him as he searched for clues. At each intersection, he’d see something.

An orange tree that tilted to one side.

A wall with colorful graffiti no one cared to paint over.

An abandoned cupboard with grass growing through the bottom.

Each turn led him up the hill and  farther away from the town center, but with each step, his sense of familiarity grew.

She was chatting about something with a dark-haired man. Laughing at some joke he wasn’t a part of. He was irritated by their ease together.

At the end of the road, a house rose into the cliffs. Or, he should say, a group of houses. There were buildings stacked at the base and rooms carved into the cliffs with stairs leading up. A wall surrounded the old compound, but no graffiti covered it. Trees grew over the walls and he could hear voices whispering within. He didn’t recognize the language.

Here.

She was here. She had to be.

Malachi stepped up to the large wooden door in the wall and lifted the knocker, banging it down as the voices beyond the wall stopped. There were shuffling steps, then an old man opened the gate.

“Yes? How can I—sweet heaven!”

Malachi stood speechless as the old man’s face paled. His eyes were like saucers.

“Hello?”

“It can’t be…,” the man breathed out.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I… I think I—”

“You’re dead.” The man stepped back, and fear rose in his eyes. “You’re dead.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“What are you?”

“What?” Fear twisted Malachi’s heart. Perhaps he’d been wrong to come here.

The old man’s hands shook. “You wear the face of a dead man.”

“I don’t understand—”

“What are you?”

Anger rose up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not dead, obviously. I just don’t remember—”

“Malachi?” The awestruck voice came from behind the old man.

Malachi raised his eyes to see the dark-haired man he’d seen in his memories. “I remember you.”

The other man’s eyes were also filled with fear. But it was a fear mixed with hope. “They said you were dead.”

“Who did? I don’t know what’s going on. Who—”

“It can’t be.” The dark-haired man stepped forward, his arm raised. He reached for Malachi, confusion written wide on his face. “They saw you die. Your dust rose. She felt your loss…” The man’s fingers touched Malachi’s shoulder and gripped. “You’re real. How are you real?”

A thick emotion filled his throat, and his eyes burned. “I don’t know what happened to me, but I need to find her.”

Another voice rose in a shout. “No!” The sound of running steps, then a tall blond man stood in front of him, mouth gaping. “No, I saw you die.”

“Maxim,” the dark-haired one said. “Are you sure?”

“How can you even ask me that?” he cried. “We all saw him die, Rhys. You saw her grieve. This is something… This is not our brother!”

She grieved… For him? Fear and shock and anger wrestled within him. Malachi said, “I don’t know who your brother is, I just need to find her. Where is she?”

“You will not hurt her!” the blond man yelled. “Whatever thing you are, you’ll keep away from—”

“But Max”—the dark-haired man named Rhys stepped between his friend and Malachi—“if it is him—”

“It can’t be!”

“What if it is?” He held the blond man back by the shoulders. “What if some miracle—”

“Miracle? Is this the time of the ancients? This is evil. Evil wearing the face of our—”

“I need to find my wife!” Malachi roared. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know who I am. But I know I heard her. Heard her calling me to come back to her. I just need to—”

“What?” Rhys had frozen, turning to look at Malachi, even as he continued to hold Maxim back. “What did she say?”

“I said, I need to find—”

“No,” he hissed. “What did she say?”

“I don’t—”

“When you heard her”—Rhys stepped closer, looking Malachi in the eye—“what did she say?”

Malachi tried to calm his racing heart. “Vashama canem. She said, ‘Come back to me.’”

All the color drained from Rhys’s face. “Heaven above.”

Chapter Two

Nordfjord, Norway

Ava was still sleeping when the car came to a stop. She clenched her eyes shut, holding on to the safety of silence for as long as she could.

“Ava.”

Damien knew she was awake. The man had preternatural senses that never switched off. Ava had decided he was like a weird combination of the most overprotective dad and big brother in history. Which, being the only child of a mother who saw her more as a peer than a child, was a new and interesting experience.

She snuggled into the down-filled jacket under her cheek and ignored him.

“Open your eyes. I know you’re awake. It’s going to rain in about fifteen minutes, and I’d like to start up the trail before it pours.”

She lifted her head and turned to him, speaking in a scratchy voice. “I never would have let you talk me into this in Turkey if I hadn’t been such a mess.”

“But you did, and now we’re here. Get your jacket on.”

She caught him looking at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Looks like someone’s nervous to see the wifey,” she muttered.

“Ah, look. Acid-tongued Ava is back. I missed her so much while she slept.” Damien gave her a droll look. “Wait, no I didn’t.”

“You’re the one who dragged me out here.”

“Would you like to go back to Oslo?” He pulled the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to her. “Go ahead. Hope you can outrun Volund’s Grigori. Maybe you can scream again if they get close. Or maybe not. You’d pass out and hurt yourself if you did that.”

“Shut up.”

“Or maybe you can follow me and stop acting like a child.”

“Stop trying to manage me,” she croaked, her voice dry from sleep.

“For now you need to be managed.”

She licked her lips and Damien held up a bottle of water. Ava took it, drank, then handed it back, noticing the extra-grim expression on his face. Slightly mollified by the water, she softened her tone.

“Hey, Captain Sunshine, shouldn’t you be happier than this? You’re going to see your wife at the end of that trail.”

Damien only stared into the thick trees that surrounded them. “A piece of advice—Sari doesn’t like the word wife.”

“Why not?” Ava knew the Irin used the word “mate” more than wife, but she’d heard the scribes in Turkey use both on occasion.

“She was born in a time when the human term ‘wife’ implied property.” Then a rare smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “And Sari is no male’s property. Now get your shoes on and lace them up tight. I don’t know everything that will meet us on that trail, but I do know this: there will be mud.”

They were somewhere in rural Norway, surrounded by blue and green. Steep green mountains laced with waterfalls cut against the clear blue sky. Blue-green water from the glacier melt. Ava knew they were somewhere in the fjords, but she wasn’t sure where.

The plane had taken them to Paris, then Berlin, then Damien had found a car and started driving. He didn’t tell her where, but she could read the signs. They’d headed west, then north. Through Hamburg and into Denmark. They’d taken a ferry that landed them in Bergen, then after a brief sleep in a small hotel, they’d started driving again.

Through mountain highways and on smaller ferries, they’d driven farther and farther into the Scandinavian countryside. Towns were quickly overcome by wilderness and an utter sense of isolation that Ava found comforting and frightening in equal measure. As she stepped out of the car, she felt as if she and Damien were the last two people on earth.

There was nothing but trees, sky, and a biting wind that carried the promise of rain.

She shivered, not only from the cold but also the memories of her dreams. Every night she dreamed of a dark forest. She thought she heard him, calling for her, running through the trees, trying to get back to her. In her dreams, she’d call for him, but no one would come. And then she’d weep the tears she no longer allowed herself in her waking hours. When she woke, they were cold on her face.

Ava locked away her grief and focused on the task ahead. Damien was pulling a backpack from the trunk of the small car they’d pulled over to the side of the road. She looked around into the forest.

“Is the car going to be safe here?”

“It will be fine. She’ll send someone down for it if she decides to let us stay. I know they keep some cars there, so they must have a place to park them out of the weather.”

“What do you mean, ‘if she decides to let us stay’?”

He shrugged. “She’ll allow you to stay, I’m sure, but she won’t want me.” He couldn’t hide the pain that crossed his face as he said, “She’ll be angry I showed up without an invitation.”

“But you said that you wouldn’t leave me here.” A wild flutter of panic filled her chest. Damien  might have been the grumpiest travel companion she’d ever had, but she knew him. And she knew he’d saw off his right arm to keep her safe. “You promised—”

“Yes, I did.” He narrowed his eyes. “You let me worry about Sari. I’m not going anywhere.”

He buttoned up his jacket and threw on the pack. Then he walked over and tightened up the drawstring around her neck. “It’s colder here than you’re used to.”

“I’ve been in cold weather before.”

He shook his head. “Not like here.”

Ava batted his hand away and sneered. “Actually, exactly like here. A magazine sent me to the fjords a couple of years ago to cover a new luxury hotel that was built to be completely self-sustaining. And that was in November. I get it. It’s cold and wet and the weather changes in five minutes. Now stop fussing and let’s walk.”

“Fine.”

“Good.” Ava couldn’t let his concern weaken her. She’d allowed herself to be soft and trusting with one man. She’d given him everything and he’d died. It wouldn’t happen again.

The path was steep, climbing up one of the narrow valleys cut by glaciers at the dawn of time. Thick forest surrounded them, and the well-worn path quickly turned muddy when the rain began to fall. Ava saw no signs of life. No tire tracks or footprints. The only indication they weren’t completely alone was the occasional rustle in the forest that could have been an animal… or something more.

Damien walked with grim purpose, never ceasing, turning only to check that she was still with him. Luckily, Ava had always been a good hiker. Her years of work in remote places left her as comfortable outdoors as she was in the city. The boots she wore were almost a carbon copy of the ones she kept in her room at her mother’s house, only less worn. She marched with Damien, never slowing as they climbed.

They’d almost reached the crest of a hill when she saw him stumble. Damien halted for a second, then took a step back, his foot sliding in the mud.

“Damien?”

“Keep walking.” His voice sounded strained. “Just keep walking, Ava.”

She walked closer, noticing that the strain in his voice was evident on his face, too. “What’s going on?”

“You can’t hear it?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Good. Keep walking.” He looked as if every step he took pained him. A vein began to pulse on the side of his forehead. With a low grunt, he picked up his feet, the mud sucking at them as he forced himself farther up the hill.

“What’s going on?”

His jaw clenched, he said, “She knows we’re here.”

Ava looked around but could see nothing. The hill they’d climbed led into a small meadow, then the muddy path led up another hill.

“How?”

“With her magic, she knows. This is her land.”

Ava thought she heard a howling sound whip through the wind, like the cry of a bird high in the air. The rain fell harder, soaking her collar, even though her hood was drawn up. Damien grabbed her hand, pulling her along the path. The forest seemed to close in the farther they walked. The green meadow narrowed as they approached another rock-strewn hill, the path twisting back and forth up the mountain. Ava pulled back, worried that Damien was hurting himself. His face had gone pale under the dark stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave.

“Ava, we have to keep walking.”

“You’re hurt.”

He shook his head and said under his breath, “I’ll hurt worse before this is through.”

The cry on the wind died away, and Ava heard what Damien had been talking about. A low hum drifted down the mountain and brushed along her body. Goose bumps rose on her skin, and the hair at the back of her neck prickled with sudden cold.

“What is that?” she asked. “Where… where is it coming from?”

“Irina,” Damien whispered, his eyes rising. “Now you’ll see why they are feared.”

Ava followed his gaze to see three grey figures at the top of the hill. They strode with purpose; the one in the center carried a long staff that struck the ground with each step. Another carried a sword, and the third held nothing, hands tucked out of sight. All three wore heavy coats in dark colors, but as they approached, Ava could see they were women.

The one in the center was tall, with strong, square shoulders and legs that ate up the ground beneath her. She pushed back her hood and the wind whipped long blond hair across her face, but Ava could see her eyes, vivid blue as the northern sky, piercing Damien where he stood. The woman’s stunning features were frozen in anger.

He stepped forward and took a ready stance as Ava saw the woman’s mouth open. Her lips moved, and a second later, a whisper wrapped around Ava, forcing her to the side as Damien was flung back, tumbling down the hill.

“Damien!” She started toward him, only to be held back by one of the woman’s companions. The dark-skinned woman with the fearsome sword grabbed Ava’s arm, and when she looked up, it was into cold black eyes and a face scarred from the cheek to the throat, as if the woman’s neck had been ripped open by a wild animal. She said nothing but only gave a small shake of her head. Ava tried to loosen the woman’s hold, but she might as well have been struggling with the mountain itself.

“Calm yourself,” the other woman said, putting a hand on Ava’s shoulder. She was shorter and her soft brown hair curled around her cheeks, but her grip was still firm. “Let them… talk.”

Damien had come to a stop in the meadow below, rolling to his feet as the tall blond woman strode toward him. He reached to the ground, taking up a thick branch of a tree that had fallen a moment before the blonde’s staff struck.

They parried for a moment, Damien forcing her back with quick blows before the woman’s superior weapon cracked the branch and swept Damien’s feet from under him. He rolled away a moment before the staff would have come down on his skull. He jumped to his feet, shoulders braced as he locked eyes with his opponent.

She was almost as tall as he was, a formidable woman who was clearly familiar with the weapon she held. She circled Damien, her eyes never leaving his. Another movement of her lips, and her staff split in half. She tossed one half to him, and they began again.

The two crashed together, their weapons evenly matched as they dueled, using arms and legs to try to trip each other. Yet even as they battled, Ava could sense the connection.

This was Sari.

She swung the staff at her mate’s head, only to be stopped by Damien’s forearm. He winced but grabbed her weapon, pulling it toward him and forcing her closer. But Sari countered, sweeping her leg between Damien’s and hooking one of his ankles, causing him to stumble back and release her staff. They went back and forth, both falling in the mud over and over again, only to rise and continue fighting. Ava, standing between the two strange women, felt as if she’d stepped into a battle older than time.

Damien was physically stronger, yet he held back when Sari aimed a punch at his face. His lip was split and his eye bruised, but he leashed his power, refusing to hit back. The wind whipped around them and the rain fell harder. Both were slipping in the mud, and though the humming had stopped, the chilling power had not dissipated.

With a hoarse cry, Sari struck his knee and Damien fell with a grunt. Dropping the staff, he held out his arms in supplication, looking up at his mate with such obvious adoration that Ava felt her breath catch. Sari halted, her staff at his neck, as Damien watched her with bruised face and bleeding lips. Mud coated his hair and cheeks, the rain making tracks as he knelt before her.

Ava heard the woman at her right whisper something in the Old Language, just as Sari dropped her staff and went to her knees. She grasped Damien’s hair and pulled him into a searing kiss.

They clutched each other, and Ava could hear Damien’s low groan even from up the hill. He wrapped his arms around his mate, grabbing her coat and pulling her closer, as if his life depended on her touch. Sari was just as voracious; she pulled at Damien’s neck, holding his lips to hers in a ravenous kiss. Then, just as abruptly, she shoved him back and stood, spinning around and reaching for her staff. Ava could see the tears rolling down Sari’s cheeks as her lips moved again, and she held her staff out. The piece she had given to Damien flew through the wind and melded itself to the piece in her hand.

She marched up the hill, eyes flickering to Ava’s once before she barked out an order to the two women and walked past, up the hill and into the driving rain.

The woman at her right turned to Ava. Rosy lips parted in a small smile. “English?”

“American.” She glanced over her shoulder at Damien, who was still kneeling in the mud, looking as stunned as Ava felt. He finally looked at her and gave her a small nod before he struggled to his feet and walked back up the hill.

“My name is Astrid,” the short woman said, giving Ava a small push as she began to lead her up the path. “Mala and I will escort you and Damien to Sarihöfn. You are welcome here.”

“Am I really?”

Astrid’s eyes held laughter, but her voice was serious. “Yes, really.”

Damien was only a few steps behind, and Ava saw the woman named Mala nod respectfully as he fell in step beside her.

Ava glanced at him. “So that was Sari.”

He shrugged and wiped the blood from his lip. It had already healed. “It went as well as I’d expected.”

“Why did you fight with her?” Ava asked from her chair in the small sitting room that connected her and Damien’s bedrooms. They’d been put into a cottage with two rooms, a small kitchen, and a bathroom they’d have to share, all situated away from the main house. She’d slept in worse.

“Because she needed a fight.” He stepped out of the bathroom, holding a towel to his hair. “And I give my mate what she needs.”

He was dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, despite the cold. Ava had noticed in the car that Damien seemed to run hot. She’d never noticed in Istanbul, but walking around in long sleeves to cover his extensive talesm must have been irritating. The tattoos reached from his collar to his wrists, with some spells even crawling down onto the backs of his hands. She knew he had them on his legs, too, though she’d never seen them. The scribe was very powerful, yet Sari had beaten him to his knees. And even though Ava knew he’d been holding back, it hadn’t been by much.

There was a fire already burning in the grate when they’d arrived. Damien insisted that Ava get cleaned up first, then took his own shower to get rid of the caked-on mud. It was only five o’clock, but the sun was starting to disappear, sinking behind the mountains that surrounded the narrow valley.

“Where are we?”

“Norway.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

He took a seat by the fire. “We’re in the Nordfjord. Sari’s family has had this property for hundreds of years. It used to be just a small cottage they used for holidays. Very private. Her family was always very private. They liked their own space and never took well to living in retreats. After the Rending, after we lost… so many, she left me and came here. I knew she’d gathered other Irina but didn’t know how many.”

“This is your first time here?”

“Since the Rending, yes. I came here before. When we were first mated.” He looked out the window at the lake in the base of the valley. “We spent time here together. I’m one of the few Irin scribes who even knows this place exists. We’re safe here; I’m sure of it.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” Ava asked as Damien bent his head, holding his shoulder-length hair near the fire.

“It’s been years. We used to try to meet in other places.” He frowned. “But it was too… It’s complicated, Ava.”

She nodded, still not really understanding. She could sense how painful the topic was, despite his natural stoicism.

“Does she really hate you so much?”

He looked up, his elbows propped on his knees, and his eyes burned with pride. “She hates me as she loves me. Wholly and completely. Sari never does anything by halves.”

“Are they all angry? Are all the Irina angry like Sari?”

“No. Maybe.” He took a deep breath and sat back. “There’s not a simple answer. And there are so few Irina in most places. I am… not the best person to explain.”

“Try. I need to understand.”

He absently rubbed his cheek where his mate had struck him. The wound had already healed, but a faint shadow remained.

“You can see how powerful they are. The Irina, I mean. An Irina singer at the height of her power, trained by her elders, can wield frightening magic. With a word, they can change the course of the wind. Render a strong man weak or a weak man strong—”

“Break a stick in half and then mend it?”

He nodded. “All Irina have different powers. Seers. Healers. Elemental magic. Some of that is natural and some depends on how they train. In the past, they used their magic for mostly creative endeavors. Healing. Building. Teaching the young. Scientific discovery. These were always their greatest strengths. The more… martial magics… were not valued.” He smiled. “Many of the older Irina derided offensive spells. ‘Male’s work,’ my grandmother would sneer at my father and me. All Irina knew some protective spells, of course. And many to help themselves blend in with the human world, but it was the Irin scribes’ job to protect them. And for our part, we didn’t encourage our mates to learn offensive magic. Why would they need it? They had us. And we…” His voice grew hoarse. “We would never leave them unprotected.”

A low anger began to smolder in her gut. “Except you did.”

“We did.” He braved her eyes. “And we learned how desperately wrong we were only after we lost everything.”

“Not everything,” she said, trying not to taste the bitterness on her tongue. “You and Sari still have each other. Lots of people—most of the Irin—lost their mates.”

“I’m one of the lucky ones.” A sad smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “We aren’t exactly a peaceable pair, but then, we never have been.”

“Will she ever forgive you?”

“I don’t know.” Then his eyes gleamed and his smile spread. “But I’m tired of being patient. And as I give Sari what she needs, so she will give me what I need. If meeting you has taught me anything, it’s that change is possible. And there are powers at work that we may never understand. We lost half our race during the Rending. Then we—Irin and Irina—allowed this wound to fester. We’re dying from within, and it must stop. Change is no longer only possible, it’s necessary for survival.”

“Do you think they’re ready for it?”

“I don’t know. But look at you, Ava.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Everything in our writings, in our history, tells us you shouldn’t exist. And yet, you do! Though your mother is human, you hear the voices of the soul. Your words hold power. You mated with a warrior in my house. You are an Irina.” Damien turned and stared out the window toward the large house that dominated the valley. “Change has already come. They just don’t know it yet.”

Chapter Three

Cappadocia, Turkey

“I’m a what?”

Malachi was sitting in a room with Rhys and the old man called Evren. Both wore looks of confusion as they tried to ascertain what had happened to Malachi.

“An Irin scribe,” Evren said patiently.

“And the Irin are descended from… angels.”

“We are the race formed when angels fell from heaven and mated with human women. Heroes of old. Some would call us demigods, though we are not. We are half human, half angel. There have been generations of us. A separate people, so to speak. The angelic race.”

“But we’re not angels.”

“No,” Rhys said. “Angels are frightening creatures, and you don’t want to meet them.”

“But…” The memory jolted him. “I think I have met one.”

Eyes darkened to near black, then a glowing gold as the human mask dissolved. Jaron’s shoulders grew wide and thick. His frame lengthened… almost seven feet.

“Yes,” Rhys said, sliding forward in his seat. “You have. Do you remember?”

A faint gold shimmer covered his skin as the mask of the harmless doctor fell away and the heavenly being emerged. His hair grew longer… thick ebony strands brushing past his shoulders. The bronze skin of his torso glowed in the afternoon light, and raised talesm rose like shimmering brands on his skin.

Malachi’s eyes blinked back into focus. “I was with her. I had to protect her, but he didn’t hurt her, and I was confused.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “We were all confused. What else do you remember?”

Thousands of you, Scribe. One of her. Remember.

“He told me there were thousands of us and only one of her.” He looked up in confusion. “There’s only one of her? What does that mean?”

“We’ll explain that another time,” Evren said. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes and no. There are pieces I remember. Odd things. I knew I was something different as soon as I woke up. A… scribe, I suppose. I knew my father—  Is my family still living?”

Rhys shook his head. “No. You have no siblings and your parents both died many years ago. Ava is your only family other than us.”

Ava. The name fell into his mind and filled it. It brought the memory of air tinged with cloves and roasted hazelnuts.

“Who is she?”

The old man looked at him, pity in his eyes. “She is your mate. You remember nothing of her?”

“My mate?” Not a wife. More than a wife.

“Your mate. Your reshon. It is a sacred union.”

“Reshon?”

“Your souls were created for each other. And when you marked her with magic, they bonded.”

“Where is she?”

Evren and Rhys exchanged a look. Rhys said, “We don’t know, but we’re going to try to find her. We will find her.”

She wasn’t here. He felt as if he were stumbling through the dark, looking for something just out of his reach.

“Malachi,” Evren asked. “When you woke, you were like this?”

Malachi frowned. “I was by the river. There was nothing around. But I followed the water and found the farm.”

“The old retreat,” Evren said. “He woke near the old retreat. I think when he came back, he was reborn in the exact place he was born the first time.”

Rhys said, “You think Ava—”

“It must have been. I don’t know how, but it is the only explanation.”

“No Irina has the power to—”

“No Irina is like Ava. She has no training. She has never been told what she may not do, so who knows what she is capable of?”

Malachi broke into their quiet conversation. “You’re telling me I died?”

Evren and Rhys turned to him.

“I died?” he asked again. “Truly? I died. And I came back to life?”

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing. I remember nothing. Just her voice on the wind and the stars overhead. I’ve been getting flashes here and there, but I don’t remember her. How could I forget her?” He felt torn. Incomplete. And it wasn’t just the memories he was missing. “And you think she did this somehow?”

Evren said, “We don’t know. Not really. But there is no other explanation. Your brothers saw you die. Saw your body turn to dust. Your mate saw you die—felt you die.”

“But why would Ava be able to—”

“She said the words,” Rhys said. “The words she had heard her whole life. From the souls of everyone who mourned. She came to me before she left. Asked me what it meant. Vashama canem. Come back to me.” He turned to Evren. “I had no idea. How could I?”

“There was no way of knowing she could do this, Rhys. No way—”

“Wait!” Malachi felt a chill creep along his skin. “You’re telling me she spoke this command and I answered. Even from beyond death?”

“He’s telling you words have power,” Evren said. “Ava asked you to come back to her. And you did.”

The two men stood across from him, staring. Malachi refused to sit down after being introduced to Max’s twin, Leo. He felt restless. He wanted to do something. Go somewhere. Sitting around a library made his skin itch. Rhys had left, along with Evren. The two men with him claimed to be his friends, but he had no memory of them.

Leo leaned over to Max and asked, “What happened to them?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did he—”

“He died and came back to life, Leo. Who knows what happened to them.”

“Will they come back?”

“How should I know?”

Malachi suppressed the urge to punch them both. “What are you talking about?”

Leo rolled up his sleeves to reveal intricate tattoos all over his arms. “Your talesm. Your spells. Tattoos. You used to be covered with them like us. More than us, because you’re quite a bit older.”

Of course. That was why his arms felt wrong. He’d sensed a lack of… something since he woke. He rubbed his hands over his forearms, wishing he could rub away the unwanted attention. “I don’t know what happened. And you don’t look much younger than me, so how old am I?”

Leo said, “You used to be around four hundred. But do we start over now?” He grinned. “Am I not the youngest anymore?”

Max tapped Leo on the back of the head. “Stop. He’s obviously still Malachi. He’s just different. You’re still the youngest in the house.”

“Damn.”

Malachi looked toward the door. “Where did all the others go?”

Leo said, “Evren sent the scribes in the house searching the archives to see if there are any records of Irin coming back to life after death. Rhys went to search Damien’s phone and credit card records to see if he’s still traceable. I’m guessing he won’t be, but we can hope.”

“And Damien is with…”

“Ava.”

“Yes, Ava.” His woman. His mate.

“It must have been her.” For the first time, Max’s eyes softened as he watched him. “Somehow… We thought we’d lost you, Malachi. I watched you die. Saw the dust rise to heaven when he killed you.”

Leo put his arm around his brother. “There was no question. She felt your loss.”

“Ava was… torn in two when you died,” Max said. “I’ve never seen—I don’t remember the Rending, so I’ve never seen grief like that before.”

Malachi swallowed a groan. She was out there, grieving his loss, and he was unable to comfort her. Even though he couldn’t remember her, Malachi bristled in awareness of her grief. “I need to find her. Why did this man take her from here?”

Rhys opened the door, face grim. “Damien took her away because her power was unpredictable and growing stronger every day.” He glanced at Malachi. “Obviously.”

“You’re saying she didn’t mean to bring me back. This was some kind of mistake?”

“Not a mistake,” Rhys said, his voice breaking. “Never a mistake, brother.”

“Then why—”

“No trained Irina would have done it. They have rules. Boundaries. As we do. Set in place thousands of years ago by the Forgiven when they gave us the gift of magic. To do something like this—to tear a soul from heaven—is… not done. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“There probably isn’t even a spell for it,” Leo added. “But Ava grew up among humans. She has power, a lot of it—especially since the mating ritual between you two—but she has no idea how to use it.”

“Whatever happened to bring you back was instinctive,” Rhys said. “She’s probably unaware she worked magic at all.”

His heart thudded. “So she doesn’t know I’m alive.”

“I very much doubt it.”

Max asked, “Did you find Damien? Is there any way—”

“Damien and Ava dropped out of sight a few days ago. There’s no telling where they are now. The last point of contact was a car he picked up from the scribe house in Berlin. He didn’t say when he’d be returning it, though he asked the watcher of the house for something with all-wheel drive. There was GPS in the car, but it was disabled outside Hamburg. They haven’t used credit cards, and Ava left her old mobile phone here. The ones they have now are burners. Damien made sure of it.”

Max crossed his arms. “So he’s gone to Sari.”

“It appears so. We knew that was probably where they were going.” Rhys sat on the edge of the sofa, which seemed to give all the men permission to follow his lead. Malachi joined them as they sat.

Leo said, “Which means he’s in Scandinavia somewhere.”

“Wasn’t Sari raised at a retreat near Gothenburg?” Max asked.

“Yes, but her family isn’t from there,” Rhys said. “Her mother was a dissenter and only brought Sari there when she was ready for school.”

Malachi asked, “A dissenter? And who is Sari?”

“Sari is Damien’s mate. Ava will be safe with her.”

“Why?”

Rhys sighed. “This is so strange. You really don’t remember any of this?”

Malachi crossed his arms and shrugged. “Bits and pieces.”

“I just… don’t understand.”

Of course you don’t. You haven’t lost every bloody memory that matters. Malachi pushed back his own annoyance and tried to explain. “Sometimes it’s like being reminded of something. Some of the things you’ve said, I remember immediately. As if I had always known them. Like my talesm.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Almost as soon as Leo mentioned them, I knew what he was talking about.”

“That’s so strange,” Leo said.

“What?”

“The way you’re sitting. You always sit like that. And your expressions. They are exactly the same. Sorry. Not important.”

Max frowned at his cousin, then turned back to Malachi. “Please. Continue.”

“Now I remember them in detail,” Malachi said. “I remember how they felt. I remember… scribing them. Is there any way of knowing whether or not they’ll return?” Hundreds of hours of careful work had vanished from his skin, and he felt the loss of power keenly.

“None,” Rhys said. “Not unless Evren’s scribes find something in the archives that mentions Irin returning from the dead.”

Max was looking at Malachi with narrowed eyes. “The more important question is are they still working? If they’re not, you’re aging right now. Your magic is channeled by your talesm. If they’re gone—”

“You’ll be weak,” Leo’s face was pale. “Unprotected. Like… a human.”

Max said, “Not to mention, you look a bit naked. It’s unnerving.”

Rhys patted Malachi’s shoulder. “At least we know his natural powers are still intact. Language seems to come normally, otherwise he’d not be able to speak Turkish like he did at the gate.”

“I thought I was born here,” Malachi said.

Rhys shrugged. “You’re Irin. The Old Language is our first tongue, the only one we’re born knowing. The humans who found you, did you understand them at first?”

“No. I had to find a newspaper. I could read it. After that… the pieces of the language just seemed to fall into place, and I could understand them.”

“See?” Rhys said to Max. “His natural magic still works, which means he can build his other magic from there. He’ll have to relearn his spells and rescribe his talesm, but he should be able to recover.”

“And who knows?” Leo said. “Maybe when you find Ava, she can help.”

Rhys nodded. “Agreed. The first step is to find Ava and Damien. One, she shouldn’t grieve any longer than necessary. Two, she’s his marked mate. She may be able to heal him.”

“Do you think she could give me back my memories?”

The hollow corners of his mind mocked him. Malachi knew he had lost his past, but he didn’t know where to find it. Or even where to look. Isolated knowledge and bits of the past kept popping up unexpectedly, tucking themselves into pockets in his mind. But with each new revelation, the depth of his loss only became more disturbing.

“She might be able to help,” Max said. “You remembered her? Immediately?”

“No—yes. I remember her voice. Her face.” He grasped at the fragments, as if his very existence depended on holding them. “Hers was the first face I saw in my mind. I saw us here. Together. We were…” He looked around at the curious faces of the men. “None of your business.”

Leo grinned and Max shook his head.

“Still a lucky bastard,” Rhys said. “Even half-alive and naked.”

Rhys led him out of the sitting room where they’d been enjoying the fire, up to a terrace that led to a series of stairs, which twisted and crawled up the hill. The sky was deep blue and the first stars were beginning to shine. Lamplight flickered along the face of the cliffs, and Malachi stopped. Looking up, his eyes hung on the majesty of stars that littered the sky. Pure white against the deep blue and purple night, he blinked and caught a glimpse of a dark sun rising in his mind.

“Malachi?”

He shook off the vision and continued to follow Rhys down a narrow corridor carved into the rocks.

“My rooms are all the way back here?”

“You like your privacy. You always pick rooms that are isolated if you can.”

The green door flashed in Malachi’s mind a second before they turned the corner and saw it.

“This was my room. Was Ava here, too?”

Rhys’s voice was thick. “Yes. She stayed here after you died. Her things are still there. She wanted… Well, she wanted to sleep where you had been.”

His heart tripped as he put a hand on the door and pushed it open. Her scent hit him immediately, and traces of her were scattered around the room. The shoes tucked under the bed. The large suitcase in front of the wardrobe. This was the room he’d seen in his mind. There was the spot on the wall where she’d braced her hand as they made love. He walked around the room, willing more memories to come, but his mind was stubbornly silent.

“These are her things?”

“She needed warm clothes wherever Damien was taking her, so she left her other things here. Said she’d just come back for them. She even left her computer.”

Malachi frowned, picking up a sweater that lay draped across the chair by the door. He held it up to his face and inhaled.

“Did she take her camera?” he asked, his face still buried in her scent.

“You remember.”

Rhys was wearing a huge smile when he looked up.

“What?”

“Her camera. She’s a photographer. Did you remember?”

He walked over to the bed and touched the edge of a pillow. “I don’t know. The question just popped into my head.”

“Hmm.” Rhys watched him taking in the room. “To answer your question, yes, she took her camera. I don’t know why she left her laptop. Maybe where they’re going there’s no Wi-Fi.”

Malachi looked for the small silver laptop and found it on the desk. He walked over and opened it.

“I’m fairly sure it’s password protected,” Rhys said. “So I doubt…”

Malachi let his fingers type without thinking.

F-R-E-A-K

“I hate that password,” he muttered, staring at the picture of him and Ava that popped up as the background.

“How did you know her password?”

“I don’t know.”

The picture had been taken near the ocean in the early evening. Malachi thought it might be near the pier in Kuşadası. There were lanterns floating in the background and the two of them stood smiling with the purple sky behind them. He remembered the faint perfume he could still smell on her sweater.

“Rhys,” he said, trying to mask the tension in his voice. “Can you please—”

“I’ll go,” the other man said quietly. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m down the stairs and to the right. The red door with the lion character on it.”

Malachi hardly heard the door close. He grabbed the laptop and took it to the bed, leaning against pillows tinged with a faint floral scent that might have been her shampoo. He turned his face to the side and inhaled, pressing his cheek where hers might have lain.

He scrolled through her pictures, looking at the stunning images she must have taken in Istanbul. Boats on the water. Children laughing at pigeons. Old men catching fish. He skimmed through her albums from Cappadocia until one miniature caught his eye. The album was entitled “M is a thief.” He clicked on it.

The first pictures were more bedding than anything else. Blurry. Out of focus. He frowned, then let out a choked laugh the farther he clicked through the scene. He’d stolen her camera. She was hiding in the sheets, but she was laughing. He’d managed to capture the top of her head in that shot. Her nose in the other. The edge of her smile as he tickled her ribs. Then…

His breath stopped.

The last picture in the set was off center and crooked. Snapped as he held the camera away from them, capturing their kiss. Her fingers were pressed into his inked shoulders, and his mouth took her swollen lips.

“Ava,” he breathed out, touching the computer screen before it blinked out. Malachi tried to turn it on again, but the battery must have died. He sat up and carefully placed the computer back on the desk, plugging it in before he stripped off his clothes and returned to the bed. He wrapped himself in sheets that he knew smelled of his mate and closed his eyes.

Why couldn’t he remember her?

Malachi felt broken. His memories. His lost talesm. Confusion and weakness. All of it paled in comparison to the gut-deep awareness that his mate was in the world, grieving him, and he could not ease her.

He closed his eyes and searched for her in dreams.

The forest was midnight black, shrouded in a thick fog that curled and twisted around his ankles. The path he followed was not clear; wet branches slapped his face as he stumbled in the dark.

Where was she?

He could hear her in the distance. Her cries ripped through his chest. Every time she grew louder, he was forced to turn again as the path diverted him. The dark maze wove through the forest, teasing him. Frustrating him.

He would not be defeated.

The dark mass rose before him, looming over his head as if trying to block out the stars. Damp branches laced with thorns twisted in on themselves, blocking him from going farther. The maze urged him to turn again, but he stopped. Held his hand up.

Her voice was audible now.

“Please. Please come back.”

With a frustrated roar, he pounded on the thorns. Then he spun around, looking for a way out or around or through. It was a dead end. There was nowhere to turn but away from her again.

But his mate needed him. She called for him, and he’d left her alone too long.

He plunged his hands into the thick brush that separated him from her voice. He ignored the pain as he forced his way forward.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I need you.”

He tore at the hedge, ripping away the thorns and branches that tore his skin, ignoring the pain in his chest, ignoring everything except her voice. Finally, his bloody hand reached through and felt the cool air on the other side.

Pale moonlight streamed through the fog as he forced his bleeding body the rest of the way through the brush. There, on the far side of the clearing, he saw her.

Broken and bent with grief, she curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her legs. She wore a pale robe, streaked with mud, which pooled around her feet. She rocked back and forth as he approached. He approached cautiously, kneeling in front of her where she sat. Then he reached out a tentative hand and pushed a damp curl from her face.

She looked up.

“You left me.”

“I found you.”

“Why did it take so long?”

“I was lost.”

Her gold eyes didn’t glow as they should have. They were dull with sorrow. Exhausted with weeping. He could see the tear tracks glittering on her cheeks.

“I found you, reshon.”

She held out her arms like a child asking for comfort. He reached out and picked her up, lifting her from the cold ground and cradling her against his chest. He felt her fingers tracing over his scratched skin.

“What happened to you?”

“I told you. I was lost, but I came back.”

“You found me.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not leaving again?”

“No. I promise.”

“I’m so tired.” She laid her head on his shoulder, and he felt his heart swell with purpose.

“Then rest while I hold you. I promise I won’t let go.”

Chapter Four

Sarihöfn, Norway

When Ava woke, she felt rested for the first time in weeks. Her head was clear. The tension that seemed to burn under her skin was gone. She felt fresh. Renewed. So renewed she didn’t even scowl when she heard the knock on the door. By the time she was up and presentable, Damien had already let the visitor in. It was the woman she’d met the previous afternoon.

“Good morning,” the visitor said with a smile. “I hope you slept well. My name is Astrid.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

She was definitely the most welcoming woman Ava had met so far. Without the heavy clothes and aura of magic, Astrid looked like a teacher or a doctor. Smart and friendly, she exuded calm welcome. Sari and Mala hadn’t made the greatest impression the day before, and Ava had gone to bed with second thoughts about the remote enclave where Damien had brought her. Astrid’s appearance put her at ease.

“So, what’s up?” She looked between Damien and Astrid.

“Sari and Damien thought it would be good for you to tour the retreat today and get a feel for where things are since you’ll be here for some time.”

Ava asked Damien, “How long?”

He shrugged. “As long as you want.”

“As long as it takes,” Astrid said, “for you to be able to control your magic. Letting you roam the world untrained would be too dangerous.”

Ava bristled. “I’ve managed for a few years on my own.”

“The Grigori hunt you. The humans do not understand you. And Damien says you mated with an Irin scribe who bonded with you and lent you his power. Your magic will be stronger now.”

“I have it under control.”

Barely. The voices pressed on her. Damien’s presence might have been soothing, but it did nothing to dull the soul voices as Malachi had done. They crept up on her. She had no shield from them. And worse, she seemed to have tapped into other voices, voices that were unlike the others. Dark and twisted, they haunted her dreams. At times Ava thought she was losing it.

Astrid’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Remember, you might not even realize you’ve worked magic. Without training, you’d have no idea. Here, you will be protected, and so will the rest of the world.”

“You’re acting like I’m some loaded gun.”

“In a sense, you are. I started learning to control my magic as soon as I could talk. My mother guided me until I went into formal training at thirteen. For scribes”—she nodded toward Damien—“the act of working magic is far more deliberate. No child is born writing. It is learned. But for Irina, our magic comes like breathing. It is our first language. The fact that you’ve been able to exist without hurting those around you is somewhat astonishing.”

The steady woman’s voice grated on her, killing the peace she’d woken with. “I would never hurt any—”

“You need our help. You burst Damien’s eardrums when your mate was killed.” Astrid’s voice was no longer soothing. She stepped closer to Ava, and though the woman was even shorter than Ava, Astrid’s presence dwarfed her. “You hurt yourself, three Irin, and countless Grigori—”

“You’re worried about the Grigori now?”

“I’d kill every one of them if I could,” Astrid said calmly. “But that is not the issue.”

Maybe Astrid wasn’t so unlike Sari after all.

“Maybe it is,” Ava said. “Maybe I don’t want to hide in a village somewhere and lick my wounds. Maybe I want to fight with the scribes instead of—”

“You have no idea what we do here.”

“And maybe I don’t want to!”

She stopped shouting when Damien put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sister,” he said quietly, brushing a hand down her arm.

Ava felt the calm immediately. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the peace she’d felt that morning, but it was wrapped up in dreams of Malachi and it hurt as much as it helped.

Astrid had backed down, too.

“Stay, Ava. We can’t force you, but we can help you. I promise.”

She said nothing, but relaxed when she saw Astrid smile a little.

“So, you want to kill Grigori?” the woman asked.

“They killed my mate.”

“And how do you know we don’t kill Grigori?”

Ava frowned. “But the scribes said—”

“Irin scribes say many things, hidden away in their scribe houses or lecturing in council meetings.” Astrid glanced at Damien and winked. “But they can be frightfully blind when it comes to reading things other than books.”

Ava hadn’t considered it, but it was true. Most of the scribes she’d met had admitted to not seeing an Irina in two hundred years. Why on earth was she taking their word for anything?

“So, what you’re saying is—?”

“Have you seen how the scribes fight?” Astrid asked, stepping closer.

“Yes.”

“They are the world’s finest warriors. None can match them in strength or grace. They are ruthless. Strong. Fast.” There was a fierce pride in Astrid’s eyes when she spoke. “Their talesm is like a living armor around them. A trained scribe could take on a dozen Grigori soldiers and walk away with their dust on his shoulders. Do you want to fight like that?”

She wanted to scream, Yes! But Ava flashed to the image of Malachi as he battled Grigori in the alley in Kuşadası, the graceful thrusts and twisting combat. The powerful way his muscles moved under his shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to match that. What was she thinking?

“I… I don’t know if I—”

“You can’t.” Astrid cut her off. “You never will. You are not Irin. You will learn physical fighting—we learned our lesson two hundred years ago—but Irin have their strengths”—her eyes flickered to Damien—“and we have ours. To fight as an Irina, you must learn to use magic. And we can teach you that. The scribes think we withdrew?” She shrugged. “That just shows you how well we can hide.”

A surge of desire shot through Ava. The dark voices whispered in her mind and a ripple of power teased her lips.

Kill them, they whispered. Take them. Hurt them as they hurt you. Hurt them more…

“You want that,” Astrid said.

“Yes.”

“I can see. But before any of that happens, you must do something else.”

“What?”

Astrid’s voice softened. “You must rest, sister. You must grieve. And you must heal.”

The Irina’s words were sour in her ears. An ache rose in her heart, and she tried to push it back.

“I’d rather just kill something,” Ava whispered.

“You try to forget him, but you can’t. You never will. He is the other half of your soul.”

“Astrid,” Damien said softly, but the Irina ignored him.

“Half of you died with him, Ava.”

“Shut up.”

“Half of you died, but you must understand, half of him still lives.”

She could feel the tears welling. Tears she’d shunned. Tears she forced herself to battle back. If she let them loose, they would fall forever.

“He lives in you.”

“Shut. Up.” She choked on the lump in her throat. “You have no idea—”

“I have every idea.” Astrid took a hand and put it to her throat. Then a whisper came from her lips in the Old Language, and the marks on her skin began to glow. Her mating marks were intricate, like gold lace covering her skin. When she pulled her hand away from her throat, Ava saw a band appear. Duller than the other marks, it crossed her collarbone and disappeared over her shoulders.

“What is that?” Ava asked.

Damien put his hand on Astrid’s shoulder, leaning down. “Too soon, sister.”

Astrid blinked and her mating marks disappeared. “Of course. Forgive me, Damien. I forget myself.”

“A rare occurrence, if I remember correctly.”

“Not so rare as before,” she said with a smile. She turned back to Ava, all friendly business again. “Shall we meet in an hour? That will give you time to dress and eat some breakfast. Did Karen bring a basket?”

“Yes, it’s in the kitchen.”

“Good.” Astrid nodded brusquely. “Eat something, dress warmly. Good shoes. I’ll be back in an hour to show you around.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“And if you need anything, if you’re not sleeping well… Just know that’s very normal when we lose a mate. I can help if you wish it. I’m the resident healer here.”

Damien stepped to the door as Astrid walked toward it. “Thank you.”

Ava saw him grasp Astrid’s hand in both of his. Saw the gentle hold she knew must be easing some of the other woman’s tension. Then Astrid smiled sweetly at him and left.

“She’s a widow,” Ava said a few moments after the door closed. “Astrid. She’s a widow.”

Damien nodded. “Yes.”

“What was that band around her throat? Does that happen when…”

“No,” he said softly. “Nothing has changed with your mating marks, Ava. Astrid wears a mourning collar to show respect for her lost mate, but it’s not permanent like a mating mark.”

“How long?”

“He was killed during the Rending. He was a good man. A friend.”

Ava looked out the window. She could still see Astrid walking along the pathway to the large colorful house where most of the Irina lived. Her soft brown curls bounced cheerfully and she saw her stop another woman and exchange some words that made both throw their heads back in laughter. Would she ever laugh like that again? Would she mourn for two hundred years, as Astrid had?

Half of you died with him.

Only half? It felt like more.

As if he could read her mind, Damien said, “You will take your own path to healing, Ava. Don’t ever look to another to rule your grief.”

She didn’t want to think about Malachi. Didn’t want to think about her dark dreams and the dull pain that lived in her chest.

Ava slid on a facade and turned from the window. “I heard someone brought breakfast?”

Hours later, she was walking through the valley with Astrid, drinking in the beauty of the water and the sky. The hills rolled softly up from the fjord, and the houses dotted the green meadows that rested in the shadow of the mountains. The retreat was far from just a collection of houses. There were greenhouses, workshops, even animals the community kept for milk and eggs.

“We’re mostly self-sustained. We try to keep to ourselves. The people in the nearest town think we’re hippies.” Astrid smiled. “They leave us alone, for the most part.”

“How many women?”

“It varies. Some of the older Irina, those Sari trusts the most, come and go. Living here full time, there are probably fifty or so.”

“The ones who come and go, what do they do?”

“Various things. Some maintain ties to the human world. A few have mates in active service in a scribe house somewhere relatively close. Most do other things that protect this haven and a few others like it around the world. So much of the world is run on the Internet now. We’re hardly isolated at all.”

“So there are other places like this? Where?”

Astrid glanced at her. “Sari doesn’t know you that well.”

“And everyone just follows Sari?” Ava found that hard to believe.

“At the end of the day,” Astrid said with a smile, “this is really her house. Her land. She doesn’t force any of us to stay, but where else would we go?”

“What about the scribe houses? Or that council they told me about in Vienna?”

“The council?” She sneered. “Old men who think Irina shouldn’t leave the house. The council of the elders thinks the only thing Irina are good for is breeding little scribes and inventing things to make them rich. They’re the ones who isolated us in retreats to begin with. They’re the ones who allowed the Rending to happen.”

Ava was shocked by the ire in the woman’s voice.

“Okay, then what about the scribes? The ones in Istanbul—”

Astrid stopped walking. “The Irin are far from one mind about this. You’ve seen Damien and Sari. You know they’re equal partners. I’m sure your mate was the same. They keep to the old ways. Many of the scribes are just like that, because that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

“So—”

“But that’s not the reality. Before the Rending—even now—many Irin wanted the Irina powerless. If we were their equals, then that made the scribes less, in their eyes. Twisted, I know, but some of the sickness of the human world has crept into the Irin race, as well.”

“So why withdraw?” Ava asked. “You can’t change things if you just disappear.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice at first. And now?” Astrid shrugged and continued walking. “We change things. In our own way.”

“In secret. So that no one knows what you’re doing or where you are?”

“If that’s the way it needs to be? Yes. Do you think we want to paint another target on our back?”

“Why can’t you work with the scribes? Work together? Malachi said that Irin were most powerful when they were mated.”

“Yes, because we can loan them Irina power when they go into battle,” Astrid’s voice was acid. “Why do you think the Grigori decimated us as they did? Most of the Irina were weak from loaning our mates magic. So when we were attacked ourselves, we were vulnerable. You think we will chance that again? Think we will put our sisters and the few children we still have at risk so that the Irin gain glory?”

“Malachi loaned me his power,” Ava said. “And I gave him nothing. He went into battle weak so that I could be strong. And he died because of it. He sacrificed his own safety for mine.”

Astrid said nothing for a moment.

“Your mate will be rewarded in the heavens.” Astrid spoke quietly as she continued walking. “The Creator values nothing more than love. And what is love that does not sacrifice?”

“But you’re acting like he’s the only one.” Ava shook her head. “Malachi and his brothers treated me like some sort of royalty when I was at the scribe house in Istanbul. Don’t you realize? There are men—good scribes—out there. Fighting against the Grigori who harm people. Fighting against the Fallen. And they’re doing it alone. They’re mourning mates and children, alone.” Ava thought of the devastated faces of the scribes in Cappadocia. The longing she’d seen in Rhys’s face. In all of Malachi’s brothers. “They would give anything to have the Irina back.”

“They might, but you know little of the Irin world, Ava. One group of good scribes does not mean that we are safe from all. There are still those who want us silent. And that is something we will not be.”

Ava said nothing. Astrid was right. She knew little about the Irin world outside her own narrow experience. It was an argument she couldn’t win. At least, not at the moment. Plus, she was tired. The time change, the travel. Her restless nights all seemed to be catching up with her. It must have shown on her face.

“Come,” Astrid said. “You’re tired. We’ll go to the house for lunch. Then you can rest.”

“I thought I wasn’t allowed in the house.”

“No.” Astrid smiled. “Damien isn’t allowed in the house—for now—and he insisted on staying close to you. Which is why you’re in one of the cottages. You’re Irina. You’re always welcome in Sari’s house.”

“But her mate isn’t?” Ava shook her head. “I gotta meet this woman.”

Astrid’s smile was mischievous. “You will.”

When Ava walked into Sari’s house, the energy of the place almost knocked her over. Her exhaustion fled immediately, even before Astrid led her to the dining hall.

Far from institutional, the dining hall in the house was attached to the kitchen. So while some of the women cooked, others sat at the table, some chatting and keeping company with the cooks, others working on their own projects. Ava saw one black-haired woman working on a laptop and slugging coffee back, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her. Another was knitting an intricate scarf. Still another was playing a guitar in one corner while two others listened. The whole mess created a lively hum over Ava’s skin that echoed the sudden jolt of power in her blood.

And sitting at the end of the table, braiding the hair of a girl no older than twelve, was Sari. Her long blond hair fell almost to her waist, and her face was softer than the first time Ava had seen her. The girl tilted her head back and Sari kissed her forehead before she shooed her away. She wore a soft blue sweater that brought out the color of her eyes. She noticed Astrid and Ava, and her eyes narrowed a bit as she waved them over.

Sitting down on the bench to her left, Astrid motioned to the chair across from her that backed up to one of the stoves.

“Sit there,” she said. “It’s the warmest spot.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sari, this is Ava. She’s not a dumb human.” Astrid waved her hands between the two. “And Ava, this is Sari. She’s as mean as she looks, but she won’t bite unless she has to.”

“Ha ha,” Sari said, rolling her eyes at the woman who was obviously a close friend. Then she turned to Ava. “Damien told Astrid that you’ve traveled to Norway before?”

“Yes, for work.”

“You’re a photographer?”

“I am.”

“Welcome to my country. And to my home.”

“Thank you.”

The woman looked amused at Ava’s terse answers. “Have I offended you in some way?”

Ava decided that Sari would respect the direct approach. “I showed up and you tried to bash in the head of the guy who’s been protecting me. Even though he’s your mate. What do you think?”

The room fell almost silent around them, but Ava never let her eyes leave Sari’s. Sari said nothing, but the smile never left her lips.

“And how is this your business, Ava Sakarya? Did I attack you?”

Ava supposed she had a point. It wasn’t her business. Not really. So why was she so resentful of the woman? “No, you didn’t attack me. I just think… you’re lucky to have him,” Ava said in a low voice, her eyes flicking to Astrid. “Not all of us do.”

Was it her imagination, or did a hint of guilt cross Sari’s face?

“I suppose you’re right. Then again, he’s quite lucky to have me, as well.”

“I’m sure he’d say the same thing.”

Sari’s eyes gleamed. “I know he would.”

There was a pause, then attention shifted away from Sari and Ava as the voices in the room resumed their quiet hum.

Sari stretched her arms up. She was an immensely tall woman. Her body and presence both made Ava feel like a child. Her muscles were hardened and lean. In the human world, people would assume she was a serious athlete. To Ava, she simply looked lethal.

“Are you comfortable here?” Sari asked.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“And how are you sleeping?”

Astrid barked something in a language Ava didn’t understand, then exchanged a few sharp words with Sari.

But Sari only smiled at her. “Astrid tells me that this is none of my business, and that she is the healer. I disagree. You’re in Sarihöfn—which was named for my great-grandmother, by the way, not me—so that makes your sleep part of my business.”

“My sleep? What does sleep—”

“Sleeping. Dreaming,” Sari said. “For us, these are not the same as for humans. Sleep is when our souls reach out. We can perform magic in dreams if we’re not careful. Didn’t they explain that to you?”

“No. There was a lot the scribes never explained.”

Sari sighed. “Well, that is… sadly typical. They do love their mysteries and cryptic puzzles.”

“There also wasn’t much time.”

Astrid said, “Sari, move on. I’ll talk to her about sleeping. I think she’s fine.”

“Very well,” Sari said. “Astrid tells me you are a mystery. Were you truly raised among humans?”

“Yes.”

“Very curious. I assume your mother lost her mate. Why did she not seek shelter with her family?”

The focus of the room was back on them both, and Ava tried not to cringe under the scrutiny. She felt like she had every time she entered a new school. Her stepfather’s money and connections meant that people had certain preconceived notions about who Ava would be. Their notions always exceeded the reality.

“You’re not crazy. You’re a miracle.”

His voice whispered to her, reminding her to sit up straighter. “My mother is human, not Irina.”

Sari frowned. “I known a human raised you, but who is your real mother? A nanny? A servant? It wouldn’t be unheard of after the Rending to hide among the humans, but someone must have shielded you as a child. Didn’t they ever find out? Surely the scribes with all their voluminous records could find your real mother. Even in America, they have archives.”

Why hadn’t Damien explained it better? “No. Lena Matheson is my real mother. And my father—”

“So she is Irina.” Sari looked as frustrated as Ava. “And mated to a human?”

“No, my mother is not Irina. I told you—”

“But she has to be.”

“She’s not,” Ava said through gritted teeth.

“But you’re Irina!” Sari said, grasping Ava’s wrist. She tried to pull away but couldn’t. “I can feel you. So powerful. You’re like a shot of pure energy. And mated, as well. Marked, Astrid said.”

“Yes.”

“So there must be some mistake.” Sari squeezed her hands tighter. “You must not have known. Your real mother—”

“Lena Matheson is my mother,” she said. “Now let me go.”

She didn’t. “But your mother must be Irina.”

“Well, she’s not. And before you ask, I look exactly like her. Everyone knows I’m her daughter. A single look would tell you.”

The whole room had fallen silent, and Ava fought the urge to crawl under the table or run screaming from all the eyes on her. She trained her eyes on the scarred grain of the wood table, trying to block out the room.

“How is this possible?” Sari’s voice soft and searching. “Sister… how did you survive?”

The sudden softness in Sari’s voice startled her. “I just did. I knew I was different. Always different. Obviously, the scribes were looking—”

“But how?” Sari lifted a hand to her cheek. “Who shielded you? Who taught you to silence the voices?” She turned her hands to weave Ava’s fingers with hers, her grip strong. When she did, Ava felt safe, like a blanket of protection covered her, and she understood why all the others followed the woman. In that moment, Ava knew that Sari would fight to the death to protect her, no matter where she had come from. Because she was Irina.

She was like them.

“No one taught me anything,” Ava said. “I’ve heard voices my whole life. I just thought I was crazy.”

The collective gasp from the women around the room made Ava want to run. She would have, if Sari’s hands hadn’t held her in place. She chanced a look up.

The color had drained from Astrid’s face, and she held her hand to her throat.

“Oh, Ava…,” she murmured.

Sari looked murderous.

“I’m not hungry.” Ava tried to push back from the table, but Sari locked her foot around the leg of Ava’s chair. “Let me go. I want to leave now.”

Sari looked around for a moment, then she barked out something in another language and the women around the table bustled back to their tasks. When she spoke again, her voice was chillingly calm. “So the humans thought you were mentally ill?”

Ava shrugged. “What were they supposed to think when a little girl told them she heard voices no one else heard?”

That was a question none of them seemed to be able to answer. After a few moments, a rich bowl of steaming soup was placed in front of her along with a basket of sliced bread. As the food was set down, Sari removed her foot from Ava’s chair.

“Eat, sister.”

Ava had the urge to leave again, just because the woman’s commanding tone rubbed her the wrong way. But the scent of the soup was enticing, and Astrid’s hopeful eyes met hers.

“Please, Ava. Stay and eat with us.”

“Fine.” She picked up a piece of the bread and dipped it in the soup.

Astrid and Sari both murmured something under their breath, then they began to eat.

“I’m glad Damien brought you here,” Sari said after a few minutes of silent eating. “It is not good that you were in the world for so long on your own. You could have easily hurt someone, including yourself. Not to mention, I’m amazed you’re not locked up somewhere, rocking in a corner.”

“I’m rich enough to avoid padded rooms,” Ava said. “So that helps.”

“I imagine it does.” She paused and looked out the window toward the cottage. “And then you had to go and stumble into my mate’s scribe house.”

“He wasn’t very happy to have me.”

Sari rolled her eyes. “He’s a suspicious old man. The Creator has plans he doesn’t always share with his scribes, no matter what they’d like to think. The folly of men is pride.”

Astrid said, “And the folly of women is resentment, sister.”

“I didn’t ask you, Astrid.”

“I think Malachi said something similar once,” Ava added after a minute of quiet staring between the two. “About Damien being a stubborn old man.”

At that statement, Sari and Astrid exchanged a look that Ava couldn’t decipher. Then Astrid said, “It’s good that he brought you to us. We can begin your training immediately.”

“And what kind of training will that be?”

Ava looked up when they didn’t answer. Astrid looked amused, and Sari’s eyes were glinting.

“A very thorough training,” she said. “My grandmother will enjoy meeting such a mysterious Irina.”

The knot of dread settled in Ava’s belly. “Oh. Goody.”

Chapter Five

“Tell me what this says.”

Rhys pushed a clay tablet across the table, then leaned back into his chair. Malachi tore his eyes away from his knuckles, which were inexplicably scratched. He didn’t remember hurting himself, but his hands looked like he’d fought his way through thorns. He took a deep breath and looked down at the library table, frowning when he saw the smooth clay in front of him.

“This says nothing.”

“Look again.”

“Rhys, there’s nothing…” He felt, rather than saw, a tremor from the corner of his eye. “Wait. There is something—”

“Don’t look at it.”

He looked, growling in the back of his throat when the shadow disappeared.

“I told you not to look,” Rhys said. “Take a minute to close your eyes, then look again. This time, don’t try. Let your mind absorb it without conscious thought.”

Malachi closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked again, staring at the center of the tablet as ghostly figures teased the edges of his vision. He didn’t focus on them. The letters seemed to take on a life of their own, crawling tentatively from the edges of the tablet until they formed beneath his gaze. When the letters seemed more solid, he let out the breath he’d been holding and allowed his eyes to finally focus on the top of the tablet, looking first right, then left. Instinct guided him as the characters turned into syllables in his mind. The syllables turned into words he translated instantly.

“‘And Leoc, giver of visions and bearer of prophecy, returned to the heavens,’” he began, reading aloud. “‘His daughters bear his mark, the mark of the seer, though their eyes now glimmer only faintly with their father’s gift.’” The story went on, talking about the gifts of prophecy some of the female of his race were given. The tablet was old, and though the writing had been completely worn away, he could still read the words that had been written by an ancient hand. When he finally looked up, Rhys was watching him with a measuring stare.

“Your natural magic is as strong as it ever was. In fact, I think it’s actually stronger. A young scribe just starting his training would have had to meditate on that tablet for hours before the writing revealed itself.”

“What language is it?”

“Greek. Medieval period. It’s one of the earliest tablets this scribe house produced. Most of the older documents were taken to the master libraries in Vienna many years ago when human interference became more of a concern.”

“And I can read it because…”

“Because you’re a scribe. We can see and decipher any written language with little to no practice.” Rhys slid another document in front of him, this one a sheet encased in a clear plastic sleeve that held tiny rows of black characters. “Try this one.”

Malachi frowned for a moment, then said, “It’s a tax record. Of… barley?”

“That’s a Sumerian tax ledger copied from the original clay tablet three hundred years ago.”

“Why would we preserve a tax ledger?”

Rhys frowned, as if he’d never considered that before. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well…” He frowned, not wanting to offend.

“Irin scribes preserve knowledge, Malachi. It’s our mission.” Rhys scooted forward and leaned over the table, clutching the edges of the tablet. “Battling the Grigori. Protecting humans. These are all secondary pursuits, and a necessary evil of this fallen world. But preserving knowledge is our purpose. It is what we were born to do.”

“But why is a tax ledger important?” Malachi picked up the plastic sleeve that contained what must have been hours of work.

“Maybe it’s not important to you,” Rhys said. “Or me. Maybe it won’t be important for one hundred years. Or five hundred.” Rhys shrugged. “Maybe it will never be important. But if it is, it will be there. If the knowledge is needed, it will not have been lost. To lose knowledge is a tragedy. As you learn more about yourself, about our world, don’t forget that. This”—he motioned to the shelves of books and scrolls around him—“is our purpose. Beyond the fighting. Beyond the struggles. This is what scribes were born to do.”

Malachi nodded and ignored the voice in his head that told him sitting in the library with Rhys was most definitely not what he’d been born to do. What he’d been born to do was help his mate, who was somewhere in the world, suffering without him. The urge to get up and leave the library was hard to resist.

“I know you must be feeling stifled,” Rhys said. “Frustrated. But until we have some direction on where to look for Damien and Ava, it’s no use rushing off. We’d be just as well to stay here and try to figure out what you can and can’t do.”

Malachi pushed the Sumerian manuscript back toward Rhys. “I can read ancient languages and understand them. So useful. What else can I do?”

Rhys ignored the sarcasm and held up his hand. On the inside of his left wrist was a swirl of ancient letters, almost too small to read across the table. They curled around in a spiral until the words crawled up his forearm, then twisted and wrapped around his arm like a snake.

“You can do this.”

A low hunger started in his belly. Something in the dark corners of his memory told Malachi that this was something he wanted. “Talesm.”

“Talesm.”

“Our magic.” Malachi rubbed hands over his bare forearms.

Rhys took a deep breath before he spoke. “Irin have two kinds of magic. Natural magic, which we are born with—the kind that lets you read any language in front of you and see words even after they’ve been erased from the physical eye—and learned magic. Both were gifted to us by our fathers.”

“The angels?”

Rhys nodded. “Our books say that when the Forgiven left the earth, the Creator allowed them to hide a shadow of heavenly magic within their children. But not everything. That had been their mistake with their first children. They had given them too much power. So much that some had to be destroyed. Before they left, they divided their magic. To their sons, they gave the gift and power of the written word. To their daughters, the songs of the ancients, along with gifts of healing, foresight, and discernment.”

Malachi remembered the story on the clay tablet. “The daughters of Leoc?”

“An old name for those Irina who are gifted—or some say cursed—with visions. Different angels bore different gifts, depending on their role in the heavenly realm. Their children bear a fraction of their fathers’ powers, but it is still formidable. For Irin, we learned over time that we could work magic—control it, mold it for our own uses—through the written word.”

“And the Grigori?”

Rhys shook his head. “The Fallen were not gifted as the Forgiven were. Their children are more than human, yes, but they cannot wield magic as we can. A Fallen may loan some magic to a Grigori occasionally, but it is not really theirs. When we Irin tattoo spells on our bodies, we permanently make that magic a part of us.”

“It’s like armor,” he said.

“That’s one way of looking at it. We use it to strengthen our bodies. Make ourselves stronger. Increase our longevity. A mature and trained Irin scribe is practically immortal.”

Malachi rubbed the back of his neck. “But not entirely.”

“Clearly.”

Silence fell between them, with nothing but the tick of a mantel clock filling the air. Rhys watched him with some unspoken question burning in his eyes.

“What?” Malachi finally asked. “Are you tired of telling me all these things? We should take a break. I feel like running.”

“You generally do after a day cooped up inside. Or when you’re irritated.”

For some reason, Rhys’s knowledge of his habits irked him. Why did this stranger know more about him than he did?

“Will my talesm come back?” he asked. “Or are they lost? Will I have to tattoo them all over again? How long will it take to be strong enough?”

“We have no idea.” Rhys shrugged a single shoulder. “You need to do basic protection spells, at the very least. Once we find Ava—”

“And when will that be?”

“I don’t know.” Rhys’s eyes flashed. “I told you, we don’t know where Damien took her. We’re doing our best, but you’re going to have to be patient.”

“I am being patient,” he growled.

Rhys made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “You’re still so… you. Even when you’re not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His shoulders tensed.

“Never thinking ahead. Rushing into danger with no thought to—”

“I’m thinking of my mate,” Malachi bit out, rising to his feet. “She needs me, and I must go to her.”

“To do what? Protect her?” Rhys stood up, glaring at Malachi from across the table. “You can hardly protect yourself right now. You need to—”

“I need her,” Malachi said. “And she needs—”

“She needs her mate back!” Rhys snapped. “Right now, you’re only a shadow of who she needs.”

Malachi bit back the rage on the tip of his tongue and narrowed his eyes at the man who had called himself his friend. Or, he’d called the old Malachi his friend. Perhaps the two were no longer the same.

“You are angry with me,” he said, crossing his arms. “Resentful. Why?”

His old friend’s head snapped back in surprise, and his green eyes widened. “I…I’m not.”

“You are. Why?”

Rhys’s mouth dropped open, but he did not speak. When his words finally came, they were almost inaudible. “I love her, you know. Maybe not like you did, but I do love her.”

He shoved back the instinctive anger and spoke calmly. “She is my mate.”

“She is.” Rhys looked down, shuffling the papers they’d been looking at into a pile. “She is, without a doubt, your reshon. A true soul mate. I saw it even before you did, I think.”

Malachi didn’t know how, but the emotion was there, wrapping his mind with certainty. “I love her.”

“I believe you,” Rhys said, before clearing his throat. “You love your mate. But… you don’t love Ava. You can’t, because you don’t know her anymore.”

The hollow loss rang in his chest, and he knew, in part, that Rhys was correct. As much as he hated it, Malachi knew the other man spoke the truth. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“She needed you back. And you are. But you’re not the same man. I don’t know if you ever will be. And that—that is why I am angry.”

Maxim, Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met in the sitting room that evening. The outside air had taken on the snap of autumn, but in the house in the caves, the fire warmed the small room where they sat, drinking tea and talking.

“It’s clear we’re not going to find any written or electronic records,” Max said. “Damien is too savvy for that. What we need is a personal connection.”

Rhys scowled. “Damien doesn’t have any personal connections. Why do you think he made such a good watcher?”

“Watcher?” Malachi asked.

Leo was the one who answered. The friendly scribe had been the one person with whom Malachi felt at complete ease. “All scribe houses in cities are organized in teams of five to eight men. A watcher is the head of the house. He tends the sacred fire and makes the most important decisions. Damien’s your boss, in other words.”

Max said, “Watchers also watch. Don’t ever forget that. They’re the ones who report to our main council in Vienna. It’s very structured. Damien reported to the lieutenant of a councilor. That councilor reported to his elder. Every area is tightly controlled. The Irin council has ears everywhere.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so sinister,” Rhys said. “Damien knew when to keep a confidence.”

“He did.” Max nodded. “Why do you think he was still a house watcher, as old and experienced as he is? If he were more politically savvy and less loyal, he’d be a lieutenant or even a councilor in Vienna now.”

Leo said, “It’s true, and you know it, Rhys. Damien became a problem for them when he mated Sari.”

Malachi asked, “Why? She’s the Irina he took Ava to?”

“His mate,” Leo said. “And Sari was a problem because her parents were well-known to the council as dissenters .”

“What does that mean?”

Max continued, “It means they didn’t agree with the steps taken when the retreats were formed. They didn’t believe that women and children should be isolated or that Irina should withdraw from the human world.”

“But Rhys said the Irina were being attacked by the humans for practicing magic. Wasn’t it wiser to protect them?” Malachi frowned, remembering the painful history lesson he’d been forced to sit through. As always, once he’d been told, he could remember some things, though they mostly came in the recollection of feelings. Horror over the Rending, pain from the loss of his parents and village. A dull, burning anger toward an enemy he couldn’t remember. The memories were shadowed and fleeting.

“True, they were being attacked,” Max said. “But the dissenters didn’t believe in turning from the old ways. Didn’t believe in separation. They were proponents of the Irina being trained in more offensive magic and not focusing on only creative and healing work. Sari’s parents were some of the most outspoken.”

“Isolating half our population was never a smart idea,” Leo said. “It left them too vulnerable.”

“Be careful,” Rhys said in a low voice. “You and  Max were both children during the Rending. You don’t remember before. You may not agree, but there were reasons the retreats were formed.”

Max frowned. “I know—”

“No,” Rhys continued in a quiet voice. “You think you know, but you don’t. Not really. Try to imagine the pain of losing your mate and child because an ignorant human thought she was a witch sent by the devil and your child the devil’s spawn. Imagine the rage you’d feel, then multiply that by the Inquisition. It wasn’t only the Irin males who proposed the retreats, many Irina did, too. They didn’t want to worry about their safety or the safety of their children. Didn’t want to live as we do now, constantly battling against the Grigori and looking over their shoulder for humans, too. The retreats were not concentration camps; they were communities. There is no black and white here.”

“The Irina left their protection in the hands of others,” Max said. “How was that wise?”

“They left their protection in the hands of their mates.” Rhys said. “Their fathers and brothers. How were we to foresee the Rending? Yes, there was fault, but our race’s tragedy wasn’t born from hate, Max. It was born from love. And the fear of losing what we loved.”

“But now our race is dying because of it,” Leo said. “And the council does nothing. Younger Irin want change—we know how much we need the Irina back—but no one will listen to us. Damien wouldn’t listen to us.”

“Maybe not as much as you’d wish, but he did listen. To me. To Malachi. He wasn’t some puppet of Vienna, so don’t make him out that way. And do you read any news? Vienna is churning with proposals to get the Irina back. You have to remember change comes slowly, Leo.”

“Who did Damien trust?” Malachi asked, uninterested in the politics they were caught up in. “That’s the real question, isn’t it? Who else would know where his mate has hidden?”

Max and Leo exchanged a look Malachi couldn’t decipher, then Max said, “I’ve heard Sari has a haven somewhere in Norway with a large group of Irina, but no one knows for sure. Her family was very secretive about their land after the retreats were formed, so only other members of the family knew about it.”

“But Damien would have known?”

“Yes. I’m sure of it.”

“And Gabriel,” Rhys said under his breath. “Gabriel would know, too.”

“You can’t possibly think Damien would go to Gabriel,” Max said. “Even I know the bad blood there. And there’s no way he’d take Ava to Vienna.”

“Of course Damien wouldn’t go to him,” Rhys said. “I’m just saying Gabriel might know where Sari is.”

“Gabriel?” Malachi asked. “Who is… Are you talking about the angel?”

Max looked at Malachi as if he’d just spit on the floor between them. Leo laughed, and he could see Rhys trying to stifle a smile.

“Do you think archangels go for jaunts on the earthly realm?” Max said. “Of course not the angel Gabriel.”

“Then who—”

“Gabriel is Damien’s brother-in-law,” Rhys said. “Or he was. His mate was Sari’s twin sister. She was killed during the Rending.”

“But why does he hate Damien? You said many scribes lost—”

“Sari’s sister was killed during battle,” Max said. “Not an ambush on a retreat. Damien took Tala into battle because of her foresight, and Volund’s Grigori killed her.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, the bad blood between Damien and his brother-in-law made more sense.

Leo cleared his through. “As you can imagine, they don’t really get along.”

It was Leo who was left teaching Malachi the next night. The two scribes were practicing Malachi’s writing in the library, practicing the spells in the Old Language, which he would scribe on his hands and arms to give himself the most basic protection before they left. Max and Rhys were still arguing about the best way to approach Gabriel, who was an assistant to one of the senior elders on the Irin council. They were going to Vienna, but everyone agreed that Malachi needed more strength before they left.

“Your talesm prim will be much better this time,” Leo said with a smile, holding up his hand. “For scribes, our first tattoo is always the shakiest, because we do it when we’re young and first starting. Nothing can really prepare you for the pain of jabbing an ivory needle into your own skin over and over again.”

Malachi tried to remain stoic. “I suppose not.”

“We get better with practice, of course. But your writing is very good. Muscle memory, I imagine. We’ll have to see how you do with the needle.”

Malachi wrote carefully, always stopping short of completely finishing a sequence. Leo told him he must only finish the spell when he was casting it on his body. For now, he would simply practice. He looked at the book the other man had given him, a scribe’s primer with dotted lines instead solid, to train the boys who would become warriors and scholars.

“What was your first spell?” Malachi asked. “After your talesm prim, what was your first?”

Leo smiled bashfully. “To be taller.”

Malachi laughed. The man towered over everyone in the house except his cousin, who matched him in height. Yet, despite his great size, there was a playfulness about Leo that Malachi found endearing.

“Well done. It worked.”

“You think it’s funny now, but the summer I started scribing my talesm, Max had shot up a few inches on me. I was worried.”

“You’re cousins?”

He nodded. “Our mothers were twin sisters. Most Irin couples only have one pregnancy, but twins do happen. It’s considered a great blessing. Our mothers were very close. Max and I were born within months of each other, so we’re really more like brothers than cousins.”

“Always a competition?”

“When we were younger. Not as much now. We’re very different.”

“Max is… intense.”

Leo smiled. “He’s very passionate about the future. He questions everything, especially the politicians.”

“It’s good that someone does.”

“And I know he desperately wants a mate,” Leo said in a quieter voice. “We all do.”

“It must be frustrating.” Malachi knew that Irin males couldn’t touch humans. He had no desire for anyone except Ava—even though he barely remembered her—but for unmated males like Leo and Max…

Malachi saw a faint tinge of red on Leo’s cheekbones. “I believe that heaven has already chosen my reshon. I must simply be patient and wait for her. Though human females are… tempting. I cannot lie.”

Malachi stopped his practice and put a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “She will be worthy of your patience, brother.”

“Thank you.” Leo pointed back to the paper he’d been using. “Your letters are well formed. I really can’t help you any more with them. I can answer any questions you have about the tattooing, but I suspect your muscle memory will hold true in the ritual room, as well.”

“And you’ll be there?”

“I’m not your father, but we don’t do our first talesm alone, so yes.” Leo smiled. “I’d be honored to witness for you. It won’t be too much. Just the talesm prim to activate your magic and call on our forefathers’ magic, then the basic protection spells and a few others. You’re a good runner already—very fast—so I’d focus on eyesight, reflexes, and protection from blades. Those would be the most important if we encounter any fighting. After that, you can improvise spells as you need them. You’ll find all the basics in that book.”

Malachi paged through the book for a moment, then looked up. “Thank you, Leo. You’ve been very patient with all this.”

“You’re welcome.”

They both read in silence a bit longer, then Malachi said, “Rhys told me when I first started watching Ava, before I knew she was Irina, that you were the one to help me guard her.”

“I was.”

“Would you tell me about her? Can you?”

Leo smiled. “Of course. I liked Ava very much. Even when we thought she was human.”

“What is she like?”

“She’s… unpredictable. She never really does what you expect.”

Malachi frowned. “Oh?”

“But then, looking back, you aren’t surprised at all.”

“Why not?” He listened, rapt to hear any crumb of who this woman was. She’d captured Malachi’s heart without him knowing anything about her. He wanted to. Desperately.

Leo continued, “I think it’s how she throws people off. By being unpredictable. She likes to keep others off-balance so they don’t look too closely.”

That made him smile. “She doesn’t like being the center of attention?”

“No, definitely not.” Leo grinned, then his smile fell. “Ava is, more than anything, a survivor.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had to be. She heard voices her whole life—like the Irina do—but she didn’t know what they were. Her parents thought she was mentally ill. I think she still thinks that sometimes. She makes jokes about being crazy.”

“I think I remember that,” he said, recalling the password he’d typed into her computer.

“You hated it; I could tell. Max and Damien say she’s actually very powerful. They think it’s because she has so much power bound up from living a life away from magic. I always thought it was because she’s not like other Irina.”

Malachi frowned. “What do you mean?”

Leo shrugged. “Her parents are human. We never did figure out where she came from, but biologically, she shouldn’t be Irina. I mean, Irin are not entirely human or angel. We’re different. And Ava is definitely like us, but we can’t figure out how a human could become Irina.”

The answer seemed obvious to Malachi. “A lion doesn’t become a wolf, Leo, no matter how it might want to be.”

“So?” Leo crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“It means her parents are Irin. They have to be.”

The blond man smiled. “Our records—everything we could find about them—say they’re not.”

Malachi frowned. “But humans don’t give birth to Irin children.”

“No, they don’t.”

“So if they produced Ava, then they’re not human.”

“But they’re not Irin. We have a record of every Irin child ever born. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s keeping records.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Malachi murmured.

“What’s that?”

Malachi looked around the room filled with scrolls and tablets. Books and boxes were hidden in every corner. He turned back to Leo and said, “We’re an ancient race of angel and human hybrids that has lived under the nose of humanity for thousands of years.”

“And?”

“We may be good at keeping records, but we’re also good at keeping secrets.”

I.

Göteborg, Sweden

It wasn’t often his father called him to appear in person. But given the task Brage had just accomplished, it could hardly be said he was dreading the appearance. He strolled through the Götaplatsen, ignoring the human women who cast longing looks in his direction. The package his father was expecting rested safely at his side.

The blade from Istanbul had been found. A heavenly blade. It was one of only three that Brage had ever seen. The only one that had been in his hand. It would be nothing to human eyes. Dull. Devoid of decoration or flourish.

But to one of heaven’s children, it was a treasure beyond price.

Countless hours searching through mud and shit, through rotten food and human waste, and he’d found it. Or, his brothers had while he directed the search. They didn’t question him; few Grigori lasted as long as Brage. At nearly three hundred years old, he was almost as strong as one of the Irin he despised.

Fucking scribes with their fucking honor. Their fucking magic and mates and foolish sentimentality. They, like he and his Grigori brothers, could rule the humans if they wished. Rule as the ancients had.

Brage stopped in front of the Poseidon statue and waited to feel him. He only waited moments.

There.

The soldier’s eyes closed, and his mouth dropped open as the wave of fear and adoration swept over him. The cynical soldier disappeared, and the child leapt to the surface. Brage wanted his father’s approval. Needed it. Would do anything, kill anything, steal anything to get it. He longed for the love of this creature, as if the lack of it would damn him.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Hello, Father.”

“Brage.” The stunning man appeared at his side. The humans around him would notice nothing. They would have no memory of the angel appearing, for he had always been there. No side-glance or double take. The handsome man in the double-breasted suit and overcoat stood next to another man who could be his brother.

Brage knew Volund appeared that way purposefully. If the angel had been speaking to one of his Russian or Turkish brothers, Volund’s appearance would have reflected their appearance, just as his blond hair and vivid green eyes reflected Brage in that moment. It appealed to the human side of the Grigori. Their vanity. The younger and more foolish soldiers believed this resemblance indicated some particular favor when they saw it. Brage had thought so himself when he was young.

“Do you have the knife?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. I want you to keep it.”

Brage worked to conceal his surprise, but it was useless. Volund knew him intimately. Like any of his blood, the angel could read his children. Read their moods, feel their fears, find them if they tried to hide. There were no secrets between the Fallen and their offspring. There was no place that Brage could hide, and for that reason—and many others—he didn’t even try.

“I assumed you would want it back.”

Volund turned to him, the edge of a sneer twisting his perfect lips. “That was when I thought it had done its job.”

Brage said nothing at the harsh words. He did not know what his father spoke of, but knew Volund would offer no more information than was necessary. It was useless to ask. Brage would be told only enough to complete his task.

He bowed his head and said the words that had kept him alive for three hundred years. “Father, I am yours to command.”

There was a pause as Volund considered him. In the silence, Brage listened to the hum of the humans around him. The cheerful chirp of women and children. Music played in the background. It was a sunny day, even if it was cold. The humans were enjoying the weather.

Brage had no part of their world. He existed in it as a predator. A lion culling the weakest of the herd.

Volund tilted Brage’s head up with one finger. “The female’s Irin mate is alive, Brage.”

Brage dared not contradict the angel, though he wanted to. He’d felt the knife pierce the scribe’s spine. Saw the golden dust rise in the air. He had fallen in the water when the woman had screamed. The woman, he’d been told, was “only a human,” but valuable for some reason. He knew his father lied. The burst of magic when the “human” woman had screamed was unmistakable. She was Irina.

Or something far more frightening.

“I do not know what to tell you, Father. I killed the woman’s mate. I did not lie to you.”

“I know you didn’t.” Volund’s voice was no longer angry. His hand stroked over Brage’s cheek, soothing his child. “She is quite unexpected, isn’t she? I’m trying not to kill you for failing to bring her to me. I know you are the most skilled of my children.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“But you still failed.”

“Forgive me, Father.”

“I want you to find her mate. Find the one they call Malachi. He is of the angel Mikhael’s blood. A warrior by birth and destiny. And he has taken the female as his mate.”

The fiercest Irin scribes were from Mikhael’s line, and Brage knew from experience they were intensely protective of their mates.

“Do you have any information for me?”

Volund’s mouth formed a pout. “Jaron has concealed her from me, but if you find the scribe, you will find the woman.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Kill the scribe… again. Bring the woman to me. Do not fail this time.”

Tears of gratitude slipped down Brage’s cheeks. “I will find her and kill him.”

“Or die trying.”

Brage bowed his head and made the vow. “I will kill the scribe and bring the woman to you, Father, or I will die in the effort.”

Chapter Six

“She wants to know what you can do.”

Ava blinked away from the aching memory of her dream the night before. She looked between her translator, the blond girl whose hair Sari had been braiding the previous afternoon, and her tormentor, the fearsome Irina named Mala whom she’d met the first day.

There couldn’t be two more opposite females on the planet. The girl, who had introduced herself as Brooke and sounded American, had the kind of blond hair that almost looked silver. Her eyes were a clear crystal blue, and she couldn’t have been more than twelve. She was slim and tall for her age, but her face still carried the rounded cheeks of youth. Her figure was just starting to develop, but she still sported lean muscle that marked her as an athlete.

“What do you mean ‘what I can do’? Like… my résumé?”

Brooke snorted and looked at Mala, who was running in front of them. Mala’s smooth skin glowed with perspiration, her long legs pumped up the hills and over the meadows as they ran through the countryside. She was dark-skinned and fiercely lovely in a way that made Ava envious. Her skin was the color of rich teak, and her hair was shorn close to her head in a cap that showed off her graceful neck and shoulders. She looked like she could have been featured in a fashion magazine, except for the vicious scar that ran from her jaw, across her neck, and down to her collar. But it was her eyes, twin pools of black fire, that made Ava want to photograph her.

Ava couldn’t help but feel thin and drawn between the two females who were pulsing with life. One young and delicate, the other vibrating with old power, they were opposite in every way the world might see. Yet something intangible bound them together. Brooke had been sent with Ava and Mala as a translator since Ava wasn’t fluent in signing.

“Not like your résumé,” Brooke said.

Mala didn’t even stop, just raised her hand over her shoulder and flipped through signs so fast that Ava could scarcely pick them up. Brooke didn’t seem to have a problem, though.

“She wants to know what sports you played in school. If you’ve taken any martial arts. Things like that.”

“Uh…” Ava tried not to gasp as they jogged. She’d thought she was in shape. She was wrong. “I didn’t really… play sports in… school.”

More signs tossed into the air from Mala.

“She says you’re in good shape for someone who doesn’t play sports.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Brook laughed. “You’ll get used to it. You’re keeping up and she’s not going easy on us. Mala’s the hardest trainer here.”

“I hike a lot with my job,” Ava said. “Go to remote places like this. And usually I’m carrying a lot of equipment. So it’s probably from that.”

“High altitudes?”

The question had come from Brooke, not Mala, which caused Ava to blink and look over at the girl. “What?”

“Did you hike a lot at high altitudes? That probably helps. Even though there are mountains here, we’re actually not that high up, so the air is thicker.”

“Oh… okay.”

“What places did you go?” The girl’s eyes were alive with curiosity.

Ava managed a weak smile. “Almost everywhere. I’ve been to every continent on earth.”

“Even Antarctica?”

“Yep, even Antarctica.”

That drew a surprised look from Mala, who turned briefly with curious eyes.

Ava continued. “I’d been through most of Europe by the time I was sixteen. School trips. My mom took me places, too. Then, when I got to college, I traveled in South America for a few semesters. I minored in Spanish, so…” She paused to catch her breath. “I took some pictures in Venezuela one summer and my mom showed a friend of hers. She was an editor at a travel magazine, and… she asked to see more.”

“That’s so cool,” Brooke said, her own breath coming harder the longer they jogged. “So you started working for a magazine?”

“I did what you could call freelance work in college. Just for my mom’s friend. Any time I traveled for school, I let her know where I was going, and she’d let me know if she wanted pictures. After I graduated, I was on staff for a while there, then I started doing freelance work again, only this time I got paid more and I got to pick what jobs I wanted.”

Brooke’s blue eyes were wide. “So, are you really rich?”

Ava snorted, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Mala might have been glowing, but Ava was dripping. “Not from my photography work. I make enough to get by on that, but not by much. I have money, but it’s from my father. He’s really rich and he set up a trust fund for me when I was a baby. I got control of it when I was twenty-three. So I can kind of go wherever I want as long as I don’t get too crazy.”

The girl grinned. “Nice.”

Ava attempted a shrug. “I think I’d rather have had my dad than the money. But what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “There’s nothing to do.” Before Ava could question her, Brooke continued. “I don’t have a dad, either.”

Ava remembered Malachi telling her how precious children were to the Irin. “Where is he?”

“I was born in Virginia. My mom and dad… they lived on their own. The closest scribe house was in Arlington, but we never went there. They would have made my dad patrol and fight, and he didn’t want to leave my mom and me. My mom was really paranoid. She lost all her family in the Rending. So we were just living with the humans, trying to blend in.”

“What happened?”

Brooke shrugged. “We don’t know. Not really. You can want to be left alone, but that doesn’t mean it will happen. One night, my dad just didn’t come home. Didn’t call. My mom was frantic. Then later that night, she started crying.” Brooke drifted off, and Ava could see the haunted grief in her eyes. “I was only eight, and I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Mala’s eyes caught Ava’s as they ran, and Ava nodded in silent understanding. Brook’s father had been killed, and her mother only knew when she felt their connection snap. As Ava had known when the knife struck Malachi’s neck. She didn’t want to hear any more, but Brook kept talking.

“My mom woke me up the next morning, and her face was just… wrong. I knew he was dead. We were gone before lunch. We left everything there but some clothes and pictures. We came here.”

“And you never left?”

“We’re safe here.”

“With Sari.”

“Yes,” Brooke said. “Sari makes everyone safe.”

She saw Mala glance at the girl. Grief had joined the fire in her gaze, but she didn’t pause or slow down their run.

Ava had finally reached the endorphin high of running. Her legs felt looser and longer. Her heart pounded. The air was clear and biting, and the breeze felt liquid against her skin. She lifted her head and ran along the path with the two women, one old, the other painfully young, and suddenly she didn’t see their differences. Not a single one. The three ran together, bound by something far beyond the external.

“Hey, Damien.” She pushed the damp hair from her forehead as she walked into the cottage. Damien was sitting in the kitchen area, reading something and taking notes in a big notebook. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you doing scribe stuff.”

He blinked and looked up. “Hmm?”

“You know, scribe stuff. Book stuff? Not like the others.” She pointed to the books and notebook on the table.

“What are you talking about?”

“In Istanbul, it seemed like you were always on the phone or talking with one of the guys in a very solemn voice. Or ordering people around. You did a lot of that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you doing any scribe kind of work.”

His face cleared of confusion, and he shrugged. “When I am a watcher, I have more pressing concerns. I don’t have time to spend with texts. Bringing you here, having this time when I’m not on guard, it’s probably good for me. It’s easy to forget what’s important.”

“Books?”

She saw him run both hands down his forearms. “Yes. Books. Stories. Our families. Our history.” Then his fingers ran over the dagger he wore at his waist. “Those are the reasons for living.”

“And fighting?”

“Yes, and fighting.”

Her sweat was beginning to dry, and the northern air was starting to chill her, so Ava started toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Sari has you training with Mala.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yep. She’s… well, so far we’ve just run a lot.”

He nodded, frowning in concentration. “Mala is a fierce fighter. Before the Rending, she often accompanied her mate into battle. She’ll be an excellent physical trainer.”

Ava hesitated but asked anyway. “What happened to her?”

“Her scar?”

“Yes.”

Damien looked hesitant for a moment, but finally he said, “Mala and her mate never had any children, so during the Grigori attacks prior to the Rending, they both fought in the area around Lagos. The humans there…” He shook his head. “Mala and Alexander were fighting, and he was killed in battle. They were overwhelmed.”

Ava’s heart had clenched in her chest. “They killed her mate?”

“Yes. And she killed them, over ten Grigori, according to Zander’s brothers, but not before they clawed out her throat.” He lifted a hand to his throat, curling his fingers like claws as he scraped from his jaw down. “That’s what the Grigori do to Irina in battle. If they take their voice, they can’t work magic. If you silence an Irina, she’s far easier to kill.”

Ava shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold anymore. “And then she came here.”

“Sari and Mala had been friends a long time. I imagine Sari had to convince Mala to come, otherwise, she’d still be out there, hunting. But she’s very protective of her friends. If Sari asked Mala to come and help protect this haven, she’d do it.”

And that was the woman who was going to be her trainer. Fire-eyed Mala with the scarred throat and the battle-hardened muscles. Ava only hoped she didn’t die of exhaustion. Or embarrassment.

“Take your shower.” Damien motioned toward the door. “Astrid asked if you would have lunch with her after you got back. I imagine she’s in the medical clinic I saw near the road.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Watcher, sir.” She mock-saluted and scurried to the bathroom.

“Ha-ha.”

Ava shut the door and pulled off her sweaty shirt, turning to toss it in a small hamper before she froze.

Grief struck at the oddest times. Like a cat, it waited to pounce. She could go about her day, even talk about Malachi, ignoring the black hole that lived inside, then something little would swallow her up.

It was nothing, really. Just a man’s shirt hanging on the towel rod. A shirt like the ones he’d worn. The ones she’d teased him about not putting in the hamper. He left them draped on the clean towels or tossed on the ground. She’d found it irritating.

She pulled it off the towel rack and put it to her face, but it smelled wrong.

Ava buckled as if she’d been punched in the stomach, sliding down to the floor as her back scraped along the counter. A wretched sob tore from her throat, and she heard footsteps pounding.

“Ava?”

She shook her head, gripping Damien’s shirt that smelled wrong. His voice sounded wrong. And his arms felt wrong. She couldn’t stop another sob. Or the next. Or the next.

Damien opened the door. “Oh, sister…”

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

As kind as Damien was, he wasn’t who she wanted to see.

She threw his shirt at him shouted, “It’s not fair!”

“I know,” he whispered, sitting next to her and gathering her in his arms. “I know it’s not.”

“We didn’t have time.” Her body shook with rage and grief. “We should have had time.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know. Sari may hate you, but she’s still here.” Tears were hot on her face and she hit his shoulders with clenched fists, even as he held her closer. “I just found him. I finally found him. And then he was gone.”

“I’m sorry, Ava.” He held her close. “I miss him too.”

“Everything is wrong. Everything hurts more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought it would be better if I left. If I left Turkey, I thought he’d stay there. But he didn’t.”

“Of course he didn’t.”

“I see him everywhere. He’s everywhere. And he always will be.”

“Ava—”

“And I hate him for that. For leaving me,” she choked out. “And for not leaving me.”

Damien didn’t say anything for a while; he just let her cry. And when the worst of it had passed, Ava whispered, “I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does.” He held her close, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “He would have moved heaven and earth to stay with you, Ava. You know that.”

“But he didn’t, Damien. Of all the things he could do, he couldn’t do that.”

Damien ignored his lunch that was growing cold on the counter. Ava ignored her growling stomach. She sat on the floor of the maple-paneled bathroom with Malachi’s brother and allowed herself to feel more than she had in months. Until finally grief slipped away to hide its face until the next time.

Hours later, Ava finally heeded the call of her rumbling stomach and went to look for Astrid. There was a road leading into the isolated valley, but a visitor clearly needed to know where they were going to find it. Ava had seen a few cars come and go, along with a truck that delivered boxes of supplies on Wednesday morning and took some of the milk and vegetables the haven produced.

In addition to the Irina, there were also a few Irin families. They seemed to keep to themselves, but Ava had seen a few men hanging at the edge of the compound and even a small child. The families lived in a group of cottages half a kilometer or so deeper into the valley and away from the main house and the road. Clearly, protecting them was a priority since Ava had only caught glimpses.

To any visitor driving in, the compound would seem like a commune of sorts, with animals and greenhouses to grow food. Low buildings housed workshops and storage units and a small clinic that Damien said was open to any emergency since Astrid was the only trained doctor for miles around. What the average visitor wouldn’t see was the interior of the brightly painted barn where women fought and parried with sticks, staffs, and knives. The archery range was hidden behind innocuous greenhouse fronts. Ava doubted many would see the cameras so expertly hidden among the buildings or understand them if they did.

Ava saw everything. And far from just being a haven for wounded Irina, she could also see what the Irin scribes hadn’t known.

This was a training center, and it might have been isolated, but it was far from idle.

She knocked on the door marked with a bright red cross. She heard shuffling, then the door opened.

“Welcome,” Astrid said with a smile. “Come in, come in.”

“Thanks.”

If Astrid caught Ava’s swollen eyes, she said nothing.

Astrid’s clinic looked just like a small cottage with a sitting area and kitchen in the main room, then three doors leading off a small hall in the back. Her desk was in a corner of the living area, and a kettle was on the stove. Ava wandered around the room, which was decorated with pictures of women, children, and families.

“I didn’t know there were so many families left,” she said as Astrid went to the kitchen. “How many are there?”

“More in the last few years.”

“I thought most of the Irin and Irina lived apart.”

“Most, but not all. The girls who weren’t mated after the Rending mated quickly, if they were still interested. Many weren’t. But some. So there are still a few families.” The smell of pepper and red meat filled the air. It smelled like Astrid had made chili. “There are more in Vienna since it is the safest Irin city. But even there, Irina live very quietly. A very few live in scribe houses with their mates. Some live in places like this. But most Irina have hidden in the human world.”

“Does the council know about them?”

“They do and they don’t. They know we exist. From the news that leaks out of Vienna, there are as many solutions to the ‘Irina problem’ as there are elders.”

“I can imagine.”

“I doubt that,” Astrid said, but she didn’t seem condescending. Just tired. Her movements were deliberate as she set out the cups for tea. “So, only a few families. And of course, there were some children left.”

“How many—”

“Fifteen… maybe twenty percent of the children survived.”

It seemed impossible that any people could endure so much tragedy.

“Can the Irin survive, Astrid? Really?”

Astrid cocked her head. “Biologically? Yes. There are enough of us to survive. But will we? Who knows? Things are still very fresh for us.”

“But the Rending was two hundred years ago.”

She smiled. “It seems strange to you, I know.”

“More than a little.”

“Life didn’t stop for us, Ava.” Astrid waved her toward the table and Ava sat. “But it did slow down. For many years we all just… waited.”

Astrid’s eyes had drifted off; she stood at the stove, but was looking out the window over the sink.

“For what?” Ava asked.

“I think I spent ten years after Marten died, waiting to wake up and realize it was all a horrible dream. Life seemed to stand still. It was easier for those with children to move on, because children don’t stop growing. But there were so few children left. The villages were destroyed. No one even wanted to try to rebuild. The council was… unbelievable.”

“How?”

“Immediately after the attack, there were some who blamed the Irina for letting their guard down. ‘They should have been more prepared,’ they said.”

Ava gasped. “But—”

“Most who took that view were condemned, of course.” Astrid shook her head. “What a horrendous thing to say! One elder was attacked and killed by scribes from a house near Leon. They’d lost everything. Not a single survivor from their village. It had been burned while the scribes were fighting the Grigori attack in Paris. They blamed the council for ordering them away.”

“What happened?”

Astrid shrugged as she ladled stew into deep bowls and set one in front of Ava. “I don’t know. It wasn’t like now with instant communication. Letters would take weeks or months to arrive. There was so much confusion. Those of us who remained went into hiding. We didn’t know if more attacks were coming. None of us felt safe anymore. Many of the scribes whose mates had survived left with them and hid, even though they abandoned their posts at scribe houses and libraries.”

“They could do that?”

“No. Even now, if they came out of hiding, they would be punished by the council, so it’s not worth it to them to try to reenter Irin society. They’d rather remain with their mates.” Astrid’s eyes glanced toward the window again, and Ava got the distinct impression that more than one of the males she’d seen was a fugitive.

“But not everyone joined their mate,” she said, thinking of Damien and Sari. “Some of the Irina here, they have mates in the outside world, don’t they?”

Astrid nodded as she sat. “Yes. Some do. There are three Irina here who have mates who fight in houses away from here.”

Ava couldn’t imagine Malachi being in the world and not being with her. “How do they… I mean, don’t they need—”

“Contact?” Astrid smiled a little. “Of course they do. Emotionally. Even biologically, Irin and Irina need physical contact. Mates dream walk, of course, but the mated Irina here often leave.”

“And Sari lets them?”

Astrid smiled. “We’re not stuck here. We can go anytime we want. Most of the women with mates meet them when they can get away. They go to the city for a while, or places in the country where they can be alone.”

“And children?”

Astrid shrugged. “I’m sure a scribe would be given leave if his mate was pregnant. Children are rare for us, and Irin men seldom leave their women alone when they are pregnant.”

“So how does nobody know where this place is?”

“Orsala.”

“Who’s Orsala?” Ava asked. “And… does she have tentacles and a great singing voice?”

Astrid threw her head back and laughed. “Singing voice? Yes. Tentacles, no. Orsala is Sari’s grandmother. She’s very old. The oldest singer I know. She’s letting herself age now because her mate was killed during the Rending. But she’s still with us. And Orsala is the one who’ll talk to you before you leave. After you talk to Orsala, Volund himself couldn’t make you give up the name of this place.”

She felt a shiver creep up her spine. “Magic?”

“Strong magic.”

Ava fell exhausted into bed that night, hoping to lose herself in dreams. She suspected she was sleeping too much—and had spoken to enough psychologists to recognize the symptoms of depression—but something drew her. Some instinct tugged her to darkness and rest. She huddled under the thick down blankets and closed her eyes.

She wandered through the forest, but she no longer wept. She waited. He’d said he would be there, and she knew he would come.

“Reshon.”

She turned toward his voice, smiling. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.” He approached cautiously, one hand lifting as she drew near. “You’re not crying anymore.”

“I don’t need to.” She took his hand and led him toward a low bed that had appeared at the edge of the clearing, butted up against the hedge he’d torn through. The gash had closed, and now the dark leaves were lush, no longer forbidding. The forest surrounding them was a shield and not a barrier. It hummed with life, and the meadow where they rested was lush with grass and dotted with white flowers that glowed under the half moon.

The two lay down on the bed and he wrapped her in his arms. Her body hummed in awareness as he traced over the marks he’d painted on her neck and shoulders, and everywhere he touched, her skin turned gold.

“You’re not as tired as you were before,” he said.

“No. I’m sleeping better now that you found me.”

“I’m glad.” He nestled his face in her neck and took a deep breath. “I miss your scent.”

“And I miss yours.”

“Jasmine and smoke. We met in the market; it smelled like cloves.”

“I think… I remember that.”

She held on to the arm that banded around her waist. He’d rolled her onto her back and kissed softly along her collar and neck, his mouth lingering on her skin. His tongue tasting. Teasing. She closed her eyes and let her senses take her away, losing herself in the feel of his skin against hers, his energy aligning with her own. She felt calm. Content to her bones. But slowly, with every nip of his teeth against her neck, desire rose.

Her grip on his arm tightened. “I need you.”

“As I need you.”

His arm slid around her waist, and suddenly the clothes she’d felt against her skin and his were gone. In their place, a warm breeze wrapped around them as his mouth met hers. Their tongues touched, and he swallowed the low sigh that came from her throat.

“I missed this,” she whispered. “I missed you so much.”

“So did I. I don’t…” He pulled away for a moment, frowning. “I don’t remember what happened.”

“I don’t either.” Her hand went to his cheek, and she rubbed her thumb against the coarse stubble on his jaw. “Kiss me. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

A slow smile—the one she loved that made his dimple stand out—spread over his face.

“I’m here now,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He murmured it over and over again as he moved over her in the dark. The forest protected them; no danger hovered nearby. Soft night birds called in the trees as they held each other, and that moment was all she knew. They made love under a blanket of stars.

And it was enough.

Chapter Seven

Malachi woke slowly, keeping his eyes closed to hold on to the edges of the dream. He could still taste her skin. Still smell the jasmine in her hair. He rolled over, eyes slowly opening, and the bedclothes were damp, as if they’d been left out in the night air.

“Ava…,” he whispered.

A knock came at the door.

“Wake up.” It was Rhys. “We’ve got work to do in the library. Leo wants to start your talesm tonight.”

He glanced at the clock. It was just after six. Malachi took a deep breath and stretched up from the bed, his body refreshed and relaxed despite the hour. He stretched his neck to the side and reached over his left shoulder to stretch the muscle in his arm. As he did, his fingers brushed against something that made him wince. He frowned and stood, going to the mirror near the closet door.

Curved into the tan skin of his shoulder were three scratch marks.

“More.”

He blinked at the memory of her voice. Was it a dream or a memory?

“It’s been too long. I need you. Harder.”

He could feel the bite of her nails. Hear her breath. There was a low rumble in his throat as he remembered her nails digging in. The tug of her hands in his hair.

Malachi looked at his reflection in the mirror as Rhys banged on the door again.

“Malachi, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” he called.

There was a pause, then the sound of shuffling feet. “Meet me in the library.”

He pulled on a pair of pants and, with one last glance at the nail marks, threw a T-shirt over his head. Then he looked at himself in the mirror.

“It was just a dream.”

He gave a last glance to the bed, then he shook his head and walked out, down the hall, and toward the library.

Dawn was breaking over Cappadocia, and the rocks of the cliff where the scribe house was built glowed pink in the morning sun. Birds called from the olive trees near the gate, and a lazy cat stretched on tiptoes atop the wall. Two young scribes were sitting near an outdoor fireplace, drinking tea and arguing quietly over a book. Both of the men looked to be in their twenties, though Malachi knew they were probably far older. Vivid black talesm crawled up their wrists and under the sleeves of their sweaters.

He’d been practicing his characters with Leo for almost a week. Like anything having to do with writing or reading, it came easily. Once he’d practiced a little, reading was no struggle, whether it was a blank wall that had once held Roman graffiti or an ancient Chaldean manuscript, which Rhys claimed was the human tongue most closely related to the Irin language. His writing had become almost rote. He could copy characters with ease except for a few that Leo had said he’d always had a problem with. Malachi already knew how his talesm prim would look.

So he supposed it was silly to be nervous about it. Still, the knowledge that he would unleash ancient magic solely by writing words on his skin was a bit intimidating.

The library door was open, and he could feel a cross breeze from the high windows in the back of the room. Even though it was November, the air was still dry, so the scribes were airing out the library, which could become stuffy with the fires burning in the hearths. The chill in the air nipped at his neck, and he shivered as he approached the table where Rhys sat.

“Hope your blood thickens up,” Rhys said. “Or you’re going to be miserable when we head north.”

Malachi sat down. “Is that where we’re going?”

“It appears so. I found surveillance footage of them on the ferry from Denmark. Once they reached Norway, we lost them again.”

“But they’re in Norway?” He felt his heart pick up.

Rhys didn’t look as optimistic as Malachi hoped.

“Norway is a big country. Huge. And with over twenty-five thousand kilometers of coastline and thousands—thousands—of islands, do you have any idea how easy it is to hide there? We can’t just go stomping off to the great north and expect to find them. We need to speak to Gabriel. If we don’t get some clue from him about where Sari’s home is, it could take forever.”

Malachi tried to look on the bright side. “But we know which country they’re in.”

“Or they could have gone to Sweden. It wouldn’t be unlikely for Damien to anticipate me finding the ferry footage and heading in a different direction, just to throw us off.”

“He is very distrustful, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Rhys muttered. “He’s paranoid. But then, since he’s been alive longer than either of us, I suppose there’s something to be said for that.”

Rhys was still checking things on the computer.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking e-mail.”

“Electronic mail?” He’d heard Leo and Max talking about it and wondered, “Do I have any of these e-mails you talk about?”

The other scribe’s mouth lifted in the corner. “I doubt it. You hate e-mail because you say it’s impersonal. Though you text on your phone like a madman.”

Malachi pulled out the mobile phone Rhys had given him. Apparently, it was an exact replica of his old phone, including all the information and contacts on it, though Malachi had no idea how the man had accomplished that. He pushed a few buttons and scrolled through the texting conversations like Rhys had taught him.

“Texting seems to be a very efficient way to communicate.”

“It is.” Rhys kept typing.

Malachi touched Ava’s name, bringing up their conversation history. Scrolling up, his eyes widened, and he shifted in his seat. “That is… unexpected.”

“What is?”

He quickly turned off his phone while making a mental note to explore more of his very… stimulating texting history with Ava later. “Nothing. You had more books for me to read?”

“Yes.” Rhys reached over a hand and shoved a box toward Malachi. “More Chaldean. It’s a minor language now, but its similarity to the Irin language in grammar and morphology is startling.”

Malachi took a deep breath. “Sounds just fascinating.”

“It is.” Rhys ignored Malachi’s sarcasm, frowning at the computer screen. “Impossible.”

“What’s impossible?”

“There have to be records.” He scowled at the screen, obviously caught in his own thoughts. “There have to be. It’s the California foster-care system. There have to be records. There has to be… something.”

At the word “California,” Malachi’s head jerked up. “What are you talking about? What’s in California?” Ava was from California. According to Leo, she’d been born in Los Angeles.

Rhys waved a hand. “Just some leads I’ve been trying to follow regarding Ava’s background. We still don’t know how she’s Irina. According to everything we know about her, she can’t be.”

This was far more interesting than old manuscripts. Malachi shoved the box to the side. “I know it would be unheard of, but could an Irin have fathered her?”

“No.” Rhys seemed sure, but Malachi kept pressing.

“But is it possible? I know she is her mother’s daughter. I’ve seen the pictures of them together, but could her father—”

“No.”

“Some Grigori victims survive, Rhys. And biologically speaking—”

“Malachi, I’m telling you no.”

“Maybe artificial insemina—”

“That’s not possible either.” Then he cocked his head. “Well, I suppose it might be possible for an Irin male to… hmm… But in Ava’s case”—he looked back at Malachi—“no.”

Malachi let out a frustrated breath. “How can you be so sure? I know we’re not meant to touch human women, but we’re not perfect, either. You’re saying it’s not even possible that some Irin and Ava’s mother—”

“I’m saying in this case, it’s not possible.”

He glared at Rhys. “How can you know for sure?”

“Because—” He lowered his voice. “Because there was a paternity test, Malachi.”

He frowned. “A what?”

“A paternity test. To prove Jasper Reed was Ava’s father. She doesn’t know about it. The records were sealed, and her father and mother never wanted her to know.”

Malachi felt a flare of anger. “Why would he question it?”

Rhys sighed. “Reed regretted it, but there was a time when Ava was a baby, and his manager… His career had already taken off. He’d been successful before, but he was starting to attract worldwide attention. Awards were coming in. And—to be completely honest—Jasper Reed has always been a bit of a mess. Some of the  media suspect he’s bipolar. Some say he struggles with depression. He takes cocktails of drugs. There’s no doubt he’s incredibly talented, but I don’t know how smart he is. His manager at the time convinced him that Ava’s mother might be lying about the baby. Convinced him to ask for a paternity test. Her mother objected; it went to the courts. There’s a record of it, though I had to dig to find it.”

“There’s a record,” he repeated, furious at Ava’s biological father on her behalf. According to everything he could find out from Leo, the only support Ava had received from her father was financial in nature. Jasper Reed hadn’t held her when she cried or protected her in any way. Those jobs had belonged to Ava’s mother, and later, nannies and other household staff.

“Reed’s an ass, but the test proved he is her biological father. And Lena is her mother. They’re human, Malachi.”

“But she’s not.”

“Well, no. Clearly not.” Rhys took a deep breath. “We have no idea.”

Malachi frowned. “So what were you talking about earlier? Why were you looking at the foster-care system in California?”

Rhys frowned at the screen, then snapped the laptop closed. “It’s probably nothing, but I’m trying to find out more information about Ava’s parents. Her mother is fairly easy. Easily traceable history for over one hundred years. Her father, however…”

“What?” There it was again, that stirring in his gut. The awareness that there was something beneath the surface that he needed to find. It wasn’t unlike the feeling he had when looking at a blank piece of paper or clay tablet where he knew words had been. There was something on the edge of his mind that told him Jasper Reed, Ava’s do-nothing father, was the key to her identity.

“He’s a black hole, Malachi. He grew up in the foster-care system, but that’s as much as I can find.” Rhys crossed his arms. “And I can find a lot. But for him? Nothing. No records at all. It’s as if the man didn’t exist until he started waiting tables at a beach bar in Santa Monica when he was eighteen. No mother. No father. I can’t even find a record of the last foster home he was in.”

“No one just appears out of nowhere, Rhys.”

“You’re right.” He crossed his arms. “And Irina aren’t born to human parents. Irin magic always stems from the female line. And there are no human Irina, Malachi. Except…” He leaned forward. “There are.”

They fell silent as three scribes walked past, arguing in French.

“Does the council know about her?” Malachi asked Rhys when they had passed.

“No. I’ve been trying to keep it as quiet as I can while I dig through the online archives. I have a friend in Los Angeles who’s been making local inquiries for me. I’ve asked him to be discreet.”

“Is it just me? Why do I feel like the fewer people who know about her, the better?”

“It’s not just you.” Rhys leaned back but kept his voice low. “Because if there’s a way for some human women to become Irina, then that changes everything, doesn’t it?”

“It might not be just Ava.”

Rhys nodded. “Ava told you, and you told me and Leo before you… died, that Jaron had helped others with ‘her condition.’ Had helped other humans who heard voices. Malachi, if that’s correct, then—”

“There might be more human Irina out there.”

The idea of lost Irina living in the human world was shoved to the back of Malachi’s mind when he entered the ritual room with Leo. Both men wore nothing but the traditional linen wrap used during ceremonies. Malachi’s unmarked skin was stark in the shadowed room, which had been decorated with countless spells and enchantments dug into the soft rock. Some were scribed in different colors. Some surrounded intricate mosaics and paintings in vivid hues. The entire room, from the polished floor to the ceiling, was covered with Irin magic.

Evren followed them. He and Leo spoke words over the fire that was burning in the center of the room. Then Leo waved Malachi over, and the ritual began.

First, he prepared the ink, made from the ashes of the fire Evren tended every morning. Mixing the powdered ash with oil, he carefully poured the ink into an alabaster bowl that had been stained black from hundreds of years of use. Then he reached for the needle that Leo held out.

Leo was murmuring under his breath. “…and for the blessing of this power, handed down to us from our fathers. For the right use of our magic. For the balance of our race. We ask the Creator’s blessing on this scribe.”

Evren echoed Leo’s words with a few of his own, but Malachi heard little. There was only the ivory needle in his right hand. The ink in his left. He sat down on the stool with the small table before it and imagined in his mind the characters he would write. He closed his eyes and felt a slow curl of power building up from his chest, clearing his mind, and steadying the hand that had been shaking.

Then Malachi opened his eyes and began to write.

The first prick of the needle pierced the fog of magic that had covered his mind. It hurt. He dipped into the ink and made a few more rapid strikes the way Leo had shown him. It still hurt, but slowly he reached past it. The first character formed under his skin, glowing with a dull, pewter-like shine. Malachi started on the second. He felt the magic unfurling within as the pain reached a clarifying plateau.

By the fourth letter, his muscle memory awakened, and the magic took over.

Dipping from the ink to his hand, over and over again, Malachi steadily scribed the ancient words, calling on his angelic ancestors, his mother, his father, and the long line of Irin before them. He claimed his power in black ink as the spells circled the inside of his wrist, slowly curling like a snake around his forearm and crawling up his elbow. They twisted and shone as he marked himself, calling on the powers of Uriel, for longevity. On Rafael for swift healing. He harnessed Mikhael’s magic for swift hands in battle and Ariel’s for protection from blades.

Malachi focused on the oldest of the Irin spells, those given to the earliest scribes by the Forgiven. Other, more nuanced, magic could come in time. The power flowed over and through him. His skin was alive with it. His hand never wavered.

Behind him, he felt Leo’s hand on his shoulder, his brother sharing the magic and grounding him as he wrote. He took deep, steady breaths that Malachi copied when he realized he was holding his own breath, gritting his teeth against the constant pain.

And there was pain.

Through the endorphin rush and the magical high, Malachi could feel the sharp ache as his skin closed around the ink, red and angry from the ivory needle.

He didn’t stop.

Finally, Leo squeezed his shoulder and leaned down.

“Finish this spell, and then enough, brother.”

Malachi blinked, not halting in the repetitive tapping that dug the needle into his flesh. “Enough?”

“It’s been seven hours, Malachi. That’s enough.”

“Not finished…” He knew—an ancient, aching part of him knew that this magic only touched the edge of what he’d once owned. He wanted more.

More power.

More strength.

More.

“Enough.” Leo squeezed again, and Malachi finally paused. “Enough, brother.”

“Enough for now,” Malachi said, finishing the last character on a spell that he knew would help him see more clearly through deception.

“Fine.” Leo sounded amused. “Enough for now. And you better not eat anything for at least a day. You’ll be sick from it. It’s well past midnight. Go lie down and let your system even out.”

Malachi knew what he needed and, though his skin was still bloody and raw, he’d never wished more fervently that his mate was nearby.

Evren must have come back to the ritual room sometime in the previous hours. He took one look at Malachi’s expression and raised an eyebrow.

“Shower, then lie down. Leo’s right. You’re flush with magic. How do you feel?”

Malachi’s voice was rough. “Strong.”

And hungry. He’d never felt more hungry.

He rose and put one hand on the wall to steady himself. His left arm ached where his new talesm shone, glowing in the candlelight. The spells had reached halfway up his arm before Leo stopped him. He slowly walked toward the door, leaning against the wall for another moment to let a wave of dizziness pass.

Leo laughed and slapped his right shoulder before he hefted an arm around Malachi and led him toward his room.

“This, my brother, is as close to intoxicated as we get. Enjoy.”

All Malachi could think was he’d enjoy it a lot more with his soft mate under him.

He managed to make it into his room and get cleaned off before he fell into bed, exhausted, wired, and aching.

“Come to me,” he whispered before he fell into dreams.

She was there when he opened his eyes. The fog lifted just enough to reveal her form, standing on the edge of the dark wood. The misty air nipped at his bare skin as he ran to her. She must have heard him a moment before he reached her, because she was already turning and her mating marks gleamed gold in the low light.

He didn’t speak. He simply picked her up at the waist and walked to the edge of the wood, laying her down on a bed of leaves that appeared before him. She opened her mouth, but he covered it with his own, catching her gasp as he spread her legs and lay in the cradle of her body.

He kissed her over and over again. Her fingers twisted in his hair and dug into his neck, pulling him closer. Her legs wrapped around his hips.

“More,” she murmured when his mouth left hers and he buried his face in her neck, biting the soft skin there as she arched beneath him. “More.”

“Yes.” He hissed out in pleasure when his hips surged forward and his body breached hers. The sharp bite of her nails in his shoulder reminded him of the needle in his arm and the heady pleasure and pain of his new spells.

He pulled back to meet her eyes, and the naked desire in them fed his own. She bit her lip, then pulled his head down, sinking her teeth into the full curve of his lower lip as he moved faster and harder within her.

More.

The magic surged through him and into her, linking them. Every mark on her body was lit up, and her eyes glowed gold in the darkness.

More.

She cried out when she came, pulling him closer and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he continued to drive into her. Inextricably, eternally linked. The other half of his soul, reaching for its mate. He found what he’d been searching for in the darkness, and he pulled her with him over the edge.

And still he craved more.

Chapter Eight

Ava woke in the pitch black, her body aching in awareness and his voice whispering in her mind.

“I love you, reshon.”

She pressed her eyes tight, holding on to the dream. She could sense his phantom touch. Smell his scent. Feel the rough stubble along his jaw as it brushed over the sensitive skin on her belly. Her stomach was in knots and she ached.

Ached.

As if her muscles remembered loving him, even though months had passed. As if she could turn over in her bed and he would be there. She forced back the tears in her eyes, shutting them in the darkness and holding on to the shadowy images that haunted her nights.

“Reshon…”

Ava sat up, pushing back the down comforter and letting the cold bite her skin. She rubbed her arms in the brisk northern air and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She’d get no more sleep that night. Dressing in the warm clothes Max had found for her in Turkey, she crawled out of bed and headed toward the kitchen. The clock in the corner told her it was only three a.m.

Amazingly, when she got to the kitchen, she saw a lantern set on the counter and a woman’s figure bending over the table.

Ava halted, trying not to be alarmed.

The woman must have heard her, because she turned and held up her hands, smiling. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m Karen. I woke very early this morning, and I just knew you would need breakfast.”

“Hi.” She relaxed. She’d heard Karen’s name before. “I’m Ava.”

The woman gave a rosy smile. “I know.”

She was short and curvaceous, exactly what Ava would have pictured for the woman who made the delicious breads and pastries that were delivered fresh every morning. Her blond hair was tucked under a wool hat, but Ava could see spun-gold curls poking out around her ears. She was bundled against the cold morning air, and a basket of steaming baked goods was sitting on the table.

“I was just going to tuck these in the oven and leave a note. It’s getting so cold in the mornings I don’t like leaving the bread outside.”

“Thanks. That’s really considerate.”  Ava’s stomach growled to life. “You’re an amazing baker, by the way. I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” A dimple popped out on Karen’s cheek just as Ava heard a rustling and stomping at the door. “Oh, that’s Bruno. He’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

The door cracked open, and a bear of a man poked his head through. He had to have been six and a half feet, with a long brown beard and shaggy hair that hung over his ears, as if he were overdue for a haircut. His shoulders filled the doorway, and his flannel shirt hung open at the neck, revealing dark talesm that stood out against pale skin.

“Sweet, what is taking so—oh, hallo!” His eyes swung toward her, and Ava pulled on her sweater as she lifted a hand in greeting. The bear grinned. “How did my sweet girl know you would be awake? But that’s her gift, yes? She just knows these things, my Karen. A touch of Chamuel’s blood in her.”

He stepped through the door and seemed to get impossibly taller.

“Bruno,” Karen hissed. “It’s early. Ava might not want company.”

Bruno’s eyes turned toward hers, wide and blue, as if shocked by the thought of a neighbor not wanting to visit at three in the morning.

“Sorry. Would you rather we…” He motioned to the door.

“No.” Ava was quick to smile. Something about the giant man reminded her of Leo. “No, that’s fine. I’m not going to get any more sleep.”

“Well sit, then.” Karen began bustling around the kitchen. “I’ll make coffee. I’m sorry about this, Ava. You were probably hoping for a quiet morning.”

All her mornings were quiet now. There was no teasing Malachi trying to keep her in bed, whispering delicious secrets and making her laugh. There was nothing.

“No, it’s fine.” She forced a smile. “I like the company. I haven’t met many people yet.”

“Oh.” Karen waved a hand as she filled the electric kettle. “They don’t want to overwhelm you. Sari warned them your mind isn’t protected yet. But you’ll learn the spells soon, and then they’ll introduce themselves. Everyone’s excited to meet you. We don’t get many new people.”

Bruno crossed to her and reached out his hand. Ava took it, and the immediate wash of comfort almost broke her control. Bruno held her hand in both of his big paws and bent down, smiling. “Welcome, Ava. I’m Bruno, and this is my mate, Karen. It’s very nice to meet you. We’re glad you’re here.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’ll try to be quiet, huh? So we don’t wake your guard.” He winked one blue eye, and Ava had the sudden image of Bruno in a red cap and coat.

“Do you ever play Santa at Christmas? Because you’d be awesome.”

Bruno threw his head back and laughed, patting his flat stomach. “I’ve been trying to fatten up, but it doesn’t seem to work.”

“Shh! You’ll wake Damien.” Karen shook her head and turned back to the kettle.

Ava shook her head, smiling as she walked to the table. Bruno slipped behind Karen at the counter, bending down to wrap his arms around his mate.

“Did you hear, sweet? Ava says you’re not feeding me enough.”

Karen said something Ava didn’t understand; it made Bruno growl low in his throat and pull Karen closer to drop a kiss on her neck. Ava turned her head from the easy intimacy between them. She pulled three plates from the cupboard, then turned back and got another. There was no way that Damien would be sleeping for long, not with Bruno’s booming voice filling the kitchen.

In fact, by the time the coffee was poured, dark and steaming from the French press on the counter, Damien was wandering out of his room, hair mussed from the night but already dressed in warm flannels.

“We took down a tree yesterday, and he’s still awake at this hour,” Damien said, eyeing the steaming cup that Karen was already pouring cream into. “Bruno, you’ve scribed a spell I don’t know.”

Bruno winked at Ava again and pulled Karen’s chair closer. “Yes, but I’m not sharing. You’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

“Damien, how is Sari?” Karen asked. “Any progress?”

Bruno guffawed as Damien closed his eyes. “Woman, don’t you know he gets that question in some form or another ten times a day?”

Karen shrugged. “That’s because we all know she’d be far less… cranky if they reconciled.”

“We’ll be fine,” Damien said, sipping his coffee. “I’m not leaving until we’ve resolved some things.”

“Good,” Bruno said, reaching for some of the spiced nut bread that Karen had set out. Instead of grabbing a piece for himself, he reached across the table and put a piece first on Ava’s plate, then Karen’s, before passing the basket to Damien. “What I want to know is when Ava is meeting with Orsala.” He looked at her, wiggling his eyebrows. “We’re all very curious what you can do.”

Ava tried to smile. From the first day here, she’d felt and heard the probing curiosity. She wasn’t convinced there was anything special about her other than her mysterious parentage. Certainly nothing like Sari’s elemental powers or the healing she’d witnessed Astrid perform the day before. Even Karen seemed to have some sixth sense regarding baked goods.

“I can take really good pictures,” Ava said. “But that’s not very supernatural.”

“Hmm,” Karen mused. “But why are you such a talented photographer? Practice and training, I’m sure. But often, we hone our gifts without realizing their full potential. I wouldn’t be surprised if something about your chosen profession relates to your talents as an Irina.”

Bruno winked again. “See? Chamuel’s blood. My sweet girl has a sense about these things.” His eyes flicked to Damien. “I have a feeling our friend here has his suspicions, as well.”

Damien shrugged when Ava turned to him. “You’ll meet Orsala this afternoon. She’ll be able to read you.”

“How?” Ava asked.

Karen said, “Bruno teases that I have a touch of Chamuel’s blood.”

“Chamuel? Is he an angel?”

“He’s our forefather who gifted the Irina with empathy and mental influence. My mate is probably right—”

“Say it again.” Bruno sighed. “It’s music to my ears.”

Karen gave him a wry smile. “I have a touch. But Orsala? She has Chamuel’s gift, only far stronger than me. She’s a very potent empath and she’ll be able to read you.”

“Empath? So, she can actually… feel what I’m feeling?” Ava was reluctant to vent her own emotional roller coaster on another person, even one who was supernatural.

“She can feel what you’re feeling and influence your mind, though she won’t unless it’s necessary.”

“I don’t want her in my mind.” Forget it. She’d run away before she met this Orsala person. She’d rather take her chances with the Grigori.

Karen reached out a hand. “She won’t do anything. Not unless it’s necessary. And she’ll always tell you ahead of time. Our songs say that is why empathy and influence go hand in hand. Only those with extreme empathy for another can be trusted not to use that influence to manipulate.”

Damien said, “In short, Ava, Orsala could influence your mind to do almost anything, but since she would feel your emotions—feel the consequences of forcing you to do something against your will and the mental agony that would produce—she would never do it. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.” Ava felt herself start to relax.

“It’s the reason that Sarihöfn is protected,” Bruno said. “Orsala gives everyone a mental prompt—a safety—so we are unable to reveal its location. This is what keeps us safe from Grigori who might try to kidnap one of our people and make her talk.”

“Has that happened?” A chill went down her neck.

“Yes,” Karen said softly. “A number of times. The Grigori finally realized that kidnapping us wouldn’t work. So now they just kill us on sight.”

“Orsala will give you that mental prompt when you meet her, Ava,” Damien said. “You won’t have a choice about it.”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Good.”

The thought of being forced to lead the Grigori to this peaceful place made Ava want to throw up. Instead, she steadied her hands on her coffee cup and took another bite of bread, deciding to steer the conversation into less dangerous waters.

“So, Karen, if I baked, I’d ask you for this recipe. But I don’t, so I’m just going to ask that you bring it by a lot.”

Karen gave her a bright smile. “Would you like to learn how to bake?”

“Unless you want your kitchen in flames, it’s probably a bad idea.”

Ava was walking between Sari and Damien on the path to Orsala’s house. The older woman lived about a mile away from the main house and surrounding cottages. The energy between the two mates crackled despite their silence, and Ava tried to ignore the rush of voices that flew from their minds. Both obviously had a lot to say, but they had no intention of sharing.

Finally, Ava had to break the silence, if for no other reason than to stave off the approaching headache. “So, why does she live so far away? Is it because of the empath thing?”

“Hmm?” Sari looked over her shoulder, as if surprised that Ava was still there.

“Orsala. Why does she live away from everyone else?”

“She can shield herself from the emotions around her, but it costs energy she knew she was going to need to read you the first time. So she went to her house. She likes her solitude, but she’s often in the main house.”

“That’s why you haven’t seen her,” Damien said. “After today, she’ll be around more.”

“I feel bad she had to keep away.”

Sari shrugged. “She doesn’t have to do anything. She chose it. It’s no responsibility of yours, so don’t feel bad.”

“Still, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize. My grandmother hates it when Irina apologize too much.”

Ava bristled at Sari’s tone but bit back her reply. The woman was brusque, to be sure. Probably more so than Damien. Ava found herself on the “get Sari and Damien back together” train, despite her initial dislike of the woman. Both of them obviously needed to get laid.

Finally, Sari spoke again, but this time it wasn’t to Ava. “You didn’t need to accompany her.”

“I’m paying my respects to your grandmother, Sari. It would be rude of me not to see her.”

“She’s not your grandmother.”

“No, but she’s yours. And, unless you’ve forgotten, I am your mate. Therefore, she’s my family, too.”

Their inner voices were practically shouting at each other. Ava wanted to put her fingers in her ears and sing something. Sadly, that didn’t really work.

“Trust me,” Sari said. “I have not forgotten.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Ava groaned. “You guys are impossible. You should hear yourselves.”

Sari cut her eyes to Ava. “Then stop listening. It’s rude.”

“Don’t you think I would if I could?”

Ava saw Damien fighting a smile, but he didn’t say a word.

She practically cried in relief when they crested the hill to see a cheerful blue house tucked into the hills. It was low to the ground with a white porch and a traditional turf roof. A few flowers still bloomed in buckets on the porch, though most of the garden around the house was dying for the season. As they approached, a willowy woman opened the door, raising her hand in greeting. She wore a thick blue sweater and her blond hair hung loose around her shoulders. As Ava approached, she could see the woman’s temples were touched with silver, and crow’s feet creased the corners of her vivid blue eyes. But her round face was still stunning, and her smile was wide.

“Damien,” she called, holding out her arms. “Oh, my son! I was wondering when you would come visit me.”

Ava could practically feel the waves of annoyance rolling off Sari as Damien embraced her grandmother. They exchanged words in what Ava guessed was Norwegian, then Orsala turned to Ava and held out her hands. “And you must be Ava.”

She smiled, and Ava tried not to stare. Damien had told her that Orsala was close to a thousand years old, but the woman barely looked older than Ava’s own mother.

“You are so very welcome. Thank you for coming to visit me.”

It was amazing how cordial she made it sound, considering Ava knew she really didn’t have a choice in the matter. Orsala’s smile only got wider the longer she held Ava’s hands.

“You have a wonderful sense of humor,” the older woman said. “I can tell.” Then she squeezed Ava’s hands and dropped them, motioning them all inside.

Within minutes, they were all sitting at the round kitchen table, drinking a fragrant herb tea that made Ava think of the spice market in Istanbul.

“Damien keeps me supplied with tea,” Orsala said, sitting down next to Damien and patting his hand. “I can only get the plain teas here. The ones from Istanbul are the finest.”

“I’m glad you enjoy them,” Damien said quietly, holding back another smile as Sari carefully avoided meeting his eyes.

“So much drama,” Orsala said under her breath, looking between the two. “On to other things.” She turned her attention to Ava. “Evren sent a letter with Damien. He says that they cannot discover where you’ve come from! What a delicious mystery, huh? Perhaps reading you today will give us a clue.”

“How?” Ava asked.

“How much do you know about Irina blood?”

“I… a little. Not much. I know that Irin and Irina magic is different. Related, but different.”

“Two sides of the same coin, is the saying, I think.” Orsala smiled. “We speak the same language they write. But unlike us, Irin can grab the magic. Hold on to it with their writing. We can’t do that.”

“Has an Irina ever tried?”

Sari said, “Yes. Some try. It doesn’t work for us.”

“No more than an Irin speaking magic works for them,” Orsala added. “We are different. We were designed to be.”

Sari grimaced. “And you just end up with messy tattoos and no extra magic.”

Damien leaned toward her. “They’re not messy. I actually think they’re rather attractive, my dove.”

“Don’t call me ‘my dove.’”

Ava tried not to laugh. Was there anyone less dove-like than Sari?

Orsala was smiling at her granddaughter before she spoke again. “So, Irina speak our magic in the Old Language as the Irin write it. But we also have other gifts. Again, no one knows why. I’m assuming you haven’t heard any of our songs?”

“Songs?”

Damien said, “Our history. Most of the books we have written—like the one Malachi showed you when you first came to the scribe house—are written records of Irina songs.”

Orsala waved a dismissive hand. “Written songs are not songs. There is no way of capturing the true nature of our history on the page. It must be heard to be understood.”

Damien smiled indulgently and turned to Ava. “This is a very old argument.”

“It’s true,” Sari added. “The songs were never meant to be written. The act of writing them diminishes the power of their meaning.”

“I’m not going to get into this argument, my dove.”

Sari slapped her hand on the table. “Stop calling me that!”

Orsala barked out something in Norwegian that made both Damien and Sari sit up straight. For a moment, they both looked like chastised children, then Orsala switched to English.

“So, while I am working with Ava and teaching her beginning spells, you two will continue to research her background. We have records, too. And you can speak to Candice.”

Sari’s jaw had clenched. “But—”

“Candice’s father was a historian and genealogist. One of the first in the Americas, so it’s possible she might know something about the families that Ava might have come from. Once I get a feeling for her blood, you’ll have more to go on.”

“And you want us to work together?” Damien asked quietly. “Are you sure?”

“I am quite positive,” Orsala said. “Why don’t you both finish your tea and start right now?”

“Together?” Sari seemed limited to one word answers forced out between clenched teeth.

“Yes. In fact, just take your tea with you and leave Ava and me alone.”

Damien couldn’t hide the pleased expression on his face as he rose and held out his hand. “Shall we, my dove?”

Sari was muttering under her breath. She ignored her mate’s hand and put her cup on the counter, then without a backward glance, she walked out the front door.

Damien turned to Orsala and smiled. “So good to see you again, matka.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Damjan. You have a long way to go.”

“Will they make up?” Ava asked after they’d finished their tea and been left alone in the cottage. The fire crackled in the hearth, and Orsala added wood to the flames before she settled in the chair across from Ava.

“Yes. There was hurt on both sides. They both made mistakes, and I understand why Sari feels the way she does. But now?” Orsala shook her head. “It is time. Damien is a different man than he was during the Rending. Sari needs to learn that some Irin grow from their mistakes, and that forgiveness isn’t something to be withheld from your mate, not even in grief.”

“Was it that bad? Really?”

Shadows flickered in Orsala’s eyes. “Yes.” Then the old woman shook her head and asked, “Are you ready to listen?”

“Do I need to take notes?”

Orsala smiled. “I imagine you’ll be sick of this history by the time we’re done. You have a lot to learn, but everything draws from this, so it will be repeated.”

“Okay, hit me.”

“There were twenty-one cardinal angels who fell to the earth from above. Twenty-one who defied the creator and took humans as mates. Had children. Many of them. Seven returned. Seven were killed. Seven remained. Others followed them, but they were the first. The seven who returned, we call the Forgiven. They are the fathers of the Irin race.”

“The ones who left their children,” Ava said.

Orsala cocked her head. “They were not creatures of this world. They had no business here. Sometimes leaving is the right thing to do.”

Ava ignored the twist of anger in her belly and asked, “And these seven gave their power to their children.”

“Uriel gave us the gift of life. Male and female, we can harness his magic to extend our lives. Gabriel gave Irina the gift of hearing so that we might hear the souls of the world around us to aid in their protection. The other powers are more specific and more rare.”

“Like empathy?”

Orsala nodded. “Chamuel gave a few of his blood the gift of empathy and influence. Rafael gave others the gift of healing, and also the ability to read the history of objects.”

“You’re talking about touch telepathy?” Ava was starting to get excited. It was real and unreal at the same time.

“In a sense.” Orsala continued without further explanation. “Mikhael gave his daughters the gift of strategy. Sadly, not a developed gift for far too long. It was not as respected as some of the others.”

“Why not?”

“Irina revere creation and prophecy. Seeing the connections between things is not creative. It is, however, one of the more potent offensive gifts that we have learned to wield.”

“That makes sense.”

“These are also not exclusive. After so many generations, our blood has mixed. So Sari exhibits some of Mikhael’s blood traits, though her primary talent comes from Ariel.”

“Which is…”

“Those of Ariel’s blood exhibit elemental magic. He was the oldest of the cardinal angels. Some songs say he was present with the Creator at the dawn of our world, though we have no way of knowing this. Ariel’s children can control the elements to varying degrees. Primarily wood and metal. In the past, Irina of Ariel’s blood were our chief architects and builders. Very highly respected.”

“Okay. By my count, that’s six angels.”

“Yes.”

“So who was the seventh?”

Orsala leaned forward and peered into Ava’s eyes. “The seventh was Leoc, the seer. And Leoc, giver of visions and bearer of prophecy,  returned to the heavens, but his daughters bear his mark, the mark of the seer…”

Ava’s skin began to prickle. She could feel the swell of power coming from the old woman.

“…though their eyes now glimmer only faintly with their father’s gift.”

Her heart beat a rapid rhythm as the whispers in her mind grew louder.

“Leoc’s daughters are seers?” she whispered. “They have… visions?”

“And golden eyes, Ava. Angelic eyes.”

The images she’d seen in Jaron’s office flipped through her mind.

Malachi.

Utter black. Pain. Despair.

Two dark-haired children. A girl with golden eyes, laughing as butterflies swirled around her. A boy, staring… The ink-black jaguar curled around the children protectively as a wolf and a tiger paced behind. The tiger bent to the girl, opening his mouth. The great beast closed his jaw around the girl’s nape gently as she continued to smile and pet its cheek. A great circle rose in the sky, like a sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, until the sun faded away to stars, a million scattered points of light dotting the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

Darkness.

“I show you what has been. What will be. And what could be,” Ava whispered Jaron’s words. “Do not fear the darkness.”

Orsala’s voice came as if Ava was deep underwater. “Tell me, Ava. Do you see visions?”

She couldn’t speak. Did she? Or was that something that Jaron had projected to her mind? Could angels do that?

“Your eyes are gold, Ava. To human eyes, they would seem only a beautiful light brown, but they’re not. I haven’t seen eyes like that since I was a child. They belonged to the oldest woman in my village. A daughter of Leoc who was very, very strong.”

“I don’t know…,” Ava whispered. “I don’t know what I see.”

She didn’t. She only knew that she needed to get away from Orsala’s piercing gaze. The darkness hovered at the edge of her mind, and the frightening whispers grew in strength.

Orsala didn’t hear them. The old woman leaned forward and put her fingers on Ava’s temples. At her touch, Ava fell calm.

“Tell me what you see with your golden eyes, Ava, daughter of Leoc.”

II.

Istanbul, Turkey

It was amazing how much was left after the fire. Brage kicked through the wreckage of the old wooden house in Beyoğlu, following the muffled screams of the young scribe they had captured on the road out of Göreme.

He slid into the room that had been carved with protection spells. Useless now that the Irin fire was gone. Foolish Irin put too much stock in magic. Brage’s fingers trailed over the cryptic script of the Old Language that had been carved into the walls. It was a mystery to him, just as the Fallen intended.

Bitterness twisted his heart.

Unlike the Irin fathers, Volund and the other angels did not share knowledge with their children. They didn’t trust them enough. Didn’t believe them worthy. After all, they were half-human. They were servants and soldiers, not true sons.

The young scribe before him was fair-skinned and dark-eyed. Handsome enough to human eyes, though not stunning as the Grigori were. The angelic blood had been tempered by time and distance. The Irin were mere shadows of their forefathers. But the mysterious script marked the young scribe’s arms and shoulders, though the glow of power was gone. Blood covered the young man’s chest and face. Pieces of his talesm were missing. Strips of skin had been gouged from his arms.

Brage’s brother handed him a flap of skin they had carved from the scribe’s left wrist.

“Talesm prim,” Brage said softly, kneeling beside the scribe who was tied to the chair.

The man looked at him with disgust, but Brage knew that he was growing weaker by the minute. These Irin could not last long without their magic. And by carving off the spells, the Grigori had neutralized the scribe’s only advantage.

“That’s what you call it, correct?” Brage held up the skin. “Your very first spell? The one that all the others draw from. Did they warn you about this? Or were they too arrogant?” He stood and shook his head, as if chastising a child. “They didn’t, did they? Your elders teach you that you are superior to us. Your magic,” he spat out. “It makes you so blessed. You are the favored of heaven. The weak Grigori with little magic have no power over you. But, of course, we do.”

Brage leaned down and brought his knife to the young man’s neck. He winced when the knife cut in and the blood welled around the wound. “Tell me where the Istanbul scribes are,” he murmured, “and I’ll kill you quickly.”

The scribe’s throat worked to respond. “No,” he choked out.

Brage slid the knife under the skin of the young man’s neck. It stretched and slowly stripped the flesh away as he screamed.

“Tell me,” Brage whispered.

“Never.”

It went on for hours, the slow interrogation. Brage was forced to revive the young man a number of times. By the fourth time he woke, the scribe’s eyes were swimming, and Brage knew he was delirious and close to breaking.

“This is not your battle, child.” He placed a cool cloth on the scribe’s bloody forehead, gave the man a sip of cool water. “You are one young Irin scribe. How old are you?”

“For…forty-three.”

“See?” Brage said. “You are practically a child. You are alone. Tell me where they are. Let them fight. They are armed and strong, with their brothers at their sides. They will not condemn you for telling me.”

Tears slipped down the young man’s cheeks, making paths in the crusted blood and sweat.

“Tell me,” Brage whispered.

“Vienna,” he finally choked out. “Th…they were driving to Vienna.”

Damn.

Brage let out a breath and sat back on his heels. Of all the cities they could go to, Vienna was the one that Volund had forbidden. The Irin were too strong in that city. And making an appearance in the heart of the Irin power structure would alert too many people that Volund wanted lulled into complacency.

He stood and walked behind the bleeding man. Half the skin of his upper body was gone, and he was barely recognizable. Brage could feel the eager bloodlust of his brothers, but he had made a promise. And he did not break his promises.

The young scribe was weeping when Brage put the blade to his spine and drove it in.

He walked away as the gold dust rose behind him.

Vienna.

They were going to Vienna—

He stopped and smiled at the realization. No, they were driving to Vienna.

Driving to Vienna would lead them through several cities where the Grigori presence was strong. Though that heretic, Kostas, ran Sofia, more friendly elements made their home in Budapest. Svarog was a powerful angel, and his children were numerous, but the angel had friendly relations with Brage’s father. A well-timed visit might be in order.

He made his way from the scribe room and to the bathroom on the second floor.

“New clothes,” he said to the soldier guarding the door.

Brage took a quick shower, careful to wash the blood from his pale hair. He needed to feed, and a human woman would most likely be put off by blood.

Or possibly not. Some humans were delightfully perverse.

Smiling, he dressed in the immaculate clothes his brother had laid out for him, then he left the house and found his way into the night crowds of Beyoğlu. It was nothing to the rowdy atmosphere of Amsterdam or Berlin, but it would do. All he needed to find was a human woman who wanted the company of a good-looking man for the night. A tourist, he decided. Someone with a clean, comfortable hotel room where he could rest after he fucked her into unconsciousness and fed his ancient soul hunger.

Brage was more than capable of giving a woman an unforgettable night. He was old enough that he didn’t need to draw much energy for his hunger to be fed.

Perhaps, if she survived, he would give her an unforgettable morning, too.

It was the least he could do.

Chapter Nine

Sofia, Bulgaria

The man gave up his knife after the second attempt at Malachi’s neck. It clattered to the stones in the alley as the Grigori lunged toward him. Catching him in midair, Malachi hugged the soldier to his chest and felt the magic coursing through his own body. He grabbed for his own silver dagger, ignoring the chokehold his opponent was attempting. The man twisted around, realizing too late that Malachi was armed. He loosened his hold and tried to flee, but by that time, Malachi had a firm grip on the man’s long hair. He twisted it around his wrist and pulled up, letting the Grigori dangle and scream as he kicked.

“They said you were dead!” The man tried to break Malachi’s hold, tried to pry open the fingers that held him, but the scribe’s grip didn’t falter. “They told us—”

“They were wrong,” he said, jerking the soldier closer and plunging the blade into his spine.

In the blink of an eye, the body shimmered and turned golden. Malachi stared into the man’s black eyes as they met his own. He was gold. Shimmering. Translucent in death. And for a moment, the soldier was gone and Malachi watched his own face dissolve as a piercing scream shattered his ears.

“No!”

He blinked away the echoing scream and came back to the alley. From the corner, a young woman held her arms out toward the dust that rose.

“What have you done, you monster?” she shouted at him, tears streaming down her face. “Ciril!” she sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Malachi went to her, bending down. “You’re safe now,” he said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

The woman kept rocking, clutching her arms around her body and sobbing into her knees. Malachi looked up, wondering what to do with the woman in the back streets of Sofia. They’d stopped in the capitol of Bulgaria to eat and stretch their legs before they continued driving to Budapest. Leo, Rhys, and Malachi had been taking turns, but they all needed sustenance. The fact that they’d happened to find a Grigori preying on a human woman at the restaurant was simply a coincidence. He’d run from them immediately but had grabbed the woman and taken her with him. They’d all given chase; Malachi was just the first to catch him.

Within seconds, he heard his brothers’ scuffling feet near the mouth of the alley. Malachi was trying to soothe the sobbing human without putting his hands on her skin. Rhys had said Grigori victims often mourned their attackers’ deaths, not knowing how dangerous the creatures truly were.

“Please,” Malachi said. Rhys had handed him a Bulgarian dictionary as soon as they’d crossed the border, so Malachi had already absorbed most of the language. “Please, miss, who can I call for you? Surely, there is someone—”

“There was Ciril,” she choked out. “There was only Ciril. And now there is no one.” She clutched her head, pressing her palms to her temples as she wailed.

“He would have hurt you,” Malachi said, speaking softly as Rhys and Leo approached. “You’re safe now.”

Finally, the woman’s eyes lifted to his. His stomach dropped when he saw them. Blank. Dead. There was nothing behind the young woman’s gaze.

“You know nothing,” she whispered.

Then she lunged forward, bashed her forehead into Malachi’s nose, and scrambled up, darting between Leo and Rhys and out of the alley before Malachi had time to recover. Blood streamed down his nose and into his mouth. She was gone by the time he reached his feet.

“What was that?” Leo asked with wide eyes.

“I have no idea.” He wiped the blood from his face with the corner of his sleeve. “I killed the Grigori, and she went crazy.”

Rhys shook his head sadly. “It’s horrible. They become obsessed. I only hope she has someone she can go to.”

Malachi narrowed his eyes. “She knew his name. Do they usually tell humans their name?”

Rhys shrugged. “He told her a name. I doubt it’s his. Let’s go. Who knows who that woman is calling right now? She could be running to the police. We need to get back on the road.”

Leo was staring at the spot where the woman had been crouched, his eyes lost in thought. After a second’s silence, he shook his head and said, “Rhys and I will grab some food from one of the corner shops. Malachi, you get back to the car. Your face would draw too much attention right now.”

“All right.”

As they walked, Rhys slapped Malachi’s shoulder. “How do you feel? No trouble with the new spells?”

“I feel fine,” he said, rolling his shoulders as he felt his nose start to knit together. “Actually, I feel amazing.”

It was true. Nothing about the fight had been a struggle. It was as if his muscles knew exactly what to do, from the way to immobilize his opponent to the exact angle at which to stab the knife. Like so many things, he only consciously thought about his actions after they were over, not unlike watching a movie on rewind, wondering how each point connected to the last.

Leo asked, “Did you remember anything more? Rhys and I have been debating whether or not tapping into your magic and scribing some of your old spells would help your memory.”

“I don’t remember anything more about Ava,” he said, “if that’s what you were wondering.”

No, he didn’t remember anything from the past, but his dreams—the intimate communion he reached for in sleep—those, he decided, they didn’t need to know about. Perhaps he was falling in love with his subconscious memories of the woman. He knew her without question in his dreams. He only wished he had something to hold on to when he woke.

“Tell me where you go,” she asked after they had sated their bodies on the forest floor. “When you leave me here, where do you go?”

The moss was a thick green carpet at his back, and the night birds sang overhead as he cradled her on his chest.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t remember, exactly. I only know you’re not there. But you’re here when I sleep.”

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes and traced her fingers along his collar. “I miss your markings.”

“I have some back.” He raised his left arm and she trailed her fingers along the black ink. “I will write more for you.”

“Okay.”

“Are yours still there?”

She smiled up at him. “Of course, silly. They’re always here.” She lifted his hand and put it over her heart. “And they always will be. Kiss me.”

He kissed her, and her lips were honey to his tongue. Far too soon, she pulled back, and in the low light of the misty forest, he could see them—his own marks—glowing in the darkness. Gold magic swirled on the skin over her heart. It shone on her shoulders. He sat up, twisting her until she sat in his lap with her back to his chest. Then he leaned back on his arms, staring at the intricate letters that trailed up her spine, over her neck and shoulders.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, stroking the magic that he’d used to claim her. “I love seeing these on you.”

“I know.” She was smiling as she looked over her shoulder. Her gold eyes, he realized, were almost the same color as her mating marks.

“Extraordinary.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” He kissed her again, pulling her closer before he laid them down again on the moss.

“Reshon?” she whispered against his chest.

“Yes?”

“Come back to me.”

“Come back now, brother.” He felt the hand slapping his cheek and he bolted awake.

“Ah.” Leo was grinning. “There you are. You were dead to the world.”

“Hmm,” Malachi grunted, blinking the image of his mate’s bare shoulders away.

Dream. Just a dream.

“Come back to me.”

“Where are we?” he asked in a rough voice.

“Twenty kilometers outside Belgrade. You’ve been sleeping for almost four hours. Rhys is stopping for petrol, then it’s your turn to drive.”

He nodded his head, swiping a hand over his face to rid himself of the misty dream. Then he slapped his cheek and said, “Get me some tea and I’ll be fine.”

The three men stopped at the all-night petrol station, stretching their legs as they walked to the small shop to get coffee for Malachi and a bottle of water for Rhys.

“Don’t you want anything?” Malachi asked Leo.

“No.” The blond man shrugged. “If I sleep, I sleep. I’m not tired though, so I’ll probably keep you company.”

“That would be good,” he said. It was true. There was still an underlying tension between Malachi and Rhys, as if the man resented Malachi for the loss of his memories. With Leo, however, there was only a cheerful acceptance. Malachi decided it would take more than death, resurrection, and amnesia to rattle the goodwill of the optimistic scribe. Plus, Leo was a font of information.

“Tell me more about the council,” Malachi asked when they were back on the road and Rhys was snoring.

Leo frowned. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“How was it formed? Has there always been one?”

Leo nodded. “Well, for as long as anyone knows. The stories say that before they returned to heaven, the seven cardinal Forgiven chose seven scribes and seven singers to guide their children. So, that’s where the council came from, according to tradition. They say there are written records from the beginning, but no one ever sees them, of course. Maybe the Chief Scribe in Vienna. According to Max, he sees everything. If there is one Irin scribe who knows the whole of our history, it would be the Chief Scribe.”

“The written history, that is.”

“Hmm?”

“Well… the Irina would keep an oral history, wouldn’t they?”

Leo looked as if he’d never considered the question. “Of course. I suppose they would.”

“So, the Chief Scribe wouldn’t know all the history. Just what the scribes had written down.”

“Yes.” Then Leo grinned. “But we write everything down.”

“And the council. Can they see it?” Malachi was wondering whether or not there was some clue about Ava’s past in that great library. Perhaps, if they asked the Chief Scribe, there might be some other incidence of a human turning into an Irina somewhere in the past.

“I suppose they could see whatever they want, but they’re hardly historians, are they? The council is made up of politicians. No avoiding them, no matter what race you are. But the Irin council… it has a spiritual purpose, too. Or it’s supposed to.”

“You said there were seven singers on the council. What happened to them after the Rending?”

Leo’s face paled. “No one knows. I mean, we know that some were killed. The others? There were no official reports, only rumors. Some say they were all killed, but I don’t think that’s possible. Most lived in Vienna and they were highly guarded. Others say that they withdrew when the retreats were ransacked. That they took their most trusted singers and formed havens around the world. Havens like Sari’s, where the remaining Irina could hide.”

“What do you think?”

“I think some were killed. Some formed havens.” Leo crossed his arms. “Anything is possible. All I know is they’re gone. Now the council is only old men.”

Malachi narrowed his eyes, trying to measure Leo’s mood even as he drove the car. “You’re… resentful of them? The Irina?”

“What me?” Leo’s eyes widened. “No, I—”

“You are. You blame them for leaving. Or, at least, a part of you does.”

Leo stared at him, stared at his profile so hard that Malachi could feel his eyes. Finally, he said, “They left us alone. Irin and Irina were never meant to be separate. We were always meant to fight together.”

“So many had been lost, Leo. It must have been a huge shock. They were frightened.”

“We’re all frightened sometimes.” Leo’s voice was barely over a whisper. “But you don’t run away. You never run away.”

They drove for another three hours. Rhys snored in the backseat, and Leo and Malachi had turned to more pleasant topics of conversation.

“You must remember some of this,” Leo said with a laugh. “She was so angry with you.”

Malachi grinned. “I don’t. She really stood up, drunk in a bar full of Grigori, and told them you were a catch?”

“And criticized their grooming. Don’t forget that part.”

Both men burst out laughing.

“And there was some comment about makeup, too.”

“Was I laughing this hard then?” His sides ached with the vision of the tiny human woman he’d seen in pictures telling off six Grigori while Leo looked on, helplessly wondering what to do.

“Are you joking?” Leo wiped tears from the corner of his eye. “You were furious. Ava was ready to call the police when you threatened to stab one.”

“It sounds like she didn’t like me very much.”

“Well, she didn’t know the truth then. She still thought you were an out-of-control bodyguard. Trust me, she liked you very much.” Leo couldn’t contain his smile.

“What did she do after that? She didn’t call the police?”

“No, she took you out to an isolated monastery on the Prince Islands and pulled a gun on you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Then she kissed you. Or you kissed her. You were vague relating that part of the story.”

He couldn’t laugh anymore, but he did smile. “I should think so.”

“When you brought her back to the scribe house, Damien was livid. But you stood up to him. You were certain of her identity. Even though it took some convincing, you were certain. And you were right. You and Ava belonged together. I knew it.”

“I loved her, didn’t I? Even when I thought she was human, I loved her.”

Leo opened his mouth, but no sound came out at first. Then he said quietly, “I believe you did. Even when you thought she was out of reach.”

“Come back to me.”

Malachi nodded, ignoring the tight clutch in his throat. “I, uh… I dream about her, you know?”

“About Ava?”

He just nodded.

Leo angled his shoulders toward him. “What do you dream?”

“Just that we are together. We speak. We… we’re together. I don’t remember everything, but she’s there. Every time I close my eyes, she’s there.”

Leo said nothing, just blinked in surprise. Finally, he faced the road again. “Well, no wonder you didn’t want to wake up earlier.”

They fell silent for another few kilometers, but when they saw the lights of Budapest in the distance, Leo reached back and shook Rhys’s knee. “Wake up, old man.”

“What?” Rhys muttered. “I’m awake. I’m up.”

“We’re almost to Philip’s,” Leo said.

Malachi could see Rhys shaking his head and rubbing his eyes in the rearview mirror. The scribe patted his cheeks and grabbed his water bottle to take a drink.

“So, what have you ladies been gossiping about without me?”

“I was telling Malachi some of the funniest stories about Ava.”

“Oh really?”

“Like the time she told the bar full of Grigori that I was a catch.”

Rhys’s eyes gleamed mischievously in the light of a passing truck, then the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk.

“Did you tell him about the time she kissed me?”

Malachi hissed, “What?”

“There was tongue.”

He slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the back of a red van, and Rhys went flying into the passenger seat, smashing his nose on the headrest.

“For heaven’s sake,” Rhys yelled from the back. “This again?”

Malachi didn’t know what Rhys was griping about. By the time they’d arrived at his friend Philip’s scribe house on the outskirts of Budapest, his nose had completely healed. Other than the smear of blood on his collar, he looked none the worse for wear.

They grabbed their bags out of the back of the Range Rover and walked toward the entrance.

“We’ll rest for a couple of days here,” Rhys said. “I’m still waiting to hear from Max. He should have a meeting with Gabriel by tomorrow at the latest. After that, we’ll know more about what’s going on in the city and what the political climate is like.”

“Do you still think we should keep quiet about what happened to Malachi?”

“Damien said not to tell anyone about Ava unless we absolutely had to. If that’s the case, I say we avoid talking about Malachi as well. Unless the word has spread from Cappadocia, we should be fine.”

Leo said, “I don’t think the scribes in Cappadocia have much communication with the houses in the city.”

Malachi had realized that if no other descriptor was given, “the city” always referred to Vienna. According to Leo, it was the center of the Irin race. Everything, from finances to art to government, centered on Vienna, where the Irin had lived for centuries under the noses of the human population. Malachi couldn’t remember it at all.

“Rhys?” Malachi tried to get his attention as they walked up the block to the nondescript building on the corner that looked like it housed a bar on the first floor.

“What?”

“Leo said there are no Grigori in Vienna.”

“It’s true. The Fallen abandoned that city long ago.”

“But why? If it’s the center of the Irin race, wouldn’t they have focused their efforts there?”

Rhys gave him a grim smile. “Of course not. How could they lull the most influential Irin into a complacent state of greed if they hung around and caused trouble?”

“You mean they don’t think—”

“Vienna hasn’t seen a concentrated attack from the Fallen or their Grigori since the Rending, Malachi. According to many, the Grigori are a nuisance, nothing more.”

Malachi was stunned.

Leo only nodded. “It’s true. We may be fighting all over the world, but in Vienna… they dance.”

Chapter Ten

Ava had spent a week being mentally poked and prodded by Orsala and physically beat up by Mala. Sure, Mala might have called it “training,” but Ava was fairly certain she was just working out some deep-seated resentment at Ava’s expense. The fact that Brooke, the twelve-year-old who looked like a fairy princess, was her training partner was just another blow to the ego.

“She wants us to do it again,” panted Brooke, tossing the short staff to Ava, who had collapsed on one of the benches that lined the barn where they practiced.

Mala was teaching them how to use the Irina short staff. It was hardly glamorous-looking, but according to Astrid, it was the traditional weapon for all Irina because it was so practical. Ava did see her point. The staff Mala had chosen for her was about the length and width of a broomstick, though it was much stronger because of spells that had been laid over it. She’d doubted how much damage the innocent-looking piece of wood could do until Mala had demonstrated by taking off the head of the training dummy.

“Again?”

“Yes.” Brooke didn’t look any more pleased than Ava. The days of training were even taking a toll on the child’s natural optimism.

Ava pushed to her feet and grabbed her staff, then walked with her partner to the center of the ring. Mala stared at them from the edge of the barn, making a clicking noise with her tongue to get Brooke’s attention. Once she had it, her hands formed a flurry of signs that Brooke took in, nodding while Mala spoke.

“Okay.” Brooke turned to her. “Mala says you need to practice your approaches. Focus on keeping your shoulders more…” She  looked back toward Mala, who repeated herself with a sigh. “Oh. You’re kind of… showing me what you’re doing before you do it. Does that make sense?”

Ava glanced at Mala, who was rolling her eyes. “I think so.” She tried not to smile. “You want me to keep my shoulders looser?” she asked her trainer, and Mala nodded. “So I don’t let Brooke know what my attack is going to be?”

Mala gave her a thumbs-up and sat back down to watch them, clapping for them to start.

She tried to do what Mala had asked, but it was difficult. Her instinct was to lean into an attack, not keep her shoulders loose and fluid. Brooke seemed to take to the practice more easily, getting in more than one good strike to Ava’s side or knee. More than once, Ava was convinced that Brooke was going easy on her.

“Sorry,” the girl said with wince after she’d struck another blow, this time to the back of Ava’s thigh.

“No, don’t apologize.” She grunted, straightening up. “But seriously? How did you get so good?”

Brooke smiled. “When I was young, I played with sticks as often as dolls. I remember watching my mom and dad spar with staffs when I was little. Mom always had one around. Humans don’t even notice them. They think it’s a broom handle or a walking stick. Mom says it’s the best weapon in the world.”

There was a whistle and they turned their heads toward Mala, who shot off a few signs.

Brooke smiled again. “Mala agrees. She said that throughout history, Irina have used the short staff as a primary weapon because we could take one everywhere. They’re very easy to overlook.”

“And very effective.”

“Yep.” Brooke went back to her ready stance. “Don’t worry! You’ll get the hang of it.”

Ava took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, trying to remember to keep them loose. Ready. She was an Irina, after all. She’d get this. It was probably genetic or something. She lifted her staff in both hands and angled forward at her right shoulder like Mala had shown her. Brooke stood across from her in the same stance. Her face showed nothing. Ava shifted to the right, and Brooke leaned forward, just a little. Ava leaned with her right shoulder, deliberately hinting that she would strike from the right, only to have Brooke shift with lightning reflexes to the left, and then her staff circled down, hitting just below Ava’s left knee.

“Shit!” Ava hopped back, her previous plan of attack forgotten as the pain radiated down to her ankle and up her thigh. “Damn—oww! How did you—”

“Sorry, sorry! Your shoulders looked great, but then you did this thing with your leg and you shifted back, so I knew you were going to attack from the left, so I—”

“Yeah. Okay. Got it,” Ava groused, ignoring Mala, who was smiling wide and clutching her stomach. If the woman had been able to laugh, it would have filled the barn. “I know, all right? I’m completely transparent.”

“But your shoulders looked better!”

Great. A twelve-year-old was kicking her ass and trying to make her feel better about it.

“It’s fine, Brooke.” Ava glared at Mala. “Can we take a break now? I think I need to ice this leg.”

An unfamiliar voice sang from the door. “You’re never going to get better if you keep taking breaks.”

Ava turned to stare. The woman was tall and dark with olive skin and black hair that streamed down her back. Everything about her—from the black clothes to the wary expression—screamed “Danger!” Ava stepped in front of Brooke, but the girl shot out from behind her and rushed forward.

“Renata!”

“Ciao, bella mia,” the woman named Renata murmured, holding out her arms to the girl and enclosing her in an embrace. She looked up at Mala. “Who’s the new girl?”

Mala signed quickly, and Renata lifted one hand, signing back while still holding Brooke with her other arm.

“No,” Brooke said, clearly understanding the silent conversation. “She’s from Los Angeles. She was only visiting in Istanbul when Damien met her. She’s not Turkish.”

Renata said, “I was thinking Persian, actually. Welcome to Sarihöfn, Ava.”

“Thanks.” She lowered her staff and stepped forward. “Your name is Renata?”

“Yes.” Renata eyed Mala. “Are they done for today?”

Mala shrugged, then signed something that seemed to indicate Brooke could go, because Renata turned and started toward the door with the girl still curled under one arm.

“I’ll see you later, Ava.”

“Bye!” Brooke called.

Ava lifted her hand in a wave, then started toward the bench where she’d left her jacket, only to be stopped by a staff across the belly. Groaning, she lifted her eyes to Mala.

“Let me guess. I’m not done yet.”

The corner of Mala’s mouth lifted, and Ava didn’t need to understand signing to read her expression.

Not even close.

She wanted nothing more than a bath and a bed by the time she finally made it back to the cottage. Mala had drilled her for another three hours after Renata had shown up and taken off with Brooke. Luckily, Ava was picking up some signs from Mala and communication was starting to get better. And so, despite her reservations, were her attacks. Mala was a patient teacher and seemed to understand instinctively where and how Ava was struggling. By the end of the session, she was parrying with a fair amount of success instead of simply fending off blows. And, if she’d read Mala’s signs correctly, the next week they were going to add daggers.

Ava liked daggers.

“Wash up,” Damien called from the kitchen. “I’m fixing tea and I’ll make you a snack.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“Then we’re going to a sing. There will be a dinner before at the house.” He glanced at her. “I’ll get you an ice pack, too. Do you need two?”

“A sing? What’s a sing?” She tried to sort through the barrage of information. “And yes. I probably need two.”

“I’ll get three. There’s hot water for your shower, but don’t take too long. I don’t want to be late.”

“What’s a sing, Damien?”

“It’s a ceremony. With singing.” Damien walked over and patted her head. “Hence, it’s called a sing.”

“You’re the only person I know who uses ‘hence’ in everyday conversation.”

“Aren’t you fortunate that you know me, then?” He waved toward the door, unusually chipper. “Go. I’ll get the tea going.”

“Why are you so happy?” Then it dawned on her. “Oh, this ‘sing’ is going to be at the main house, isn’t it? Sari’s house?”

“Yes.” A smile teased up the corner of his lip.

“And it’s like a party?”

“It is.”

“And you’re invited?”

“I am.”

“Ahhhhh.” Ava was smiling.

“What?”

“Damien’s making progress,” she sang.

“That’s enough.” He shoved her shoulder. “Go clean up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Mr. Cranky is gonna get some,” she sang some more, then ducked in her room after the kitchen towel smacked the back of her head. Ava slammed the door and yelled, “Maybe you won’t be Mr. Cranky after tonight!”

“You are childish and you stink. Take a shower, Ava.”

She gathered her things and went to the small bathroom, still smiling. Ignoring the tug in her heart. Ignoring the quick twist of pain at the thought of her friend’s happiness. Damien was a good friend. A good man. He deserved his happiness, even if she’d lost her own.

“I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”

But you did leave me.

Would her heart ever stop bleeding?

She heard Damien banging cupboards in the kitchen, no doubt looking for the tea, which he could never seem to find. Maybe he would go to this party tonight and Sari would talk to him without scorn in her voice. Maybe they would make up. She could hope. The world didn’t stop just because she’d lost Malachi.

With that thought, Ava stepped into the shower and let the warm water wash away her tears.

Ava didn’t know quite what to expect from the party that night. She tried to imagine, but she kept coming up blank. Her lessons with Orsala had been minimal. The old woman had focused on teaching Ava the magic to block the soul voices from her mind. It was a simple spell, designed for a child to be able to master. Orsala had helped Ava create a door in her mind, and for the first time in her life, that door was slammed shut.

It had been a revelation. Salvation. At first, the voices stopped all together, but the door cracked open after an hour or so as voices tried to push through a familiar hall. The next time she spoke the words, the door stayed closed a little longer. Then a little longer. The first day that she heard little to no voices at all, Ava had shown up at Orsala’s door, almost weeping with relief.

Since then, the spell had become a mantra. The voices never disappeared entirely around other people—Orsala said they weren’t meant to—but a quick recitation of the words was enough to shut the door so the whispers were only murmurs that came from a great distance. Her tension headaches disappeared. Her agitation lessened. Now when Damien took her hand and squeezed it, she felt happy and content. There wasn’t the desperate relief she’d once needed just to get through the day.

And for that she was grateful. Because though the weeks with Malachi had been a profound blessing, Ava knew she would probably never take another mate. Orsala had told her she might eventually find another partner. It was more than acceptable for Irin and Irina who had lost a mate to find love again. But Ava had a hard time imagining settling for anything less than what she and Malachi had once had, even if it had been brief. It was more than love. He was her soul mate. She didn’t want another.

And if she looked forward to sleep a little more than normal, well, that was understandable. There was comfort in dreaming of him, even if the waking reality tore her heart.

“Are you sure this shirt is acceptable?” Damien tugged at a brown shirt that brought out the color of his dark eyes. Ava had suggested it instead of the dull black button-down he’d been about to put on. They were walking to the main house, and Damien was as nervous as a teenager on his first date.

“Yes. Stop fussing.”

“I feel like I should have shaved.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Will you stop? The beard looks good. She likes it. Trust me.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you seriously not pick up on the ‘I want to lick you’ looks that woman sends your way every time you’re in the room?”

“I…” Damien blinked rapidly. “No. Mostly I’m trying to not irritate her.”

“You need to irritate her more, not less.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“Sari’s a busy girl, and she’s filed you away under ‘things I’ll deal with later.’ You need to make her deal with you now. I’d suggest pissing her off. Like you said, she hates you the same way she loves you. The love is there, Damien. You guys just have to sort out your shit.”

He halted, forcing Ava to stop next to him when he held on to her arm. “I tried to rush her once. I tried to push past her grief before she was ready. And it caused more harm than good. I don’t want to do that again. I can be patient for her.”

Her heart warmed at his words. “I know you can. But you shouldn’t waste time. Trust me. You never know how much time you’ll get.”

Damien frowned and squeezed her hand. “I am sorry you didn’t have more time with Malachi.”

“I don’t… want to talk about that right now.” She couldn’t. Not if she wanted to get through this party without crying.

“I understand.” He started back up the path and deliberately changed the subject. “Are you curious what the sing will be?”

“I’m trying to release my expectations, or something like that. Whatever happens, happens.”

“You don’t want to know?”

“Nope. I’m getting my zen on.”

“Your ‘zen’?”

She could hear the smile in his voice even as they approached the house, which was lit up in every window, with more people spilling out in the garden. The fall air made their breath fog, and frost crunched under their feet. Soon, everyone told her, it would snow.

As they entered the house, calls came from every corner, and Ava pressed on the door Orsala had built with her, making sure it was shut. She closed her eyes, let the magic take root, and then she opened them. The women around her smiled in understanding. There were many she was beginning to recognize, but a lot of them still looked unfamiliar. There were also more Irin men than she’d seen before, standing in small groups or holding their mates. It was, quite obviously, a party. The smell of savory meat filled the air, and spices tempted her nose. Someone handed her a glass of what looked like cider, and she took a sip. It was delicious.

Damien nudged her shoulder. “Can I leave you with Astrid?”

Ava spotted her friend in the corner of the sitting room, waving. “Yep. Go find your woman and irritate her.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll need it.”

He disappeared into the crowd as Astrid approached.

“Come,” her friend said. “Let’s get you some food. People eat quickly, then we head over to the barn for the singing.”

“What—” She caught herself before she could ask for explanations. “No, don’t tell me.”

Astrid smiled. “You don’t want to know what it is?”

“Nope. I want to just… experience. If you have no expectations, you can’t be disappointed with reality.”

“Fair enough.”

They made their way to the kitchen, where more people were gathered. Mostly women, but again, a few scribes. One man, whom Ava vaguely recognized, held an Irina on his lap. She squinted when she noticed that he had no talesm on his neck.

“Wait.” She tugged on Astrid’s arm. “Is he…?”

“Human?” She nodded. “Yes. Orsala is not pleased with the relationship, but then, Cam does what she wants.”

“But how do they… you know?”

Astrid frowned. “Didn’t you say you had lovers before Malachi? Irin can’t touch human women, but we don’t have the same problem. Most human men just can’t handle our energy or intensity for prolonged periods of time. Johan doesn’t have that problem, apparently.”

“But aging? Won’t she stay young as he gets old?”

“Yes.” Astrid shrugged. “It’s her choice, Ava. And his.”

They pushed past the group gathered around the table and made their way to the food that was spread out on the counter. Soon her plate was piled with meat pies and sausages made in the haven, as well as roasted turnips and carrots. There was a soup made out of pumpkin that smelled like it was spiced with chilies. She and Astrid stood in a corner, eating their dinner and chatting with a few visitors whom Ava hadn’t met yet. As Orsala had warned her, most were very curious about the new girl. The crush of people was more than Ava was used to, and she sighed in relief when people started filtering out of the house and down to the barn.

Astrid and Ava followed the steady stream after they finished their food. By the time they entered the barn, it was half-full. The training equipment had been taken away, and benches filled the room, along with heaters to chase away the cold. At the front of the room, Orsala sat, along with Sari, Renata, and another older woman with a cap of silver-grey hair. Murmurs and laughter filled the air as everyone took seats on the benches.

“Do you want to sit near the front?”

“No.” She felt conspicuous enough.

“That’s fine.” Astrid found a spot near the back wall. It was cooler, as the air leaked in from cracks in the wall, but there were enough people and heaters that Ava wasn’t uncomfortable.

“How much of the Old Language do you understand?” Astrid asked.

“Not much. Just a few things, though I’ve heard it plenty, of course.”

Astrid’s eyes lit. “You might understand more after tonight. The songs might help your understanding.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just listen.”

After a few more minutes, everyone seemed to have arrived. Ava even spotted Damien across the barn, near the side door, standing by himself but staring at his mate. Ava also noticed Sari sneaking glances at him and trying to hide nerves.

“Hmm. Something definitely going on there.”

Astrid followed her eyes. “It’s about time.”

“Right?”

Orsala stood, and immediately everyone fell silent.

“We are here to celebrate a new sister among us and a sister returned home.” Orsala’s eyes met hers, but luckily she didn’t ask Ava to stand or single her out in any way. She continued, a smile spread across her face. “As is our custom, we welcome our sister Ava with the songs of our fathers. It is with our voices we remember, with our ears we understand. For our fathers gave us the gift of their songs, and it is our duty to sing them. It is our joy to remember. And as we create new life and preserve the safety of those under our care—” Orsala nodded to Sari. “We hold in our hearts and minds the stories of our past and the power they give us. For as we create and protect, we reflect the will of heaven on earth.”

Ava felt a chill travel down her spine. Goose bumps rose on her arms as the room seemed to fill with a humming noise. It wasn’t unlike the hum she’d heard on the first day approaching Sarihöfn. It was a low thrum that traveled along her skin and seemed to settle on the back of her neck. Then her mouth dropped open in surprise as she realized some of the hum came from her own throat.

She barely felt it, but it was there. And as her voice joined the others in the room, a single tone rang out, high and clear at the front of the room. Astrid gripped her right hand, and another woman reached for her left. Ava felt no urge to pull away. No discomfort. She realized the hum that had started in her throat had traveled down each arm and was linked with the same resonance coming from both Astrid and the woman to her left. The noise surged with life and magic. The air grew electric, snapping around her as she felt the hair on her arms rise.

Ava was one and part of everything in that moment. Tears came to her eyes as she watched the small older woman with the silver hair stand in front of the room, her arms lifting as her voice rose.

Then the Irina began to sing.

Some joined with the woman in front, others rang out at different times, harmonizing as they joined, until the room was filled with the tapestry of sound. She did not understand the words, only the clear purity of voice. Ava continued to hum, along with the women she held on to. But as she sang, she felt it. She was connected. She was one with the Irina in the room. Irina long passed. The ones who had been lost. Others still hiding in fear.

As the song continued, images washed across Ava’s mind. Gold and light. She closed her eyes and a twisting kind of rainbow filled her vision. When it faded away, she not only heard—she saw what the old woman sang.

The glory of the angels on the mortal plane. Songs of love and joy.

New life.

Sorrow.

Joy.

Purpose.

Flashes like the images in the book that Malachi had shown her, and behind it all, a chorus of voices rose and fell, filling the air with a magic that elevated her soul. Fed her heart. In that moment, there was no sadness. No heartache. She had not lost Malachi, for she would see him again. In the blink of an eye, they would be together as the angels welcomed them home.

Tears streaming down her face, she opened her eyes to look for the singers. All four women stood at the front of the room, and three of them glowed with gold light. Orsala, Sari, and the old woman’s mating marks shone in the candlelight. Renata’s face was lifted in song, a single circle of magic on her forehead. When Ava looked down, she saw her own arms glowing with Malachi’s marks, saw Astrid’s mating marks lit up as well.

All around the room, the magic swelled and rose, coursing over the company of Irina and their mates. Damien stood across the room, his dark eyes fixed on his mate, his talesm lit up like burning silver. For a moment, she saw their eyes meet.

There it was.

Tears fell down her face when she recognized it. It was the look she’d seen in the manuscript. The expression of perfect completion.

Then the image that Jaron had shown her rose again. The great circle in the sky. A sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, and Ava realized in the back of her mind that her own voice rose with it. She closed her eyes as the sun faded away to stars. She rose to her feet as a million scattered points of light dotted the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

Then a single voice rose above the others until it was all she could hear.

And Ava realized the voice was hers.

III.

At the edge of the valley, Jaron watched. Opening his mind’s eye, he saw the circle of voices as the daughters of the Forgiven lifted their song. And in his frozen soul, he heard the chorus of angels, calling out in joy as the heavens rang. A gold sea, as calm and clear as a mountain lake. His heart swelled with longing. For peace. For purpose. For home.

Then Jaron heard her. Her voice was different. And yet, somehow, it wasn’t. It lifted over the others as she sang powerfully of the vision he had sent her. It was a song of longing and strength. It was, to the ears of the Fallen, a song of hope.

Jaron closed his eyes and allowed his heart to join the song he had given her.

Barak appeared beside him.

“Can he see her here?” the grey-haired angel asked, always alert to danger.

“Normally he can see her everywhere, as I can. But I cloaked the valley when I knew she would be coming. She’s safe. For now.”

The two stood silently in the darkness as the magic rose in waves, flowing over the land. Elsewhere, the trees had lost their leaves. The ground was harder and the wind more bitter. The haven the daughters of the Forgiven had created was as gentle a place as the harsh Earth could be. When the snow finally fell, it would lie soft on the ground.

“If he sees your fingerprints here, he will know.”

“He will.”

There was silence between them until Barak heard the words that Jaron had not spoken.

“You have distracted him in some way.”

“I have.”

“With the scribe?”

Jaron shrugged. “I was not expecting to have an ally as convenient as him. Even an unwitting one.”

“You call him your ally?”

“He is my ally as long as I can use him.”

The Fallen narrowed his eyes. “The scribe is no ally of mine.”

“We both believe it was her magic that rent heaven, brother. It was her magic that brought him back.”

“So?”

“She tore the fabric of heaven with her magic, brother.”

Barak was silent.

“There must be a reason. And if her magic needed his, then we will use him. Perhaps there are possibilities we have not considered.”

Barak crossed his great arms, covered with the raised talesm of their kind. “He is our ally for as long as he proves useful, and no longer.”

Jaron shrugged. “Of course.”

Then the two Fallen turned their eyes back toward the Irina song and watched the sunrise.

Chapter Eleven

He saw her as soon as he opened his eyes. She was waiting at the edge of the trees with a glorious smile spread across her face.

“You’re happy,” he said.

“Supremely.”

He walked toward her through the mist, and she wrapped her arms around him. He lifted her and swung her around, her joy spreading into his own soul. She nestled her face in his neck, and he could feel her smiling against his skin.

“I understand now,” she said.

“Understand what?”

“That you’re not gone. Not really.”

“Of course not,” he said, smiling. “I’m right here.”

“No, in the other place. When I’m not with you. Even there, you’re not really gone.”

Something tickled the back of his mind. There was something he needed to tell her. Something he desperately needed to share, but it drifted away like the mist that hovered over the ground. Her happiness took over his body, and he laughed.

“I miss this, though,” she said more softly. “In the other place. I miss this.”

“Miss what?”

“Being near you. I miss your smile. Your laugh.”

“You could always make me laugh,” he said. “Even when things were bad, you made me laugh.”

“I’m glad.”

The joy was dimming; he sensed it. Felt it, as if her soul and his were knit together. He didn’t want that. He set her down and held her face in his hands as his lips touched her skin with light, teasing kisses. Soon she was smiling again.

“I can sing now,” she said, almost shyly. “I’m learning.”

“Show me.”

She blushed. “I don’t know…”

“Please?” He sat down on the mossy ground, leaning his back against a tree and pulling her down to straddle his lap. They were face-to-face. He liked this. Her eyes met his, and she couldn’t hide what she felt. She never could if he could see her eyes. Not anymore. Once, she’d hidden from him, but he had conquered her fears. Conquered the shadows that had haunted her. He could sense them again, hovering in the corner of his vision.

“Sing to me,” he whispered. “Reshon. My soul. Show me your secrets.”

She began, halting at first. Her eyes flickered away from his, and he pulled her closer. She laid her head on his shoulder, but he didn’t mind. She could hide in him if it made her brave. She still sang, her voice growing as she wove a story for him. She sang of lonely stars across a black sky. Of a great circle divided. Souls reached toward each other but slipped away. And as she sang, he could see it, see the circle in his mind. He saw the sun and moon rising as one, and the stars beat against the sky.

Then her song changed, and his heart ached. There were no words, only a barely audible whisper of longing that spread along his skin. The vision in his mind changed, and he saw them in another place and another time.

“You’re so beautiful. Please, Ava…”

Ava.

She smiled and hid under the sheet as he turned the lens on her. “No! No pictures of me.”

“Just a few. It’s only fair. You’re constantly taking pictures of me. Don’t deny it,” he said when she started to protest. “I catch you all the time. I just don’t say anything about it.”

“Do you mind?”

“Do you need to take pictures of me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t mind.”

Ava, he mouthed silently.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the woman in his arms, brushing her hair to the side. Her skin was glowing with the mating marks he’d placed there. His arms wrapped around her back as her song drifted into a soft hum. He felt it, spreading over his body, and as he held her, he saw the silver talesm start to glow on his wrist. Then a faint shimmer began on the bare skin above the talesm he’d inked.

The marks crawled and spread, as if an invisible hand wrote upon him.

“Ava,” he said, his arms tightening.

“Hmm?” She stopped humming, looked up, and the spell was broken. “What did you call me?”

“Your name.”

She closed her eyes, a frown between her eyebrows, then they relaxed and she smiled again.

“Oh,” she said. “Of course. I didn’t remember until you called me.”

“Like you called me.”

“I did?”

“You told me to come back to you. So I did.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “You did.” Her hand lifted to his cheek. “You’re here. You’ll always be here.”

“Reshon—”

“Kiss me, love.”

He could deny her nothing. His mouth touched hers and she clung to him, deepening the kiss as she pressed her body to his.

“I want to stay here,” she murmured against his lips. “Forever.”

“We can’t.” There was that tickling at the back of his mind again. He needed to tell her. Needed…

“I need you,” she said. His body responded to the grip of her hands on his shoulders. And then all he thought of was her.

When Malachi opened his eyes, he was staring at the peeling paint on the ceiling of the scribe house in Budapest. He blinked to clear his eyes. The dream still lingered in his mind; he could taste her on his lips. Just then, flickers of the dream came back to him, and he lifted his arm.

They were still there. On his left arm were the spells he’d inked. But below them, faint shadows of other, older spells lay like smudges beneath his skin.

“Ava,” he whispered. “What did you do?”

There was no doubt in his mind anymore. The dreams were not dreams. He was reaching her somehow. On some plane they were linked, even though she thought he was dead. How was it possible?

A knock sounded on the heavy door to his room.

“Are you awake?” It was Rhys.

Malachi cleared his throat. “I am.”

“Come down for coffee. They’ve made breakfast.”

He could smell it. The spicy scent of peppers and sausages drifted in the air. His stomach growled and he sat up.

“I’ll be right there.”

“Hurry if you want to eat. Don’t forget, Max may not be here, but Leo is.”

Malachi dressed quickly, grateful that the weather had turned cold enough that long sleeves would not be questioned. He didn’t know what to make of the talesm that had bloomed on his arm, and he didn’t want to try to explain them. As far as he knew, none of the scribes in the house were mated. The house watcher, Phillip, had lost his promised Irina in the Rending, according to Rhys, and the other scribes in the house were young.

Phillip, Rhys had also explained, would need to know what happened to Malachi. According to his friends, Malachi and Phillip had been brothers in the Berlin house years ago. There was too much history for Malachi to pretend to be who he was. Luckily, Rhys also said Phillip was trustworthy.

He followed his nose down the narrow staircase. Unlike the scribe house in Cappadocia, the one in Budapest was showing its age. Frayed carpets lined the hallway, and Malachi could see stains on the walls. Even the lights seemed to flicker with uncertainty.

Luckily, the kitchen showed no such deterioration. Food was spread over the table, with a stocky man at the head. He was sandy-haired and fair-skinned, but his eyes and smile showed faint traces of the city where he lived.

“Good morning,” he said. He was American. Malachi didn’t know why that was surprising.

“Good morning.”

“I’m going to assume you still like a big breakfast,” Phillip said. He nudged the shoulder of the younger man sitting to his right. “Victor, move. Let my friend sit down.”

Victor didn’t seem offended. The young man simply picked up his plate and moved a few chairs down at the massive kitchen table, which was spread with all manner of food. Steaming plates of sausages and bacon. Thick slices of brown bread and cheeses, along with the stuffed peppers he’d smelled from his room upstairs. Eggs. Pâté. It was a feast fit for the group of massive men who filled the room.

Phillip waved to the chair and Malachi sat down. Rhys took the chair opposite him.

“My mother would be proud,” Phillip said with a grin. “That is, she would be if I’d cooked any of it.”

“Who cooked?” Malachi asked, immediately beginning to fill his plate. For some reason, he felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Phillip nodded to another man who stood at the sink. “You can thank Tas. He may be from the country, but he knows how to cook.”

Tas shrugged and reached for a pack of cigarettes by the window. “I know how to cook because I’m from the country, you American idiot,” he said in thickly accented English. He lit up the cigarette, scraping a hand over a jaw that looked like it hadn’t seen a razor in days.

Phillip smiled again. “I’m smart enough to make sure you’re the one cooking for guests, aren’t I?”

Rhys and Malachi shared a smile as the Budapest scribes laughed. Even Tas gave what Malachi guessed was as close to a smile as he ever reached, then he turned back to the stove. Phillip spoke again as the quiet hum of morning conversation filled the room.

“You got in so late last night we didn’t get a chance to catch up.”

Rhys said, “Life has been… interesting lately.”

“I heard about the fire,” Phillip said, shoveling eggs onto the edge of his toast. “And that Damien went to the city to petition funds to rebuild.” Phillip cast his eyes around the room and shook his head. “Good luck to him; he’ll need it. I’ve been struggling to get promised funds for years now. The bureaucrats are not very receptive. I’m assuming you’re on your way to join him.”

“Not exactly,” Malachi said, exchanging a glance with Rhys.

Rhys said, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Phillip.” He directed his eyes toward the younger scribes at the other end of the table. Phillip caught the glance and barked out something that sounded like an order. Within minutes, the men had filled their plates with food and abandoned the room, leaving Malachi, Rhys, and Leo alone with Phillip and the sullen Tas, who grabbed an ashtray and joined them at the table, a cup of black coffee in front of him.

Phillip said, “Tas is my second. He’s very trustworthy. Anything said to me can be shared with him.” Then he turned to Malachi. “What’s going on? You seem different. What’s happened to you?”

Leo said, “You don’t miss much, do you?”

Sharp green eyes met Malachi’s. “No, I don’t. And I’ve known this one longer than you’ve been alive, boy.”

Malachi slowly chewed the bacon in his mouth, swallowed, and set down his coffee cup.

“Technically,” he said, “that might not be true anymore.”

Phillip’s mouth still hung open. “So… you’re telling me—”

“I was dead. And now I’m not.”

“And your mate—congratulations, by the way—your mate actually…”

“Brought me back.” Malachi and Rhys looked at each other. “We think.”

Rhys said, “We’re not sure. We’re not sure of much, to be honest.”

“And you don’t remember who you are?”

“I’m starting to,” Malachi said. “It’s coming in pieces.”

“Certain things don’t seem to be a problem,” Leo said. “When he scribed his new talesm—”

Phillip and Tas hissed out simultaneous curses, and Phillip said, “You lost your talesm, brother?”

“Yes.”

Tas said something unintelligible under his breath, but it didn’t sound good.

“No, I can’t even imagine,” Phillip said to him before he turned back to Malachi. “And your mate has disappeared with Damien?”

Malachi nodded.

“Taken to Sari,” Tas said, the cigarette hanging from his lips as he reached across the table to help himself to another sausage. “He took her to his mate. Fierce woman. She’ll be fine.”

Phillip frowned. “Only she still thinks he’s dead, you idiot.”

Tas shrugged his wide shoulders. “But he’s not. It will work out.” He sucked in another lungful of smoke, then exhaled, saying, “Why are you going to the city when she’s not there?”

Rhys said, “We think Gabriel knows where Sari is.”

Tas let out a grim chuckle. “He probably does, but he won’t tell you. No one can tell you.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed on the dark man, who seemed to know even more than the watcher of the house. “Why do you say that?”

Tas’s hooded eyes gleamed. “Old, old magic over that place. Even Irina who have lived there can’t tell you where it is.” Then the corner of his lip curled up. “Trust me. If she could have told me, she would have.”

Rhys leaned toward Tas. “Wait, you’ve met an Irina from Sari’s home?”

A secret smile played along his lips. “More of Sari’s Irina around than most scribes know. They avoid Damien’s territory for obvious reasons, but they’re out there.”

Malachi looked to Phillip.

“It’s true,” the watcher admitted. “And these are not the Irina we remember. They’re ruthless. As far back as I can remember, the scribe mandate has been clear: Protect the humans. Kill the Grigori when they attack, but keep away if they’re not interfering, so as not to provoke the Fallen.” He nodded to Malachi. “I believe you and I had words over that policy more than once. But the fact is, unless they’re attacking humans, scribes leave Grigori alone.”

Tas said, “But that’s not the Irina mandate. I doubt they even have one. If they do, it’s much more brutal than ours. We found a Grigori house here in Budapest five years ago with not a soul in it.”

Leo asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean the beds were slept in. The lights were on. But there was nothing but dust in the air.”

“All dead?” Malachi asked. “And you’re positive it wasn’t a scribe?”

Tas gave another one of his infuriating shrugs. “It might have been a rogue scribe who defied protocol… Or it might have been the long-legged beauty with the Italian name I met the next night, drinking alone and looking mad at the world.” He grinned. “She wasn’t mad all night.”

Leo spoke in a low voice. “What was her name?”

Tas’s eyes rested on Leo, measuring him, as he lit another cigarette, inhaled, and let out a long stream of smoke. “Renata. Her name was Renata. And she was one of Sari’s Irina. That’s all I know.”

Rhys said, “But you said she would have told you… if she could.”

“Well, that’s what she said. She might have been trying to let me down easy when she left the next morning.” He glanced at Malachi. “Women, eh?”

“I wouldn’t say.”

“Or are you one of those scribes who think your mate descended from heaven itself?”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “I’m a scribe who doesn’t presume to make judgments based on limited experience.” Then he smirked. “Even though my mate is a glimpse of heaven.”

Tas muttered something in Hungarian as Phillip’s hand clapped down on Malachi’s shoulder. “This is interesting! So, we have a scribe raised from the dead by his mate—which as far as I know, hasn’t happened before—and an Irina who seems to have come out of nowhere and has now disappeared into nowhere, though I imagine she’s very safe with Damien. We have Grigori who are now being hunted on two fronts—Irin and Irina—and that might account for the escalation we’re seeing here and other places—”

“What escalation?” Rhys broke in, but Phillip only raised a hand and continued.

“And we still have an elder council in Vienna who believes that nothing is wrong except the health of their pocketbooks!”

“They know something is going on,” Tas said. “Why do you think some of the Irina have returned?”

“What?” Leo said. “What do you mean? They’re back?”

“In the city, yes. Only a few,” Phillip said. “Mostly mates of prominent council members or businessmen. It’s all very…”

“Calculated,” Tas finished. “And very quiet. They’re not seen much. Only when their mates need them to be seen. The idiots in the city are planning something.”

“What could the Irin council be planning about the Irina?” Leo asked. “And what about this escalation?”

Phillip stood and walked to the counter, refilling his coffee before he turned. “It’s not in Vienna, of course. That city is still a bubble of peace. But here, it’s bad. I was speaking with Yakov in Odessa just last week. He’s feeling pressure from the Russian territories. And Poland. Slovakia.”

“That’s not good,” Rhys said.

“No, but the bigger surprise is the West. England and Scandinavia are still relatively quiet, but there’s more activity in France and the Netherlands than there has been since the Rending. Some in Germany.”

Malachi said, “But not Vienna?”

“There’s a reason that Irin society is based in Vienna, Malachi. It’s in the very heart of Europe. Surrounded by scribe houses and strongholds in the East and the West. There have always been Grigori in Europe, but not nearly as many as other parts of the world.”

“So it’s protected?”

“It has been. That’s part of the reason the Irin living there are so complacent. They don’t see Grigori attacks every week. If they see one a year, it’s shocking.”

“That makes sense,” he said.

Tas asked, “Is it true Jaron is no longer controlling the Grigori in Istanbul? Not that there’s anything like a good Fallen, but he wasn’t as bad as Volund. And he didn’t breed Grigori like rabbits.”

Leo shook his head. “We don’t know what Jaron is doing. We’re fairly sure the attack that killed Malachi was from Volund’s people, not Jaron’s.”

Phillip mused, “If Volund is making a concentrated push to expand his territory, he’d go for the outlying territories first. Turkey doesn’t fit with that.”

Malachi said, “But if he’s reaching down from Russia and into the Ukraine, then Turkey isn’t that far off.”

Rhys said, “He’d run into Svarog.”

Phillip shook his head. “Volund doesn’t fear Svarog.”

“He should.”

“What does he want?” Malachi muttered, picturing a map of  eastern Europe in his mind. He pulled back, looked at all the continent. Not as the humans did, with their constantly changing borders. He pictured the slowly shifting spheres of power, ebbing and flowing with the centuries. One Fallen rose, another slowly toppled. Where was Volund in that cycle? And why had Jaron ceded power of Istanbul when he had held if for centuries?

Irin presence shone through Europe, a bright glowing thread that wove through most of the major cities; its brightest star being Vienna.

“What does Volund want?” Malachi asked again.

Phillip shrugged. “Power. To control as much territory as possible. And wipe out the Irin, of course. It’s always been the theory that Volund was the primary force behind the Rending.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “So…”

Rhys said, “But you said there’s more activity in the West, too. It’s not just coming from one direction. Volund has little influence in western Europe.”

“We all have allies,” Malachi said, more and more of the picture snapping into place. “Volund’s strongest area has always been Russia, correct?”

“Since he destroyed Barak.” Leo smiled. “How did you know that?”

“I just did. Concentrate.” He spread his hands over the table, using cups and silverware to mark his mental map. “Volund wants to expand his influence from his base in Russia, but he doesn’t want to be noticed. What does he do?” He grabbed a saltshaker near his right elbow. “He gets Jaron out of Istanbul.”

“Or Jaron leaves,” Rhys said. “Either way, he’s gone.”

“And with him, the strongest competition for dominance in the east. Svarog is cunning, but he does not hunger for power.”

“And how did you know that?” Rhys asked.

“I don’t know! It doesn’t matter.” Malachi’s left arm came up and rested on the table, across from his right and on the opposite side  of the map. “Now Volund comes from the north and the east. He needs help from the west, but according to you, Phillip, he’s getting it.”

Phillip nodded. “There are more Grigori popping up in France and Germany. Spain is still relatively stable. Grigori leadership there is fractured. It used to be controlled by Barak, but Volund killed him. Now we don’t really know who controls it.”

“But we know something is happening there.” Malachi’s left and right arms began to move closer together, showing the direction of movement across the  map. “Volund controls the Grigori in the north. He’s moving in the east”—he lifted his right arm—“and someone else is moving in the west.” He lifted his left. “Volund wants to wipe the Irin from the earth. And where is the center of the Irin world?”

“Vienna,” Leo said. “But—”

“Exactly. And why would Volund send an arrow to Vienna when he could give them…” His arms closed in on a mental point in the center of the table. “A nice, slow hug?”

Chapter Twelve

The words Orsala had taught her slipped from her lips, an ancient incantation that set Ava’s blood humming.

“Shanda vash…”

This was Power.

She could feel it welling up, stirring under her skin as the words took shape on her tongue. A spell to distract and disarm an enemy. Ancient words. Holy words. Dangerous words…

Bruno winced and closed his eyes. “Yes. She’s definitely hit it.”

“What do you feel?” Orsala asked.

“Like if she doesn’t stop I’m going to lose my lunch on your lovely Turkish carpet, Orsala.”

“Details, Bruno. I need to know the effects.”

“There’s a—a piercing pain in my temple. A—and my limbs feel weak, as well.”

“Excellent. She’s only been practicing this one for a few days.”

His voice was strained. “I’m serious. I’m about to throw up.”

Ava barely heard him. The magic was too heady. Like wine, it seeped into her blood and went straight to her head. It wasn’t the painful jolt of power she’d felt in the cistern. Orsala had taught her control, so the words she spoke flowed from her belly, up her throat, and left her mouth softly. Weaker magic, perhaps, but magic she could hold far longer.

Speak.

The dark voice called her.

Yes…

“Ava.” She felt the hand on her shoulder as if in a dream. “Enough.”

Bruno’s hand was at his temple. “Orsala,” he forced out the words. “I can’t—”

“Ava, you need to stop.” Orsala’s grip was firmer. Her words more clear. “Now. Release the magic.”

Not yet…

Bruno was barely standing. His face was pale. “Orsala…”

“Shanda huul!”

The old woman’s words hit her in the stomach like a punch. Ava gasped, rocking back on her heels as the force of her own spell was turned against her. She could feel the pain in her head, like the high whine of a piercing whistle. It turned her stomach inside out, and she almost fell down when her knees buckled. Bruno caught her before she hit the ground.

“There you are,” he said. His eyes still carried hints of pain, but he was smiling. “Got a taste of your own medicine, did you?”

“How were you even standing through that?” she choked out.

Orsala said, “He’s a bear. And a very good-natured one at that. Thank you, Bruno.”

The great man enclosed her in an embrace, pressing his hand to her cheek. The warm affection flowed into her like a hug against her soul. “That was a lot of magic you were wielding. Not even my Karen at her angriest has hit me like that.”

“I’m so sorry.” With the heady rush of power dissipating in the room, Ava felt the guilt rush in. She’d caused him pain, and she’d held it for long minutes. She’d only felt a second of her spell turned on her and it made her want to curl in a ball and sleep for a week.

He laughed. “It’s fine! I’m happy to help you practice. How do you feel, sister?”

“Tired. You?”

“Hungry.”

“Hungry? How can you be hungry after that?”

“I am a scribe of tremendous appetite.” He set Ava on her feet and stepped back. Then he patted his belly and looked toward the door. “Are we done here? I need to find my woman.”

“You are a beast,” Orsala said. “Go. And thank you, Bruno.”

He left Orsala’s cottage whistling.

Ava watched him through the window. “That is the most cheerful man I’ve ever met.”

Orsala smiled. “He is a treasure to us. Gentle as a dove and strong as an ox.”

She turned and looked at some of the pictures scattered over the walls. Family pictures. Friends. A few paintings.

“He and Karen don’t have any children?”

Orsala shook her head. “They lost a daughter during the Rending. They have not had another.”

Ava said nothing. There was nothing to say. It was easy to be caught in her own grief until she remembered that all of the Irin had lost someone. Mates. Children. Siblings. Parents. Her own grief, as heavy as it felt to her, was only a drop in an ocean of sorrow.

“Well done.” She broke out of her reverie when Orsala patted her on the shoulder and led her toward the chairs by the fire. “That was very well done. That spell is your most basic disarming spell. I imagine it’s a more controlled version of what happened in the cistern when you were being attacked. So obviously it’s very instinctual for us. If a Grigori is trying to attack you, use it. It won’t kill them, but it should give you enough time to escape.”

“Okay.” Ava paused before she asked her question. “Are there spells that can kill them?”

Orsala stared at her with measuring eyes. “Be careful, Ava.”

“What?”

The old woman leaned forward. “There is a dark thread to your power. One I’ve not encountered before.”

Ava said nothing, because she knew Orsala was right. She could feel it. She didn’t know what it meant, but she remembered the dark whisper in her mind as she held the magic over Bruno.

Not yet…

It had wanted to hurt him. Or maybe it had just not wanted to let go of the power.

“A part of you liked it, no?”

Ava said nothing.

“Your magic is very strong,” Orsala said. “Untrained, yes. But also untapped. It will be greedy. I don’t know what you’ll be capable of. It’s clear to me that you are not like other Irina—”

“You knew that already.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Orsala met Ava’s growing anger with calm. “I am only saying you must be careful.”

“Fine,” Ava said. “I’ll be careful. Are we done?”

“I want you to try to sing again.”

She let her head fall back. “Again? I told you, it only happened the one time. There’s no way—”

“Just try.” The tension drifted away like smoke up the chimney. If Orsala had wanted to remind Ava she still had a lot to learn, trying to tap into her supposedly supernatural vision was the surest way to accomplish it. Ever since the sing, she had tried to recreate the experience, but nothing had come of it.

“I’ll try. But no guarantees.”

Orsala nodded. “Nothing in life is guaranteed, daughter.”

Ava closed her eyes and focused on the blurry memory of the ceremony. She tried to remember the words that had slipped out of her mouth, the song that had risen from her chest until it burst over the gathering. A song that, apparently, everyone could understand with perfect clarity. Everyone except herself. She’d sung in the Old Language, but she couldn’t remember a single detail.

She held the memory of that night in her mind, turning it from every angle until she could almost see herself standing in the old barn, her arms raised, her mating marks gleaming. Minutes passed. Hours, maybe. Ava could feel a soft cradle of power around her, as if Orsala was feeding her magic, but no words would come.

She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t. There’s nothing.”

Orsala sat back in her chair, looking frustrated beyond what Ava had ever seen her. “This makes no sense. I heard you with my own ears. You sang perfectly, as if you’d spoken the Old Language as a child.”

“All I get are images. I can remember the images I saw perfectly, I just have no idea what the words were.”

“You sang a vision. It was…” She struggled to formulate her thoughts. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced. It was as if, with your words, you made real the vision in your mind. I’ve never met a seer with that power before. I’ve never even heard of it. But when you sang, we all saw it. And we all saw the same thing. Irin and Irina alike. I’ve asked everyone. The only ones who didn’t see it were the humans. And even they said they could feel something going on.”

Ava frowned. “But isn’t that what you do, too?”

Orsala cocked her head. “Explain.”

“You have empathy. Profound empathy. And with that, you’ve developed your magic to the point where you can create emotional reactions in other people. Like the spell to guard this place. It’s not like your spell makes people physically unable to speak, they just have such a strong emotional reaction to even speaking the name of Sarihöfn that they would never consider revealing its location, even under torture.”

Orsala’s mouth turned down as she leaned forward. “So, what you’re saying is you think that—not only do you have these visions—but you can make others see them as well? Project them, not just with words, but actual images?”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Orsala’s mouth dropped open. “I have no idea. Because I’ve never heard of it before. According to legends, this is something Leoc could do, but I’ve never heard of even the strongest Irina seers having the ability to manifest their visions to others the way you did that night.”

Jaron had done it to her, but then, he was an angel like Leoc.

“Is it really that far a stretch?”

“No.” She finally smiled. “It isn’t. It does make me curious about your mother, though.”

“I told Evren, my mom—”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Orsala waved her hand. “It’s habit. We all automatically assume our magic comes from our mothers. I really meant that I was curious about your family. Sari tells me that she and Damien are trying to investigate your father now.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Foster kid,” she said. “He doesn’t know much about his birth family. I mean, it’s not something we’ve really talked about. We talk about… nice stuff. Stuff that won’t stress him out.”

Orsala frowned. “But he is your father.”

“He’s a mess.” Ava shrugged. “He loves me, but he’s a mess. Jasper has had drug problems for as long as I’ve known him. He never stays in one place long. His house in LA is nothing more than a place to keep the stuff he collects while traveling. He’s… like me, kinda.”

Orsala’s eyes widened. “He hears voices?”

“No voices. Music.” Ava smiled. “He may be a mess, but he’s a brilliant one. I remember once finding him in my mom’s study at home when I was a child. He was sleeping and humming a song at the same time. Like, he was hearing it in a dream. A year later, I heard it on the radio. My mom was listening to it, smiling.”

“I thought he wasn’t in your life when you were a child.”

“He was. A little. I just thought he was my mom’s friend who would crash at our house occasionally. My stepfather didn’t mind, and my mom… Well, they’ve always had a complicated relationship.”

“It sounds like it. He must be a fascinating person.” Orsala’s eyes were unfocused. Thoughtful. “And he never talks about his family?”

“Not really. I know he knew his mother, but she died when he was young. No idea who his dad is. That side of my family tree is a total mystery to me.”

Orsala murmured, “So that’s where it must be.”

“What?”

“The Irin blood. I’ve never heard of it before—and how you’re as powerful as you are is a mystery, but it must have come from somewhere.”

Ava decided she liked the idea of not knowing where her Irin blood came from. The mystery was frustrating, but a knot in her gut told her that some secrets were better left hidden.

“Does really it matter?” she asked. “Does it matter where I come from?”

“I don’t know.”

Brooke let out a joyful whoop as they ran.

“Try again!” the girl said.

Ava had had far more success in her training with Mala and Renata. She was jogging along the path by the lake, and the frosted hillside sloped up to her right. Mala ran ahead of her and Brooke at her side. Renata was with them, but hiding on the hillside and in the woods, testing Ava’s range.

Ava opened her senses and stretched. Now that she could turn off all the voices, it took more effort to listen in a controlled way. She pictured the door Orsala had taught her to focus on in her mind. Slamming that door shut had been her salvation. Now, she was learning to crack it open in a way that would leave her in control of how much she heard. Isolated places like this were easier, and the mental exercise stirred her blood.

“She’s on the hill again, ahead of us.” Ava looked up, opening the door a bit more. “There.” She nodded toward an outcropping of rocks shielded by a stand of cedar trees. “Behind those rocks.”

Mala looked over her shoulder and shook her head, a grin on her face.

“Renata, come out!” Brooke called, and the woman stood up from her hiding place.

Exactly where Ava had pointed.

Mala whistled approvingly and Renata ran nimbly down the hill. “Did she hear me?”

“Yep!” Brooke was grinning. “She’s awesome.”

Renata fell in step behind them. “I’ve never seen range like yours. It’s so strong. I wonder if it’s because you didn’t know how to shield for so long.”

“Maybe,” Ava panted. “I never really had any control over it until I met Malachi. And most of the time, he made the voices go away completely.”

They all fell silent at his name, and the knot around her heart twisted again.

“It’s okay,” Ava said after the silence had dragged on too long. “Part of me wants to talk about him. Part of me worries about forgetting.”

Mala threw a look over her shoulder and signed something.

“You won’t forget,” Brook translated. “Don’t worry that you’ll forget.”

“Thanks, Mala.”

Renata changed the subject. “I want to take you into the field.”

Mala wheeled around and immediately went to run beside Renata as Brooke and Ava took the lead on the trail. Neither she nor Brooke could see the other women; they could only listen to the one-sided conversation.

“I know that.”

A pause.

“Can you imagine, though? With her range and accuracy, she’d be a huge asset. Plus, she’s a seer. Once she’s had more training, she’ll—”

A much longer pause.

“I haven’t forgotten, but it’s been two hundred years. Sari is going to have to get past her—”

Another pause and a few disapproving clicks of the tongue.

“I know, I know.” There was silence, and Ava chanced a glance over her shoulder, but Mala and Renata were both jogging and not looking at her.

“I still think it’s worth suggesting,” Renata said. “She wouldn’t even have to be close to help. She’d be… advance intelligence. And once she can understand more of the Old Language, she’d be invaluable. We could protect her. Partner her with someone with more field experience. And as she gets stronger—”

Mala made more disapproving clicks and Ava could hear her grunting slightly as she signed.

“Fine. I’ll wait.”

Ava looked over her shoulder again but didn’t see anything. Brooke caught her eye and grinned. Ava seized on Renata’s words. With her range and accuracy, she’d be a huge asset. Could the voices that had driven her near to insanity be the key to avenging Malachi’s death?

It sounded like Sari wouldn’t approve of her joining, for some reason, but then it wasn’t only up to Sari, was it? Ava let the idea churn in her brain while the four women ran back to the compound.

“Wait, wait,” the laughing Italian woman said, throwing a perfectly manicured hand over Astrid’s mouth before she could speak. “You have to let me tell it.”

“No!” Astrid was indignant. “You always make it sound so much worse than what it was.”

Karen and Bruno both burst out laughing, obviously having heard the story that Renata wanted to share. Ava and Damien only exchanged confused looks over the kitchen table where the six friends had gathered to share coffee, wine, and a chocolate cake Karen had baked.

Bruno was right, the woman was a supernatural baker. It was the only explanation for how good that cake was.

“I am the only one who knows the truth!” Renata shouted, her grin huge. “You always try to hide how bad—”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“Oh…” Renata’s eyes turned to Ava’s. “It was bad. I will never take her into the field again. She was flapping her arms like a bird that had been trapped in the rafters. ‘Renata!’” The woman’s voice took on a high-pitched tone. “‘Dust! Grigori dust all over me! I have to shower.’ Blood. Bones. She can put the most wounded body back together from pieces, but she couldn’t handle the dust.”

Damien even cracked a smile as Karen and Bruno laughed again. Ava was trying to control herself, but Renata’s imitation of Astrid’s voice was too good.

“It was my first time in the field,” Astrid protested.

“And the last time,” Renata said. “How can you be so squeamish?”

“I can handle blood and guts, not evil fallen angel remains.” The healer gave a dramatic shudder. “They’re… gritty. They get everywhere. You can inhale them. Disgusting.”

Even Damien was chuckling at that point. They’d been telling stories for hours. It had started with Damien and Renata catching up and then devolved into battle stories. Renata was more than willing to share her exploits. The others had to pry them out of Damien. But eventually, all of them were adding their tales, except for Ava.

Everyone knew her battle story, and no one wanted to dwell on it.

Ava finished her wine and pushed back from the table. “I should get to sleep.”

Astrid and Damien exchanged a look. Damien reached for the bottle of wine and filled her glass again. “Stay up and visit.”

“I’m tired.” Ava was lying. She just wanted to sleep and hopefully dream about Malachi. Still, she smiled and nodded at Renata. “Someone likes jogging way more than me.”

“I’m trying to toughen you up, California girl.”

“Come,” Astrid said. “Stay up. It’s dark, but not too late. Only nine o’clock. We want to hear your stories, too.” She blinked a little and smiled. “From LA! I bet you’ve met celebrities, haven’t you?”

What was going on? If Astrid actually wanted to know about celebrity gossip, Ava would eat her favorite lens. She narrowed her eyes at Astrid, then she opened the door in her mind. As she’d suspected, from the tone of her inner voice, the other woman was hiding something.

“I’m just tired,” Ava said carefully. “There something going on?”

Damien shrugged. “We all have a rare night free of obligations. Catching up. Getting to know people. It’s better than watching television.”

Bruno looked around, more than a little bleary-eyed himself. “Wasn’t there a game on tonight?”

“Want me to look?” Damien stood up, as if to turn on the television in the corner of the room. Damien never watched television. Ever. Not even football.

“That’s it.” Ava stood too. She pointed to Astrid and Damien. “What’s up with you guys? Why are you being weird and why are you trying to keep me awake?”

Damien’s eyes never wavered. He crossed his ink-covered arms over his chest, reminding her too much of Malachi’s disapproving stance. The pain was quick, like a knife jab. “You sleep too much.”

“What?”

“You do,” Astrid said. “I’ve noticed it, too. Other than the night of the sing, you’re in bed almost right after dinner. You don’t come to the house to play games or read in the library. We hardly see you at all before you go to your room.”

Ava shrank back. “I like privacy.”

Renata was watching with quick, assessing eyes. “I think, Ava, that your friends are worried about you.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

Silence fell over the previously boisterous table.

Astrid finally said, “Yes, we are worried about you. The sleep. The lack of appetite. You barely eat anything except for a few of Karen’s cakes.”

“You think I’m depressed.”

Once again, no one said anything, but Ava recognized the signs of awkward concern. She’d lived with them her whole life. From her mother to her stepfather to every friend or boyfriend she’d ever attempted to retain.

Her throat tightened. “I’m not depressed.”

Of course she was depressed.

“You’re not?” Renata asked. “I thought you just lost your mate.”

Karen winced visibly, and Bruno put a hand on Renata’s arm.

“Rennie,” he said, “we’re trying—”

“What?” Renata said. “It’s not like she’s forgotten. Of course she’s depressed.”

Damien said, “We just want Ava to know we’re worried about her.”

“We want her to know she’s not alone,” Karen said. “That we’re here to listen if—”

“Let her be depressed for a while if she wants, damn it. It happened just months ago. And they’d barely met.” Unexpected tears shone in Renata’s eyes. “She had a glimpse of happiness, then it was taken away.” Her voice was hoarse, matching the lump that had risen in Ava’s throat. “If she wants to sleep, let her sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Ava managed to choke out. “I appreciate you’re all worried about me, but really, I’m fine.”

Renata’s eyes cut to her. “Of course you’re not fine. What a ridiculous thing to say.”

This time it was Astrid who put her hand on Ava’s arm before she opened her mouth in anger. “The important thing is everyone grieves in different ways. I think Ava knows we’re worried about her. She knows we care. And she can take as much time as she wants to come to terms with the loss of her mate.”

“Malachi,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“His name was Malachi.” She blinked back tears. “You don’t have to avoid his name or pretend he was just some faceless guy.” Her eyes met Damien’s. “He was your friend. Your brother. And you never say his name. I know you miss him, too.”

Damien’s eyes burned into hers. “I’m sorry, Ava.”

“And I sleep…” Ava cleared her throat and decided to just tell them. “I sleep because, in my dreams, he’s there. And for a little while, I’m happy.”

Astrid said, “That’s very normal, Ava.”

“So if I want to sleep a little more, then it’s my own business. I had nightmares for months, and now they’re gone.”

“Good.” Astrid squeezed her arm. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re sleeping better.”

“Thank you.” She paused and took a deep breath, trying to see their interference for what it was. Concern. Caring. Even love. Part of her acknowledged that the pattern she’d developed wasn’t healthy. But most of her didn’t care a bit. Still, she decided to throw a line to the people she’d come to know as friends.

“I guess… since you’re all here, I’ll stay up a little later.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to sleep. Wanted to feel Malachi’s arms, even if it was only a dream. Ava sat down again, but there was silence for a few moments until Bruno spoke.

“I could eat more cake.”

Karen said, “You can always eat more cake.”

“Then I was smart to fall in love with a baker.”

A knock came at the door. Ava took the opportunity to distract herself and walked to answer it. She cracked open the door and saw the unexpected sight of Sari on the other side. Sari never came to the cottage, and she certainly never did it looking nervous. But there she was. And she was definitely nervous.

“Um…” Ava blinked and opened the door wider. “Hi.”

“May I come in?”

Ava felt Damien behind her. She backed away and let him hold the door.

“Sari?”

He looked as shocked as Ava felt. Even after the sing, when they seemed to stop antagonizing each other, she never visited.

“Sari!” Renata, clueless to the tension or deliberately ignoring it, called out to her friend. “Come in! Wine or coffee?”

“Kaffe, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Karen rose to fill another coffee cup as Damien stood motionless at the door. Finally, Ava stepped forward and closed it.

“What’s the matter with you?” she asked under her breath. “She’s not the queen of England.”

“She came to my door,” he said, his voice tinged with confusion. “With… all of you here.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Get over it.”

“I’ll explain later.” He nudged her toward the table where Sari had sat. “Maybe.”

Damien’s eyes burned into Sari as he sat across from her; Ava saw a smile lifting the corner of his lip.

“My dove,” he finally said, and Ava could almost see Sari flinch at the endearment. “What brings you here—to my door—tonight?”

“You know…” Sari sipped the coffee Renata put in front of her. “This is my land. My guesthouse. So technically, I don’t think this is your door.”

“I believe that’s what they call ‘splitting hairs.’”

Astrid looked amused. “Well, this is entertaining, but I do think there might be some larger purpose to this visit than just coffee and cake.”

“There was a group of Grigori spotted in Bergen,” Sari said.

An entirely different tension fell across the table.

“How many?” Damien and Renata both asked at once.

“Three that we know of. But I’d not be surprised if there were more. There’s an Irin couple who lives there, among the humans. No children. They watch for us.”

Ava leaned over to Karen. “Bergen is the closest town to here, right?”

“The closest one of any real size, yes.”

Renata said, “I’ll go.”

“I’ll go, too,” Damien said.

“No,” Sari said. “This is our territory. Renata will take care of them.”

“Sari, this is no time for—”

“Besides”—she held up a hand—“I’d like you and Bruno to start doing patrols around the perimeter of the haven. Orsala has sensed some outside magic, and she wants us to be careful. Some protective spells written on the trees would be appreciated.”

“Fine,” Damien said in a clipped voice. “And Bruno and I will start patrols. It’s only three Grigori. I’m sure Renata can handle that on her own, anyway.”

“You just wanted to steal my fight,” Renata said with a grin.

“Obviously.”

Sari glanced at Ava. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any threats?”

“Uh…” Ava looked around the table, confused. “Should I have?”

Sari shrugged. “You’re a seer.”

“I’m not any good, though.”

Bruno snorted.

“No really, you can ask your grandmother,” she said. “I was trying to do… the thing I did the other night at the sing. And I couldn’t. So I don’t know if I’ll see any trouble coming. If there is any coming.”

Everyone just kept looking at her.

“Is there… some trouble coming?”

“Trouble is always coming,” Renata said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t be too eager,” Sari said. “We don’t want them to know they’re close to anything important. Draw them away from the city, if you can.”

Damien said, “And try to find out who they belong to. I know Grigori in the territory generally belong to Volund, but we had some surprises in Istanbul. Powers may be shifting.”

“Powers are always shifting,” Sari said.

“Change is constant.” Damien stared at his mate. “And healthy.”

“According to you.”

“You can’t stop this,” he said quietly. “You never could.”

“I can try.”

His voice was low and coaxing. “You shouldn’t.”

Ava said, “Well, obviously we’re not talking about Grigori anymore.”

Renata piped up. “I want to take Ava to Bergen.”

“Absolutely not,” Damien and Sari both said at once, then turned to each other in shock.

“You don’t think she should go?” Sari asked.

“No.”

Ava was tempted to butt in. They were talking about her like she wasn’t in the room, and she really wanted to go. Killing—or helping to kill—more Grigori soldiers was what she’d been waiting for.

But she was too curious about the exchange to interrupt. Sari and Damien both stood and glared at each other.

“But she’d be a tactical advantage,” Sari said. “I’ve heard about her range.”

“She’s too young. And untrained,” Damien countered.

“She’d be with Renata.”

“She would still be vulnerable.”

Ava said, “Wait, I’m confused. Is Sari arguing for or against me going with Renata?”

“Shh!”

That came from at least three people, but Sari ignored everyone except Damien. “Are you telling me it wouldn’t be worth the risk?” she hissed, her face pale. “To have an intelligence advantage like her skills in the field—protected and at a distance from combat—are you telling me you wouldn’t risk that?”

Astrid slapped a hand over Ava’s mouth before a word could escape. “Do not say a word,” she whispered.

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Damien said quietly. “I wouldn’t risk her. Not anymore, Sari.”

“But…” Sari’s eyes shone. “It makes the most tactical sense.”

“Milá…,” he breathed out. “I learned the hard way. Not everything is about tactics.”

Ava didn’t know how to describe Sari’s expression. It was pain. Anger. Relief. Rage. It was everything rolled into one, but Ava had cracked open the door to Sari’s inner voice and listened. And the voice inside cried out.

Vashama canem.

Reshon.

Reshon.

Reshon.

The pain of Sari’s yearning was like a punch to the chest. Ava gasped and felt Astrid flinch. She wondered if the healer could sense Sari’s pain, too. It didn’t matter, because in the next moment, they were gone. Damien had walked around the table and grabbed Sari’s arm, marching them both out into the cold night. The door to the cottage slammed closed.

Silence.

“So, I’ll take you to Bergen,” Renata said. “Mala can come with us and guard you. It will be a good first mission.”

Karen glanced nervously at the door. “But Rennie, don’t you think—”

“They’ll sort it out.” She waved a careless hand toward the door. “And I’ll convince them both. You don’t really think they were talking about Ava, do you?”

Ava didn’t. Not for a minute.

She was running through the forest, laughing. Running. Playing. He was behind her, and he was laughing too. She darted to the left, but he caught her, grabbing her with both arms and tackling her to the soft forest floor. They rolled across leaves and moss, which were verdant with life. The birds sang overhead and the new light of a crescent moon shone down.

“Can we stay here forever?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He looked confused for a moment. “I… don’t know.”

“What if we didn’t wake?” she whispered, smoothing a lock of hair from his forehead as he braced himself over her. “What if we stayed here?”

“We can’t, Ava.”

“Buy why?” Something dark lurked at the edge of her vision. Some sadness waited there. She knew if she woke it would find her.

“I have things to do.” He frowned. “I think. When I am not here, I have things I must do.”

“Things more important than me?”

“No. I think… I must find you.”

She smiled. “You already found me.”

“No, Ava.” His eyes were clearer. His mouth firmed. “I must find you. So you know.”

“So I know what? I don’t understand,” she said.

He lost focus. Confusion swam in his eyes. “Kiss me, my Ava.”

“Always.”

Their lips met, and everything fell away beneath the moon.

Chapter Thirteen

The blood pumped in his veins as he ran through the eerily familiar streets of Budapest. The scent of sandalwood trailed after the fleeing Grigori, and he followed it, turning down dirty alleys in dark corners of the city where the smell of humanity stained  the air.

The soldiers had been attacking four nameless girls. Leo and Phillip had dragged the women away, allowing them to escape, while Malachi subdued the four Grigori. By the time the first was dust, no human was there to witness it.

It was the fifth that Malachi was chasing.

The brown-haired soldier had slashed at the sensitive skin near the small of Malachi’s back and then made his escape, and the blade had almost found its mark. But Malachi dodged at the last minute and his talesm—including the new ones he’d inked the night before—pulsed as the adrenaline flooded his system. The scent of his own blood mingled with the stale odor of beer, cigarettes, and urine. He ran, his legs eating up the ground, his feet pounding over the cobblestones.

He ran, and he felt alive.

A flash of his dream the night before.

Ava.

Now that he knew her name in his dreams, he couldn’t seem to stop saying it.

Ava.

She said nothing, gasping when his mouth left a trail of kisses down the center of her body.

Her taste…

Hands gripping his hair, twisting the roots as he feasted on her. He felt the pain dimly, so focused was he on the pleasurable task in front of him.

Her pleasure, for as long as she could stand it. He felt it build in the tension of her hands, the quiver of her belly, the soft cries that escaped her lips. He was relentless, pulling away to watch her fall over the edge, only to return and chase her back up the hill, pushing her toward another climax.

Finally…

“Come back to me,” she panted. And he came, sliding up her body, taking her mouth with his as he surged inside her, following her ecstasy.

The grip of her flesh on his. Her hands still twisted in his hair. Her thighs held his hips captive as they moved together.

Fast.

Faster.

Her grip didn’t loosen. She arched back, baring her neck as a breath tore from her throat.

“Ava,” he groaned, hiding his face in her neck.

“You…” The grip of her fingers loosened in his hair, and he pulled back, bracing himself over her as her fingers stroked his forehead, curling around his ear, tender in their exploration as he slowed the relentless pace of their lovemaking.

“You,” she whispered again. Their eyes met, gold and grey. The tips of her fingers traced his lip.

It was a dream. But not a dream. A dream had never felt so real.

“Blast!” The pipe caught Malachi in the face as he turned the corner. His cheek sliced open, and he saw stars as the Grigori swung again. Malachi ducked and decided he was tired of running. The Grigori danced in front of him, his clothes still rumpled from the human women’s hands and his quick flight. His hair hung over his eyes and a deep cut was already healing on his unearthly face. He had the thin, ethereal beauty of so many of his kind, ironically so like the angels the humans depicted in art. Delicate, almost boyish.

Malachi was not fooled.

The soldier danced in front of him, quicksilver over grit. Malachi felt like a slow brute with his heavy fists and thick muscles. The Grigori was faster than him. He’d have to be to get the jab in that he had, even now, when Malachi wasn’t at full strength.

They said nothing, both taking the measure of each other. The Grigori’s glance flicked over Malachi’s shoulder, then he feinted right. Malachi caught the look and slammed into the man’s body as he tried to slip to his left.

The Grigori might have been faster, but brute strength still won when it found its target.

Slamming the soldier into the cobblestone street, Malachi tried to flip him to his belly so he could pierce his spine, but the man proved as stubborn as he was fast.

“No,” he hissed, finally starting to panic. “Not like this!”

Malachi could not turn him, not while he had to hold his dagger with one hand and straddle the man to keep him from running. Irritating little bastard.

“Why don’t you just cooperate and die like a good monster?” he grunted, holding the man by his hair.

“Fuck you!”

“That’s not nice.” He grinned as an idea came to him. “Maybe you’re too much trouble after all.”

Malachi slid to his right knee, letting the man lunge up, desperate for escape, but the scribe’s heavy leg still lay over the Grigori’s waist. With a quick twist, Malachi slammed his opponent’s face into his braced knee and felt the nose crunch. The back of the Grigori’s neck suddenly bared, Malachi brought the silver blade home, piercing the man’s spine. The only sound was the sucking gasp as the soldier began to dissolve.

For a moment, Malachi saw her face. Felt the cold water at his waist. He was in the cistern again, and he heard Ava’s scream.

“NO!”

Then the memory was gone.

And so was the Grigori.

He sat in the dirt of the alley and stretched his back. He could feel the deep gash over his kidneys mending. He pushed up his sleeve and traced over the healing spell again, letting his fingers linger over the new marks that had bloomed as Ava sang to him in his dream.

She did this.

Malachi pushed his sleeve down when he heard Leo and Phillip coming down the street. But he still sat, rubbing his knee a bit where the Grigori’s nose had left a spurt of blood. That was irritating. He didn’t have that many clothes, and he hated asking Leo for things.

The two scribes turned the corner, chuckling when they saw him sitting in the center of the alley.

“Did you get tired?” Leo asked.

“Just taking in the sights.”

Phillip glanced around. “Well, if you were looking for a scenic corner of Budapest to loiter and people watch, you did not find it.” Then he grinned and held out a hand.

Malachi grasped it and pulled himself to his feet.

“Take care of the runner?” Leo asked.

“Yes.”

“He was fast.”

“Faster than me.” Malachi twisted his neck to the side, feeling the joints release. “Luckily, big guys get lucky sometimes.”

Phillip said, “More than luck, my friend. If you don’t remember Chicago in ’72, then I’ll remind you someday.”

“Maybe later.” He wanted a shower; he could still feel the dust on his skin. And then they needed to get on the road. He and Leo had only run out for a quick hunt when Tas decided they needed a different car. The irritable scribe had gone out to procure one from questionable sources while Leo and Malachi helped Phillip on patrol.

“Tas should be back by now, huh?” Leo asked.

Phillip shrugged. “Probably.”

“And where is this car coming from?” Malachi asked.

“It won’t be stolen,” the watcher said. “Not recently, anyway. But he’s right. If any of the Fallen have you on their radar, it’d be good to change cars occasionally. How are you doing on funds?”

“We’re all right,” Leo said. “Max left us some money.”

“He still playing cards?”

Leo smiled. “He calls it supplemental income.”

“The boy has rich tastes,” Malachi said. “Always has.”

Both of them stopped and looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Malachi said. “I remember bits and pieces. Most of it is still a blank.”

“If you say so,” Phillip said.

“Besides, Max’s taste is obvious. How many scribes do you know who wear a five-thousand-dollar watch?”

“It didn’t cost me five thousand dollars, Leo.”

“But Malachi said—”

Leo held the phone out. Max was on speaker, calling from Berlin.

“If he bought it in a store, it would cost that,” Malachi said, eyes on the road.

“But you didn’t buy it in a store, did you, Max?”

“Where I buy my watches is no one’s business but mine. Now, can we talk about Vienna, or did you want to discuss my shoes?”

Leo bit back a laugh. “You do have a pair of grey loafers that—”

“Vienna,” Malachi barked. “Please. What have you found out about the Irina?”

“Phillip is right, there are definitely more Irina in the city, and they’re becoming more visible. One of my sources was watching an interview with Edmund’s mate—”

“Edmund?”

“British council member. He’s become very pro-compulsion.”

Malachi glanced to Leo. “Explain.”

Leo said, “There is a movement to solve the Irina problem. Critics are calling it ‘compulsion.’  Basically, some elders want to force the Irina back into retreats.”

Max said, “They claim it is for their own protection and to protect the future of the Irin race. It’s gaining popularity among younger scribes who want the opportunity to find a mate—as slim as that chance may be—and among scribes who see our race dying off if nothing is done.”

“Our race is dying off,” Malachi said.

“Yes,” Max said, “but trying to force the Irina back into the retreats where they were all but slaughtered isn’t exactly the wisest way of coaxing them back, is it?”

“All the elders want the Irina back,” Leo said, “but they don’t agree how to achieve it. Gabriel works for Konrad, who is more traditionalist. He says the reason Irina fled was because of the retreats, so it’s useless to try to force them back. He’s proposing to reform the full council. Irin and Irina elders, the way it used to be. That way the Irina would know they have a full vote by their own elders and not just a bunch of old scribes.”

Malachi narrowed his eyes, watching the road as he mulled over what Leo and Max had told him. “Max, how are the elders chosen?”

“By the watchers,” Max said.

“But I thought the watchers were chosen by the Council.”

Leo said, “It’s not a perfect system. Irina elders were chosen more democratically. Singers voted based on regions. Seven regions for seven council members.”

“Keep in mind,” Max said, “it was easier for the Irina, because they were more centralized. Most singers were in retreats and didn’t move around much, whereas the scribes were scattered. Different cities. We move much more. Having the watchers choose the seven elders does make a kind of sense.”

“Yes, but it also leaves a lot to be desired, considering there is no check on the council’s power,” Leo said. “Corruption is inevitable.”

“It’s inevitable in any government, Leo.” Malachi took the turnoff from the highway. They were only half an hour outside the city that governed the Irin people. He knew that he must have been there before, but he didn’t remember it. It all looked foreign. He felt as if he were stepping into an alien world, and he had no idea who was a friend and who was an enemy. Instinct told him that nothing in Vienna could be taken at face value, including the intentions of the scribe they were meeting.

He knew little about Gabriel except that he was Damien’s brother-in-law, and it was possible that Damien’s actions had led to the death of Gabriel’s mate. Hardly surprising the two didn’t get along. Gabriel also worked for Konrad. And Konrad sounded like someone Malachi might agree with.

But then, politicians were liars. That, he knew, was true of every race.

Compulsion.

The very word made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Tell us more about the Irina in Vienna,” Malachi said.

Max and Leo had been chatting in Russian, but they switched back to English. “The Irina who have been out publicly are those whose mates are very pro-compulsion. They’ve been talking about ‘tradition,’ but there’s little traditional about their conversation. They’re talking about other Irina as if they were the enemy. Talking about ‘the good of our children’ and ‘meeting the needs of our scribes.’ Acting like all they want is to be protected. The few Irina I’ve met would spit in their faces.”

“So the Irina are back, according to them, and eager to go into retreats again? I find that hard to believe.”

“Those speaking publicly claim to speak for their sisters, but we have no idea where they’ve even been hiding for the last two hundred years.”

Max said, “There are rumors that some of the old council hid their wives and wouldn’t let them leave their homes. Claimed it was for their own protection. This happened for years. Then a few started coming back to the city. Now, there is a small Irina presence, but it’s still very quiet. Out of the public eye. Nothing like what it used to be, according to the older scribes. But it’s Vienna, so they’re safe.”

“And now we have the complication of Ava, as well,” Leo said.

Malachi glared. “Ava’s not a complication.”

“She is in the sense that we still don’t know where she comes from.” Leo’s voice was logical, but his words scraped Malachi’s nerves. “And the council will want to know. Have you heard from Rhys?”

Rhys had rented a car and driven ahead to Vienna days before. He’d told Malachi and Leo he needed to check in with a few “associates.” Plus, he was the one arranging a meeting with Gabriel since the two scribes had always been friendly.

“No.”

“I need to go,” Max said. “I’m meeting with a few people here. I think Ava and Damien came through the city on their way to Sari. I’m going to try to get more information in case Gabriel can’t or won’t tell you what he knows.”

“Good luck,” Malachi said. “Keep us updated.”

“Call me after you’ve spoken to Gabriel.”

Leo put the phone away and silence filled the car.

After a few minutes, the lights of Vienna shone in the distance and traffic started to thicken.

“You know I didn’t mean ‘complication’ in a bad way, don’t you?” Leo finally asked.

“I know.”

“It’s more hopeful than anything else, isn’t it? Finding Ava.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that if Ava was out there for so many years, then that could mean there are others we don’t know about, too.” The longing in Leo’s voice was almost painful. “There could be other Irina out there. Not only the survivors of the Rending, but others.”

Malachi shrugged. “It’s possible. They’d be outsiders, though. Different from the humans around them.”

“Ava said that the humans thought she was mentally ill,” Leo said quietly. “They thought she was crazy.”

The mere idea infuriated him in a way he couldn’t articulate.

He said, “If there are other Irina out there—lost Irina—”

“We need to find them.”

The call came through only minutes after they’d checked into the Irin-friendly hotel near the city center. It was a boarding house, set over a handsome kaffeehaus lined with wood panels and buzzing with activity from young patrons. There was a message from Rhys telling them that Gabriel would meet them at a different coffee house near the archives. Leo and Malachi quickly stowed their weapons and made their way across town.

Most of the Irin buildings were in the oldest neighborhoods of Vienna; handsome baroque facades hid offices that most humans would simply assume belonged one of the many corporations or international organizations that made Vienna their home. It was a diverse city, the perfect place for the Irin to hide. And the archives themselves, where Rhys was doing research, were mostly underground, centralized during the late medieval period when the city walls were built.

Leo spotted Gabriel the moment he walked in, and Malachi followed his gaze. Nothing about the Spanish scribe was familiar to him. He had average looks, and his dark suit gave the impression of an ordinary businessman out for a late lunch. Only those who looked closely might notice the edges of tattoo work that peeked above his collar, which was hardly unusual anymore for a man who appeared to be in his late twenties.

But Gabriel was far older. And the wary dark eyes that finally met Malachi’s over the French newspaper made that clear.

Leo and Malachi sat down at Gabriel’s table, which was in a corner, isolated from the busier tables in the room. Still, Malachi looked around cautiously.

“The owners are Irin,” Gabriel said quietly, putting down the newspaper and leaning back. His English was softly accented but precise. He did not offer any greeting. “You are some of Damien’s scribes.”

“We are,” Leo said. “I am Leo. This is Malachi.”

“The Istanbul house burned,” Gabriel said. “It was noted with some interest here in the city, even though the cause was determined to be accidental.”

Malachi spoke. “It wasn’t.”

“We didn’t really think it was,” Gabriel said.

Malachi wondered who the “we” referred to. Gabriel and his employer, the Elder named Konrad? The council as a whole?

Leo said, “Our house was targeted by a group of Grigori that belonged to Volund.”

A reaction, finally. One eyebrow lifted. Leo might have been the one speaking, but Gabriel was looking at Malachi when he said, “Istanbul is Jaron’s territory. It has been since he spread from Persepolis.”

Malachi answered the unspoken question. “Not anymore.”

“Where is my brother-in-law?”

Leo and Malachi exchanged glances.

Finally, Malachi said, “We don’t know.”

“The watcher of a scribe house lets his house burn, set on by Grigori outside their known territory, and he does not report it.” Gabriel’s voice almost sounded amused, but Malachi could sense the man’s tightly leashed tension. “In fact, he doesn’t report in at all. He disappears with the previously unknown mate of a fallen brother, and no one knows where they are.”

Malachi’s heart raced. Apparently, Max was right. The Irin council really did have eyes and ears everywhere.

“Needless to say,” Gabriel continued, “I am surprised to see you looking so very much alive, Malachi of Sakarya.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m still surprised she let me go.”

“Let you go?” Renata’s eyebrow lifted. “She’s not some despot. You wanted to go. You went. We’re not military, like scribes.”

Mala signed something and Renata interpreted. “Mala says we’re also not as organized or efficient.”

Ava leaned back in her chair as they sat in the small restaurant beneath the room Renata kept in Bergen. “It probably also helped that Sari and Damien appear to have reconciled.”

Mala snorted and began signing again.

“Yes,” Renata said with a laugh. “Very loudly.”

“I don’t even need to speak sign language to get that,” Ava said. “But yes, I don’t think they’re noticing much about anything except each other at the moment.”

It was nice to see. Painful, but nice. Everyone was happy for them. Damien hadn’t slept a night in the guesthouse since the night they’d argued there. Argued and not returned. Now Ava’s nights were guarded by a series of friendly scribes and singers who watched over the house while she slept. She could hardly begrudge Damien his time, and it made her early nights less noticeable to the others. She escaped into dreams. It was none of their business how often.

They sat near the window, not chancing the freezing temperatures outside. The window was cold enough. A few tourists still wandered the streets of the charming Norwegian town, taking pictures of the bright houses and soaring, snow-covered mountains.

Winter had descended on the fjords, and though the small valley where Sarihöfn lay was protected from the worst of the elements by Sari’s magic, Bergen was not shielded. It was a bone-chilling cold that Ava hadn’t experienced for a few years, though it wasn’t anything she could forget. She looked with longing at the visitors loading skis into cars, wishing she had the time to join them.

But, as Renata reminded her, this was work. Not fun.

Mala and Renata had fallen silent, sipping their coffee and allowing Ava to listen. Other than brief snatches of conversation, she’d been scanning voices for hours. Most of it was still meaningless babble to her, but she was beginning to recognize a few common words and phrases in the Old Language.

Humans, she realized, were more than a little repetitive.

Worry. Worry. Longing. Joy.

A frustrated man stormed past. His voice felt like anger. She caught the word for “wife” in his thoughts, but not much else.

Worry. Worry. Joy. Contentment.

Love her.

Happy.

Stop. Must stop.

Understanding came in flashes. The drone of the whispers never ceased. Adults were anxiety and longing. Children were laughter, but simple worry was still there. Names flashed. Voices rose and fell.

Ava rubbed her head. In the safety and silence of Sarihöfn, she’d forgotten how exhausting people could be. Luckily, both Mala and Renata hummed low repetitive tunes that blended into a kind of white noise. If she’d heard them in isolation, they would have driven her crazy. But among the throngs of other voices, the background music helped her focus.

…he comes…

Where? Here? Now?

…pretty, pretty human…

Her ears perked at the odd tone of the whisper. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the single voice that had mentioned the human.

…work… morning…

So much meaningless babble. She couldn’t wait to understand more than just—there!

…human …want…

It was faint and scratchy. Discordant. Just like the Grigori she remembered from Istanbul.

“I’ve got one,” she said softly, closing her eyes. Mala and Renata were silent, but she could hear their humming stop. Their inner voices jumped, alive with curiosity. Excitement.

“Shut up!” Ava said. The humming started again as she tried to track the voice. It was moving away. Ava stood and grabbed her jacket, desperate to find it.

I’ve got you, asshole. No humans for you today.

She bumped into two people near the door, but she didn’t apologize. She walked out into the snow-covered streets, searching for it, hoping that Renata and Mala were following. Not paying attention to anything but—

“Got you,” she whispered when her eyes fell on him. Like all his kind, he was beautiful. Golden-brown hair shone in the low sun. He was laughing, flirting with a woman in front of a hotel who looked at him as if he’d hung the moon in the sky along with all the Northern Lights. If Ava didn’t know what he was, she would have stopped and stared, too.

Ava paused at the corner and turned to Renata and Mala, who hung back, careful not to get too close. “Him. On the corner in the blue sweater.”

“Oh yes,” Renata said with glee, “I see him now.”

Mala signed and Renata said, “Do you hear any others?”

She tried to focus again, narrowing her mind to the area around the small hotel. “I think… there are some in the hotel, too. Two more voices. It’s hard to say for sure.”

“That would make the three Sari heard about. Hunting on the ski slopes, it looks like. Tourist areas are always popular. Makes women disappearing much harder to find if they’re not in their regular routine. This is good, actually. It means they’re not here because of anything but the tourists. It’s no wonder with this mild weather we’re having.”

Ava said, “This is mild?”

Mala just grinned and shook her head. Renata said, “Only in Norway.”

Ava murmured the shielding spell and happily slammed the door shut. She took a deep breath and felt immediate relief. The world around her muffled and her vision cleared. Her eyes returned to the Grigori, who was helping the woman load two sets of skis onto the top of her car.

“So, what are we doing with Prince Charming there?”

Renata and Mala exchanged a flurry of signs before Mala nodded and Renata said, “I have all my gear at my place. I’ll follow them up the mountain. Skiing is the perfect cover.” She smiled. “Snow. Dust. It’s easy to lose yourself on the trails.”

“You’re going after all three by yourself?”

“I’ll be fine. You and Mala hang out here until I get back. Then we’ll return to Sarihöfn in the morning.”

“You have my number if you need help?”

Renata gave her an indulgent smile. “Trust me, I’m looking forward to this. Humans have their fun…” She waved at a car full of skiers as they walked back to Renata’s flat. “…and we have ours. Mala’s just jealous right now because she doesn’t ski.”

Mala gave Renata a sign that needed no interpretation.

“What do you do when you’re not here?” he asked.

She stared into the dark branches overhead. Her head still ached, but she couldn’t remember why.

“I don’t know.”

He took his arms from around her waist and put both palms at her temples. She closed her eyes and felt the soft whisper of his power as he traced spells on her skin. Slowly, the pain began to recede.

“Whatever you are doing, it hurts you.” There was disapproval in his tone.

“But then I come here, and you make me feel better. I’m fine now.”

She was. The pain was gone, and in its place was a reassuring warmth. The sounds of the forest began to creep in. Low rustles and bird calls. Wind in the trees. They were lying on a bed again, but this time it wasn’t in the meadow. It had been drawn farther into the forest. She could hear water flowing in the distance.

He tucked her head on his shoulder and lay back, looking up into the trees as they rested. He lifted one arm, and she could see the marks there, silver and gleaming in the moonlight.

“You made more.”

“What?”

“When you sang to me. They grew. I noticed it later.”

She lifted her head and frowned. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good, I think.”

“Oh.” She lay back down again. If it was good, then she’d sing some more. “What do you want me to sing for you?”

“What do you remember?”

She closed her eyes and let her mind loose. The pictures fell into her memory, like photographs scattered across a table. She focused on one and smiled.

“We were near the ocean once. There were lanterns, and they floated into the sky.”

She sang softly, and as the old words left her mouth, she could see them take flight, winging their way to his mind. She reached down and felt for his hand. She knit their fingers together, and she could feel the warmth and magic flow between them.

“Ava, look.”

Her eyes opened and she looked down to where their hands joined. She saw it. The spells on his arm creeped up and over, curling into themselves as if drawn by an invisible hand. She watched them, still singing, and when she finally fell silent, the marks remained.

“I remember when you sing to me,” he said. “My mind. My heart.” He smiled before he kissed her. “You’re bringing me back to life.”

She smiled and leaned forward, craving another kiss.

There was a rustle in the forest and a blast of cold air.

His eyes narrowed and swung toward the disturbance.

The sound came again. Louder.

He squeezed her hand. “You need to wake up.”

“What?”

He sat and pulled her up with him. “Wake up, Ava.”

Fear clutched her throat. His name came to her. “Malachi?”

He shook her shoulders. “I’m not there. I’m not there, and there’s danger.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Wake up, Ava. Wake up now!”

“Malachi!”

She gasped, calling out his name as she sat bolt upright in bed. Renata’s flat was pitch-black, but Ava could hear someone struggling in the corner. Hissed voices and the rasping whispers that haunted her nightmares.

Grigori were in the room.

She heard a crack and a thud, then Mala stepped into a shaft of light, brandishing twin daggers that seemed to glow. She stalked toward Ava with death in her eyes.

“Mala?”

The Irina opened her mouth, but no sound came. It was enough to make Ava open her senses and listen.

Ava scrambled away from the hissing whisper she felt at her back just in time to escape the grip of the soldier who snuck from behind. He muttered a curse before he rolled away, dodging the silver daggers Mala threw at him. Ava kicked out, catching his knee with her heel. He grunted, still trying to remain quiet. The Grigori rolled into the darkness and Mala followed.

Ava yelled out, “Mala, lights?”

Two clicks of Mala’s tongue told her yes. She felt for the switch on the wall and flipped it up.

The smell of sandalwood filled the air, and the window to the bedroom was open. A flicker of the curtain as freezing air blasted into the room. Then another flicker as a shadow darted in the corner of her eye. The Grigori attacked silently, grabbing her neck as he tackled Ava to the ground. He forced a hand around her throat and pressed, cutting off both her voice and her air. She could hear another soldier climb in the window and run toward Mala.

The helpless rage filled her. His body trapped her on the ground. For all her training and preparation, she was no match for the large male. Her heart raced as his palm pressed harder. Her breath was running out. She would pass out soon, and there would be nothing to stop them.

Black spots danced in front of her eyes. Then the blackness grew and spread as the whispers in her mind grew louder.

Do not fear the darkness.

Ava closed her eyes.

A rush of wings and feathers from the corner of her vision. A rising shadow. Tall, as if a dark mountain had come to life, he loomed over her, cloaked in the void. A soughing breath stirred the black feathers that drooped over his hood. He was nothing. As if the stars had been snuffed in the night, he bore no face behind the droop of his black cloak. A nightmare. A monster. He leaned closer, forcing her to look. Forcing her to face the secret—

Her eyes flew open with the screaming.

No hand clutched at her throat. It had fallen away, and the Grigori soldier was screaming in her ear. She rolled over, shoving him off, but he kept up his hoarse cries, even as the building began to come alive. Someone pounded on the door. Ava heard shouts and running steps. All the while, the soldier rolled on the ground, clutching his hands to his temples, his eyes frozen on some invisible terror, his pupils dilated so his eyes appeared pure black.

In a blink, Mala rolled him over and speared her knife into his neck, ending the screams and releasing the creature’s dark soul. Then she turned to Ava with fear in her eyes.

There was a muffled conversation at the door, then the voices died away and Ava heard the deadbolt turn. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the bite of the winter air that still poured into the room.

“What happened?” It was Renata. “The neighbors thought someone was being murdered!”

There was silence, so Ava knew Mala was signing the answer. She simply rolled over, making no attempt to rise. She watched the two women who stood at the door. Mala was almost naked. She was only wearing a T-shirt and underwear to sleep. Two empty knife sheaths were strapped to her thighs. Renata looked exhausted. Covered with a dusting of snow, her hair was almost grey. Mala’s explanation went on a long time, then Renata finally turned to Ava as Mala went to snap the window closed.

“Ava, are you all right?” Renata knelt down and shook her shoulders. “Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

She hadn’t realized she was crying.

“I’m fine.”

“What did you do to the Grigori?”

“What?” Ava sniffed. “Mala, how do you sleep with those on your legs?”

“Pay attention.” Renata swatted her cheek, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to notice. “What did you do?”

“I don’t know.” Ava curled up on her side, shaking with cold and not caring that she was lying on the floor. She reached for a blanket that had half fallen off the bed. She was freezing and she shook so hard she felt as if her skin might fly off her body. “Maybe h…he was scared of the black angel, too.”

Renata looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. Adrenaline coursed through her system. She felt hopped up, despite the tears on her face. “I didn’t even get a punch in. Not even a kick. Need to practice more. And my magic—”

“She’s rambling,” Renata said. “Ava, sit up. Take deep breaths.”

She could breathe now. She hadn’t been able to when the Grigori had his hand on her throat. Hadn’t been able to say anything. The black spots danced across her eyes again, so she sat up carefully.

Renata stood and crossed the room to the window.

“Three sets of prints below the snow.” She secured the blinds and turned. “Just those three?”

Mala nodded and signed some more. She also kept her distance from Ava.

Renata said, “Mala says thank you for turning on the lights. And she doesn’t know what you did to the Grigori, but whatever it was incapacitated both the one she was fighting and the one who had you.”

“Oh…” She sniffed. “Well, that’s good.”

“And she always sleeps with her daggers. Her mate thought it was sexy.”

Somehow, an Irin scribe thinking sleeping with a deadly woman was sexy didn’t surprise Ava at all.

Mala was still signing and Renata watched her with a frown.

“No,” she said. “I have no idea.”

More signing as Ava climbed to her knees, smoothing the sheets on the beds and wondering if she would ever sleep again.

Renata said, “I told you, I don’t know. Orsala said she sees visions. You said their eyes went black?”

If Ava couldn’t sleep, then when would she see Malachi?

“Wake up, Ava. Wake up now!”

He’d known. He’d warned her.

She shook her head. No, of course not. She was being absurd. It wasn’t Malachi. Her subconscious had sensed danger and used her dream to wake her. Her quivering hands pulled on another sweater.

“I’m not there.”

The pain in his voice… It was almost as if he was speaking from far away. As if he could swoop in and protect her. Impossible. Fresh grief threatened to swamp her, and Ava thought she heard a flutter of wings in the air. She shoved the grief to the back of her mind.

Mala and Renata were still speaking.

She felt like climbing the walls. Her skin crawled. Were shadows moving in the corner of the room? There was something just beyond her perception. Some instinct needled her. She couldn’t pinpoint the threat, but she could feel it.

Run.

She started packing up, throwing her things into the small bag she’d brought, scanning the room for other belongings.

“What are you doing?” Renata asked.

“Packing.”

“Oh?” Ava could hear the humor in her voice. “And where are you going at three in the morning?”

“I don’t know. Away. I don’t want to be here.” The threat might have passed, but she could still feel it, like eyes on her back.

Someone, something was watching. She could sense it.

“You’re not going anywhere. Mala and I will take turns watching, then we’ll leave in the morning.”

“No.” She shook her head, hands trembling. “I can’t stay here. Not here.”

“Ava, there’s no—”

“I will not stay here!” she yelled. “It is not safe. Maybe you don’t feel it, but I do. We are not safe here. Someone can see us!”

Mala stepped closer. She put her hands on Ava’s shoulders and stared into her eyes. Mala’s eyes were deep brown, like the darkest coffee. Ava didn’t flinch when she held her gaze. Something shifted in the Irina’s expression, and she nodded. She stepped away and signed to Renata.

“What?”

More signing.

“So you’re just going to drive back to Sarihöfn in the middle of the night because—”

Mala interrupted her with two clicks of her tongue, then a long stream of signs passed between Renata and Mala. Ava was frustrated, catching only the occasional word or phrase, but they seemed to be arguing.

“Fine,” Renata finally said. “Ava, you and Mala are going back to Sarihöfn right now.”

Mala walked to the sofa where she’d been sleeping and pulled on a pair of pants.

“You’re not coming?”

“No,” Renata said, her mouth twisted in irritation. “There is someone I need to contact. I’ll go to Oslo and meet him there. He’s… very well connected and he knows more about Grigori politics than most. Mala thinks that one of the Fallen may have eyes on you. That may be what you’re feeling. How that could be is a mystery to me, but I haven’t studied them. This scribe has.”

“But we’ll be safe in Sarihöfn?” The creeping feeling still stalked her. She could sense it, like darkness outside a lit room.

“Did you feel this way in Sarihöfn before?”

“No.”

“Then it’s possible that Sari and Orsala’s shields work to protect you from… whatever it is you’re feeling. Either way, it’s the safest place for you.”

“Okay.” She let out a breath. “Okay. The ones today, on the ski slope—?”

“Dust,” she said. “Gone now. They were from the city. Just looking for easy prey. No one else with them that I could see.”

“So the ones that came here tonight—”

“Coincidence.”

Ava thought that was about as likely as Mala giving up her knives. Still, she had no other explanation to offer. She just wanted to go.

They packed quickly and Renata brought her car around. She’d catch the train to Oslo, then stay in a safe house she kept. She promised to call within a week to check in. Sooner if she had news.

Within an hour, Mala and Ava were back on the road, heading into the countryside. It was quiet in the car, but Ava didn’t sleep. And the feeling of being watched never went away.

IV.

Szentendre, Hungary

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed into Svarog’s home. The angel’s residence in the small town near Budapest was not nearly as grand as the most humble of Volund’s homes. The entryway was light and airy, with potted plants and many windows facing an interior garden that was a riot of colors, despite the cold air. Svarog must have put an enchantment over the garden to keep the springlike look of the place, even in the dead of winter. Still, it was doubtful the angel truly lived here any more than was necessary to breed with the human women Brage had seen passing. They greeted him with friendly and aloof smiles but did not speak to him.

Most appeared to be pregnant or nursing. The pregnant had the healthy glow he recognized in those carrying angelic offspring. The nursing mothers were in various stages of slow decline, no matter how they adored their beautiful sons. Eventually, their children would drain and kill them.

A small boy skidded into the entry and almost ran into Brage’s legs.

“Szia,” Brage said to the Grigori child.

“Jó napot,” the child replied politely.

“English?” He hoped an adult would appear. He did not speak more than the most cursory Hungarian.

The little one shook his head.

The boy was beautiful, as all Grigori children were. His skin had a faint glow and his eyes were clear blue, the color of a summer sky. He started babbling at Brage, who only watched him with pleasant indifference. It wasn’t unheard of for an angel to keep their offspring near, but it was unusual. Volund had sired Brage, but he’d never met his father until he was ready to serve. Children were not welcome in Volund’s house.

A harried-looking soldier appeared in the entryway and barked at the child. Despite the harsh tone, the child turned to his keeper with a mischievous gleam in his eye that told Brage he wasn’t afraid in the least. He waved at Brage and then trotted off after the grim man, grabbing his hand as he skipped toward French doors that led to a garden.

“He lost his mother only a month ago.”

Brage turned toward the sad voice of the woman who carried an infant. They were wrapped in blankets on a chaise near the windows.

The woman continued, “He seems to be doing well.”

Brage gave her a polite smile. “They always do.”

“Are you here to see the master?”

“I am.”

“He’ll be here soon.”

“I’m sure he will.” Brage didn’t want to speak to the woman anymore. He hoped she’d lose interest in him. They were broodmares to the Fallen, nothing more. It was useless to converse with something so ephemeral. The child she held and nursed was far more valuable than the mother.

The woman’s face broke into a glorious smile when Svarog appeared. “Aranyom!”

The Fallen put an absent hand on the woman’s cheek and smiled at the child in her arms. Then he turned to Brage. “Come.”

The angel led him down a hallway lined with books, then past another sitting room and a large dining room where more women ate and chattered. It was not unpleasant, but Brage wondered how the Fallen lived with so many around him. It was like living with livestock, to his mind. The Fallen led him to a small library where a fire burned. He’d taken the guise of a middle-aged man with steel-grey hair and vivid blue eyes. He was wearing a sweater and slacks, the picture of a successful human in his country retreat, but Brage knew better. Svarog, for all his affection toward his offspring, was a vicious killer who had no regard for any but his own. Humans he didn’t breed with were nothing to him. It was one of the reasons he and Volund had always been allies.

“So,” Svarog said, closing the door behind them, “what does Volund’s oldest son want in my territory?”

“I am looking for someone.” No subterfuge was necessary. Svarog, like all fallen angels, understood vendetta. “An Irin scribe my father wants me to kill.”

“And you know he is here?”

“He was driving from Istanbul to Vienna. I am hoping to catch him before he enters the city.”

Svarog nodded. “Fine. Hunt if you like. But I have a message for your father, and I expect you to deliver it. Your mouth to his ears, do you understand?”

“I do.”

Cautioned by Svarog’s tone, Brage waited.

“Tell him I know what he is doing, and I want no part of it. If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”

Brage blinked but showed no other outward sign of surprise. “Why do you ask me to deliver this message?”

The Fallen had ways of communicating with their own kind that surpassed human or Grigori understanding.

Svarog stepped closer, letting the human mask fall. The angel’s eyes shone gold and the automatic terror froze Brage in place.

“I want you to deliver the message,” he said, “because I want Volund to know that his most valued son was in my house, near my children, and I let him live. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go. And do not bother telling your father where I dwell. By the time you leave my city, this house will be gone.”

“I understand.”

Brage left the house quickly and drove toward Budapest, more confused than ever.

“I know what he is doing…”

What was Volund’s plan? Brage was reminded of his early years as a soldier. The years just before the Irina slaughter had been like this. Mixed messages and mysterious errands. Half-truths and outright lies. He’d understood nothing until the order had come from the oldest soldiers in their house in Berlin. They were leaving the city for some tiny village in the country. They slaughtered women and children, ripping out their throats so they were defenseless.

He’d told himself it was no different from killing humans.

He still told himself that.

“If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.”

He tried to drive the doubt from his mind. Volund would sense it. Doubt was death to the Fallen. Nothing was accepted but utter and complete loyalty. After all, there were hundreds of brothers waiting to take his place if he stumbled.

Brage would not stumble.

A chirp from his mobile phone. It was the number for one of the Grigori who ran Volund’s house.

“Yes?”

“Our father has a message for you.”

“What is it?”

“Come to the house in Göteborg immediately. He will meet you there.”

Brage stopped the protest on his lips. The scribe was in Budapest, he was sure of it. To pull him away now—

“Do you understand?” his brother asked.

It didn’t matter. He was a weapon, nothing more. Volund’s to command, like the blade Brage wore under his shirt.

“I understand. I will be on a plane tonight.”

Chapter Fifteen

His roar of frustration finally brought a pounding at the door. Malachi had been pacing for hours. It was the middle of the night, but somewhere his mate was in danger. Someone had attacked her. He’d woken from his dream with sweat pouring from him, his heart racing, and adrenaline pumping through his system. He’d bolted from the bed, ready for battle.

But there was nothing to do.

He was in one of the secured guest rooms at Gabriel’s townhouse. Leo was in the room next to him. They’d followed Damien’s brother-in-law there after their meeting.

“How did you know? Who told you?”

“Evren called me when he found some information he thought you should know. He knew my father, and he trusts me. You really ought to be better about checking your messages, Leo.”

“What—?”

“It has to do with Ava’s father. And… an impossibility that is looking more possible all the time.”

Gabriel had tucked them into his black chauffeured car and hidden Malachi and Leo away in his spacious home. Gabriel, along with being Konrad’s right hand, was a financier in the city and had accumulated more than his share of wealth. They’d left a message for Rhys to meet them there. As much as Malachi distrusted everything around him, Leo was certain that Gabriel was an ally. Max—who seemed to know just about everyone—confirmed it.

Leo called, “Malachi?”

He said nothing. He couldn’t stop the animalistic growl that left his throat. She was out there, and he had no power to help her. He didn’t even know where she was. Every night since he’d realized his dreams were more than dreams, he went to sleep commanding himself to ask her where she was. To tell her that he was alive. Truly alive. And every night, his mind hazed and he could focus only on her. The outside world fell into shadow. His conscious demands drifted away.

The pounding came again.

“Malachi.” It was Gabriel. “Open the door, or I will break it.”

Something in the scribe’s voice told Malachi he wasn’t joking. He opened the door.

Leo and Gabriel stood there, both dressed in pajamas, both with clenched fists.

“What the—”

“She’s in danger.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

“I know! We were there, in the dream, and I felt it. Like a shadow surrounding us. Then it came closer. It was searching for her. For Ava.”

“Where?” Gabriel stepped into the room. “Where were you?”

“In the dreams…” The truth tumbled from his lips. “I’ve been dreaming. Well, I thought they were dreams at first, but they’re not.” He held out his arm. “She sings to me and they grow. She’s… healing me. But I can’t talk to her. It’s so—”

“Dreamy?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I could have told you. That’s how the dream walks work.”

“Dream walking?” Leo slapped his forehead and followed Gabriel into Malachi’s room. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it? She’s his mate! How could I be so stupid?”

“Since you’ve never been mated, it probably wouldn’t be the first thing you thought of.” Gabriel sat on the bench near the foot of the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “And there was no way of knowing how Malachi’s death would affect their bond. Tell me more details. Well… not all the details. But there might be clues.”

“Are you listening to me?” Malachi said. “She is in danger!”

“And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it,” Gabriel said, rising to his feet. “It’s frustrating, isn’t it? To know that your mate is threatened. To know her fear. Her panic.”

“You have no idea.”

“I have every idea.” The cold words cut through the room, reminding all of them that Gabriel had lost his mate, Tala. Damien had taken her into battle, and she had perished.

Gabriel continued in his chilling voice. “But there’s nothing you can do for her right now. If she was dead, you would feel it.”

“Does it hurt?” The fire went out of Malachi’s belly. The pain twisted in his chest. “When I died, did it hurt her?”

He wasn’t sure whether or not Gabriel would even answer. But the scribe raised his chin and said, “Yes. It hurts. Physically. Emotionally. If she was gravely injured, you would feel it. Not in an incapacitating way, but you would know. Do you feel anything like that?”

“No.”

“Then she was in danger, but the danger has passed. Tell me about your dreams.”

He could feel the heat in his cheeks and Gabriel gave him a knowing look. “We don’t talk much.”

“That’s normal. Most Irin couples who are physically parted don’t spend their dream walks in conversation.”

The three men settled into seats near the fireplace. Clearly, sleep was a memory.

“Why can’t I ask her questions?” Malachi asked. “Every night, I go to sleep, and I tell myself I will ask her where she is. But when the dream starts…”

Gabriel crossed his arms and took a deep breath. “I’ve heard it said by scholars far more intelligent than me that the Forgiven gave Irin mates their ability to dream walk in order to feed the soul. It is not conscious life, though it still feeds us physically. Otherwise, our tactile need for each other when we were separated would become a liability.”

“So even though I’m away from her, I’m still caring for her?” It helped. To know that he was at least doing something.

Gabriel nodded. “She’s probably sleeping better than most widowed mates would. She’d be more calm. Centered. Physically, she will be stronger because of the walks.”

“But why can’t I ask her anything? Why can’t I ask here where she is, like I always tell myself to.”

“You don’t understand. You’re not meeting on a conscious level. Dream walks are your souls speaking to each other. And the soul isn’t concerned about worldly problems. Day-to-day worries never enter into a dream walk. You don’t chat about the children or work. If you’re fighting, your souls would reach for each other more, not less. Dream walks are the place Irin mates connect on the most spiritual level, where your soul reads your mate’s and gives it exactly what it needs. Connection. Comfort. Pleasure. It’s not like a normal conversation.”

“So her soul doesn’t need me to find her?” That couldn’t be correct. He had reached for her even when he didn’t know her name.

“Don’t you see?” Gabriel asked. “Her soul has already found you, Malachi. Within her dreams. Your souls have found each other. It is only your bodies that have not.”

Leo asked, “Do you think she knows they’re more than dreams?”

“Probably not. After all, why would she even consider it?” Gabriel’s voice was rough. “She thinks Malachi is dead. They all do. After Tala died, I dreamed of her almost every night. For years. I knew it wasn’t the same because I’d experienced dream walking, so I knew the difference. Ava does not. She probably thinks her walks with Malachi are only that. Very vivid dreams.”

Malachi cursed silently. Then he held out his arm. “And this? My talesm returning?”

“That, I have no idea about.” Gabriel shook his head. “It’s not like we’ve seen many resurrected scribes. It must have something to do with her particular magic. The scholars would drool over this.”

Leo said, “And the reason we’re not consulting them is…?”

“I finally spoke to Rhys last night,” Gabriel said. “He’s been here for a week now, doing research. Based on what he’s seen,  he thinks there is too much division in the archives. He wants to keep Ava and Malachi as quiet as possible, at least for now. All the elders have their own scholars doing research into the Irina problem, trying to find writings or visions that back up their own position.” He shrugged. “Konrad does. And he’s one of the most honorable elders on the council. But he’s not going to actively support research that could favor compulsion any more than Edmund is going to support research in favor of restoration.”

According to Gabriel, the Irin Council had become fairly evenly divided into two camps: those elders supporting compulsion, which would hunt down the Irina and force them back into heavily guarded retreats “for their own safety and the future of the Irin race”; and restoration, which would petition the most respected Irina to reform the Irina Council so that Irina could come back to public life with full protection.

It was more complicated than Malachi had expected. Compulsion grated on his instincts, but the arguments were compelling. The Irin were dying off. Generations of Irin children had been lost. The Irina needed to be protected. In fact, some of the most pro-compulsion elders on the council had lost mates and daughters during the Rending. They were passionate about the safety of the Irina. Passionate about the need for them to be protected from the Grigori. And most did not downplay the Grigori threat.

On the other hand, many of the elders who supported restoration clearly had no idea just how much the Grigori were spreading. They dismissed the Fallen, almost as if they were something out of a myth. They claimed that those in favor of compulsion were fear-mongering bigots, that there was little threat to the Irina. They needed to simply step back into public life and everything would sort itself out.

Vienna was a city riddled by politics, confused by its own safety, and flush with more money than Malachi had ever imagined. It was lazy and indulgent. The city stank of greed.

“We should try to get some sleep,” Leo said. “Rhys will be by in the morning, and Max is supposed to call around noon.”

“Where is Max?”

“I don’t know,” Leo said. “He mentioned a message from a contact the last time I talked to him. I think he was in Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

Leo grinned. “They asked after you. If we’re going to keep your story a secret, we may need to avoid the city. You spent many years in Berlin.”

By noon, Gabriel had gone into his offices and Leo, Rhys, and Malachi met with Konrad in Gabriel’s library.

“So you are the scribes that nobody and everybody is talking about,” Konrad said. He was a gruff man. Not handsome in the least, he appeared to bear the weight of the world on his stooped shoulders. He was barrel-chested and gray-haired, clearly having cut back on the longevity spells after he’d lost his mate, Catherine. She had not died in the Rending but, of all things, a traffic collision while they were on holiday. It was a shocking reminder to Malachi of how dangerous the world could be, even in ordinary times.

“I don’t know about that,” Malachi said. “I’m not much for gossip.”

“Oh, we eminent politicians don’t call it gossip, Malachi. We call it ‘intelligence.’” He lifted the corner of his mouth in what could almost be a smile. “I knew your father for a time. You look like him. When we were young, we trained together near Jerusalem. Of course, that was very long ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You lost him during the Rending?”

Malachi looked at Leo. He was trusting that the story the scribe had told him was true, since he didn’t remember much about his parents. “They were in the conflict in Berlin. They were living in a retreat near there and both went into the city to fight.”

“And I suppose that is why the Grigori call you the Butcher of Berlin, eh?” Konrad sniffed. “Good work there. We need more soldiers like you.”

Malachi blinked, unaware of the nickname. Leo smiled nervously. Clearly, he’d forgotten to give Malachi all the details of his past life.

Ignoring it, Malachi steered the conversation in another direction. “It’s good to know that not all the elders are unaware of the escalating Grigori threat.”

“No, not all of us are unaware.”

Rhys muttered, “But enough to make it a concern.”

Konrad said, “Well, it doesn’t help convincing people when things like Grigori burning down scribe houses are left unreported.”

Rhys said, “That, I do not understand. I know Damien reported it. I heard him make the call.”

“Oh, we knew it had burned, but it was ruled accidental by the Turkish authorities.”

“No.” Rhys shook his head. “Damien was on the phone with someone in Vienna. He told them it was a Grigori attack. He told them that Volund’s soldiers were in the city. That Jaron has ceded control.”

Konrad said, “We never got that message. I only heard rumors and innuendo. Someone died. Someone found a mate. It was never clear what had happened to whom.” He nodded toward Malachi. “And now the story you tell me? If I hadn’t seen his talesm so depleted, I’d think you were liars. But no scribe reaches his age with so few spells. It’s unnatural.”

“Did Evren call you?”

“No, but he called an associate I trust. A genealogist from America.” Konrad raised an eyebrow. “This theory they have about your mate’s identity is… unorthodox.”

“Everything we know tells us that it should be impossible,” Rhys said. “But I agree with Evren, no other option makes sense.”

“Irina have taken human lovers over the centuries,” Konrad said. “This has always happened, because they are not bound by touch as we are. It’s not something a family would talk about. As far as I can tell, no children have ever come from those unions. Biologically, we’ve never understood why, but—”

“But Ava’s father is the only possibility at this point. If Jasper Reed’s mother was Irina—who somehow had a child by a human—it’s possible she could have hidden it.”

“And who is his mother? Your mate’s grandmother? Do we know? She must have been extraordinarily powerful for her granddaughter to control so much magic with only a fraction of Irin blood.”

Rhys said, “That’s the problem. We’re having trouble finding anything about her. We found Reed’s medical records from the American foster-care system. Her name had been erased, but that’s not a problem for us, of course.” Rhys glanced at Malachi. “Her first name was Ava, and that’s the only name listed. We have no other evidence of her. No paperwork. She disappeared from the system after she surrendered her son.”

“Is she alive?”

Leo said, “Ava says she isn’t. That her father told her his mother died when he was a child.”

Konrad said to Malachi, “And your mate was named after her grandmother.”

“Apparently.”

“Ava is a very common Irina name,” Rhys added quietly.

Konrad sat back in his chair and looked between the three of them. He looked for a long while as a smile teased the corner of his lips. “You think this is bigger than one misplaced Irina,” he finally said, smiling at Malachi. “You think there are more.”

“If we didn’t know about Ava, maybe we don’t know about others,” Malachi said. “If one Irina had a child with a human lover and hid it, others could have as well. Maybe there are lost Irina out there. If there are, they need us to find them. They are not at home in the human world.”

Rhys added, “And if there are more Irina, if our race was not in danger of dying out, it would change the balance of the council, would it not? If there are lost Irina out there, Grigori would be drawn to them. Perhaps some unity of purpose could be sought. Contain the Grigori and find our lost sisters.”

“It would be a goal all would be able to support, even the most hesitant members of the council. An interesting theory,” Konrad acknowledged as he rose to his feet, coffee finished. “But it is only a theory right now. The more pressing issue is the Grigori problem. We don’t need our focus shifted from hunting Grigori to hunting Irina who may not want to be found. It’s foolish and useless. Find Damien. I need to speak to him. If he reported the details of the Grigori attack to someone in Vienna and the report was hidden, I need to know.”

“And you need to know whether whoever he spoke to has suppressed other reports of Grigori aggression,” Leo said. “Communication may have broken down. And if protocol isn’t being followed…”

“I will look into this,” Konrad said. “But now, I must go.”

Malachi, Leo, and Rhys stood to walk Konrad to the door.

“The scribe house in Budapest says that requests for funds are being ignored,” Malachi told him. “They feel they are fighting Grigori without support. Is he the only one?”

Konrad shook his head. “No. But I’m one of the lone voices in the wilderness on this issue.” He waved his arms around the room. “We are in Vienna! Jewel of the Irin crown. Grigori attacks are almost unheard of. They happen… elsewhere. More scribes are concerned about their empty houses and empty beds than the human population. They want mates and families, not war in far-off places.”

Leo snorted. “Budapest is not so far away.”

“Nor is Istanbul. Paris. London.” Rhys frowned. “Do Irin here really not know?”

“Some do. Some don’t. They ignore it if it’s convenient for them.”

Malachi shook his head. “Vienna is slowly being surrounded by increasingly aggressive Grigori. The Fallen are showing their face to us. Powers are shifting. Vienna will not be able to bury the truth for long.”

Konrad said, “Bring Ava and Damien to the city. Give me proof to show the council. Without proof, without testimony, I am speaking to deaf ears.”

“Has Max called yet?”

“No.”

Leo was sitting near the window, staring out into the quiet street when Malachi walked in. He felt restless. There was nothing to do in the city. Rhys was continuing his research at the archives, trying to track down the families and genealogies of other Irina who were known to have taken human mates. Gabriel was at his office, putting together more funds for their search, which Konrad had quietly approved. Leo and Malachi were stuck at the house with nothing to do and no Grigori to fight.

Malachi sat down across from him. “Ava was named after her grandmother,” he said. “It can’t be a coincidence that Jasper Reed named his daughter his biological mother’s name. He was put into the system when he was very young, but he must have known her name.”

“I’m surprised Ava’s mother allowed Reed to name her,” Leo said. “I thought she didn’t have much to do with him.”

“Lena Matheson might not have known the significance. And Ava is a common enough human name.”

“There’s no other record of the first Ava?”

“Not that Rhys has found. Or Konrad’s contact in America.”

Leo was silent for some time. Then he said, “If he knew her name, is it possible he knew more than that?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a very famous musician, isn’t he? He has a lot of money. Do we know if he was wealthy when Ava was born?”

Malachi said, “Rhys said Reed was already famous when Ava was born.”

“So he probably had money. And if he had money, he could have found his mother. Maybe as an adult, even. Reed might be the reason her records don’t exist.”

“Why would he make his own mother disappear? Especially if she was dead?”

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“But if he has her records, or knows where they are…” Malachi was starting to see where Leo was going. “There’s no way we could talk to him. He has bodyguards. Handlers.”

“But he only has one daughter.”

“He would tell Ava. Probably.”

“Maybe.”

The phone rang. The loud electronic buzz filled the silent library.

Leo picked it up. “Max?”

Malachi could hear his brother’s voice from across the room.

“Get to Oslo, Leo. Get Malachi and get on a plane now.”

Malachi’s heart raced. “Oslo?”

“I’ve found them,” Max said. “I’ve found Ava.”

Chapter Sixteen

The feeling of being watched continued into Sarihöfn. It continued during her lesson with Orsala the next day. It hung over her shoulder and she could not rest, even when she tried.

“Something is coming,” she said to Orsala, who was fixing tea during a break in their lessons.

“Have you seen something? What is it?”

“Something dark. I see it in my dreams. I’ve brought something dark here.”

Orsala narrowed her eyes, then closed them, and Ava knew she was taking a gentle scan of the emotions around her. It was part of the shields that Sarihöfn held. The scribes who lived there wrote their magic on the trees and walls of the compound. Sari manipulated the very elements that surrounded them. There were patrols and guards. Video monitoring and electronic sensors. And Orsala could feel the emotional temperature of any inhabitant when she wanted to.

“Nothing feels wrong, Ava. Except that you’re worried. For the first time in many years, our wards here are stronger because Sari is complete.”

At least one good thing had come from her visit. Damien and Sari’s reconciliation had strengthened the whole community and put both of them in a far better mood. By the time Mala and Ava had returned from Bergen, there were flowers pushing up through the snow. Playful ribbing might have reddened Sari’s cheeks, but the aura of contentment was evident all through the valley.

Except for Ava.

She could feel it. Something dark shadowed her. It lurked in the trees.

“I dream of dark things, Orsala.” Her voice was barely over a whisper. “Even when Malachi is there, there’s a darkness, too.”

The old woman put a hand on her arm as she sat next to Ava at the table. “That’s normal, daughter. I dreamed of my mate after I lost him, too. It’s normal that your dreams of him would be troubling. He was taken from you in the most violent way. Don’t hide from that. Your soul must grieve.”

“They’re not always dark.”

“Good.”

“But there’s something…”

“What?” The kettle began to whistle, and Orsala rose. “What is it?”

“I feel like it comes from me. Or it’s tied to me, but separate. I don’t want it… but it’s part of me. Like when I didn’t let go of Bruno. It wasn’t that I couldn’t. Part of me didn’t want to. I liked the power.”

Ava could smell the aroma of tea rising from the cheery brown pot Orsala always used. It did nothing to cheer her.

“You’re angry,” the old woman said.

“At myself, yes.”

Orsala finally sat again, putting the tea and two cups in front of her, closing the book of spells they’d been studying.

“Ava, you spent much of your life in the human world, not realizing who or what you were. For years, they told you that your mind was wrong. That could easily have created the shadows I see within you. Yes, there is darkness. But none of us are completely dark or light. We are, none of us, perfect beings. Not even the angels are perfect. We fail and fall like the humans. We have rage. Greed. Violence against each other. But we seek the light. That is what makes us different from the Fallen.” Her lip curled. “From their Grigori spawn. Our souls seek the light.”

Her mouth turned up at the corner. “You don’t feel the darkness in me?”

Orsala hesitated. “I do.”

“I do, too.”

“But I see far more light than dark. Yes, your magic has… a shadow. I’ve seen it just as you have. But I truly believe the longer you are with us, the longer you know who you are and what you are meant to be, that shadow will lessen. It will never overpower you.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Be sure, Ava.” Her voice dropped. “Summon the will that kept you sane among the humans and fight it. If you aren’t sure of yourself, then the darkness could win.”

“And the shadow I’m feeling? The one surrounding me?”

Orsala shrugged. “We’ll watch. But Sarihöfn is protected, Ava. Very protected. We know Volund is after you, but it is doubtful even one of the Fallen could find you here with all the shields in place.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.”

“Shall we study more?”

“Yes.”

Because if there was anything she could learn that might help hold back the darkness, then Ava needed it.

“Do not fear the darkness.”

She slept, but he wasn’t there. She stood at the edge of the forest, looking out. There was nothing there but blackness, and the birds did not sing.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

The voice came from behind her. She turned and saw the soft-spoken man in glasses.

“Who are you?”

“You shouldn’t have left. He’s coming now. His children found you, so he can, too.” The man sighed. “Blood. It’s very difficult to stop blood magic.”

“Where is he?”

“That, I cannot tell you. Perhaps he does not sleep.”

She blinked and the image of the man wavered.

“Take off your mask,” she said.

He smiled. “You are bold in dreams. I do not find offense in this.”

“Then take off your mask.”

“Are you sure you want to see me as I am?” He must have read the uncertainty in her eyes. “I will show you a shadow of my face in this world, but that is all.”

The man grew. Expanded. His soft face shimmered away and a harder one took its place. A beautiful face. Unearthly. His hair was black and shining as a raven’s wing. His eyes were a glittering amber gold. Smooth tan skin was marked by raised letters she recognized. They were like her mate’s, but more. This being’s magic was not written on him, it was part of him. She knew he would not hurt her. He was frightening, but she felt no fear.

“You’re beautiful.”

“You are not the first to say so.”

“Your spells…” She stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. The skin was warm under her fingertips. The raised letters glimmered with a faint, silver sheen.

“They are not spells.”

“What are they?”

“Magic that is part of me.”

“Like my magic is part of me?”

“No. They are more.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’re not meant to, child. It is a thing beyond your ken.”

She looked around the forest. The darkness crept closer. Around the glowing being, it was held back, but it did not seem afraid of him any more than she was.

“Why does it find me here?”

“He finds you because he can. Just as I can.”

She looked up into his glowing face. “Will it hurt me?”

He cocked his head. “I do not know his purpose. Only that he would thwart mine.”

“And what is your purpose?”

He smiled. “That is not for you to know yet. I gave you my vision once. I will give you others when you need them.”

“When will I need them?”

He shook his head. “Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Wake up, or the darkness will find you.”

She frowned. “I don’t want to leave yet. You don’t answer my questions.”

His smile turned sad. He lifted his hand to her cheek and trailed a warm finger there. “I had hoped… You look nothing like your mother. But your voice reminds me of her.”

She felt tears on her cheek, but he brushed them away. “I don’t understand you.”

He vanished from her sight, but his whisper came from the trees around her.

“Wake, Ava…”

She woke, and the tears were cold on her cheeks. There was a commotion outside the cottage. She could hear shouting and car engines roaring to life.

Ava bolted up in bed, throwing on her clothes and racing from the bedroom. Damien burst through the door a moment later.

“Two Grigori. Both dead. But they found us, Ava.” His cold voice turned Ava’s stomach. “They found Sarihöfn.”

“This is my fault,” she whispered at the kitchen table, listening to Sari plan the evacuation of the entire community. Orsala sat on one side. Damien sat on the other. Irina bustled around, listening for instructions and then setting about tasks as Sari gave them.

“No.” Damien gripped her hand. “You did nothing wrong. Mala is sure you were not tailed from Bergen. This is from some other crack in our defenses. It was… surprising. But we had become too complacent. It was probably inevitable after so much time. There have been so many who have used Sarihöfn as a refuge over the years. No magic is impenetrable. And with the Grigori becoming more aggressive, we should not be surprised.”

Far from chaos, a quiet urgency lay over the house. There was no shouting or panic. The Grigori soldiers the guards had apprehended in the woods had been killed, but plans were underway to empty the haven. If there were two, there would be others. Listening to Sari give instructions to Mala and Astrid, Bruno and Karen, she realized that this had always been planned. As secure as Sarihöfn was, the Irin were a people constantly at war. No place was truly safe.

And Ava realized it would always be this way.

Even before the Rending, they had hidden. Hidden from the humans. From the Fallen. The Irin lived as a people under siege. It was frightening. Exhausting. And this was her future.

No mate. No family. Constantly on the move. Half of her reasoned it wasn’t all that different from how she’d lived before she knew she was Irina. The other half just wanted to run like she had in Bergen.

Run from Istanbul.

Run from Turkey.

Run from Sarihöfn.

Where would she run next?

Families were evacuated first; multiple backup plans were already in place. Irina with mates were calling them, finding places to meet. There were other havens around the world. Other havens could be formed in out-of-the-way places. Some Irina would go to them while others would scatter. For many, Sarihöfn had provided a place to train and grow. Now they could fight their own battles.

“What will they do about money?” Ava asked. “And the farm?”

“There are humans Sari trusts who will take care of the farm. And they have saved money for hundreds of years. They will give money to families and individuals as they need it. They have enough.”

“I have money. More than I need. If any of them—”

“Keep your money, sister.” Damien placed a hand on her shoulder. “They will be fine.”

“They planned for this.”

“Yes,” he said, a note of sadness in his voice. “After the Rending, we knew no place would be safe forever.”

Within hours, cars and trucks were already leaving the barn. People took only what they needed. Furniture would be left behind. Perhaps, at some point, it could be retrieved, but safety was more important than sentiment.

“We’ll stay here a few days with Sari,” Damien said. “We’re still deciding where our family will go. Sari and I have different ideas about what should happen now.”

“And me?”

“You’re coming with us, of course.” He smiled. “That we all agree on. You still have many lessons with Orsala. And you’re part of our family.”

Her throat tightened. “I’m not sure I’m a very safe person to be around right now.”

“Good!” Sari’s voice sounded from across the room. “Then my plan it is, Damien.”

Damien shook his head. “Milá…”

“I know you want to go someplace safe and hidden, my love.” A wild smile crossed Sari’s face, and there was fire in her eyes. “But I cannot agree. I have taken care of my sisters. I have sheltered those who needed it. I have been peaceful too long. Give me an enemy to bloody my hands on.”

“The Irina need—”

“We know what we need.” Ava hadn’t expected the soft-spoken Karen’s voice to be so strong. “And that is not to have others dictate to us. Bruno and I can take care of those who need shelter. There is a house that belonged to my mother outside Prague. It has been empty for many years. Bruno and I will create a safe place and let you know when it is ready. I am not a warrior.” She looked up at her mate. “And my Bruno knows this. But your mate is, Damien. And you know that.”

“I will go with Karen and Bruno,” Astrid said, looking at Ava. “And know that you can always come to my door if you need healing. Any of you.”

Mala signed something to Sari.

“Mala will go with them, as well, at least for a time,” Sari said. She looked around, frowning. “Has anyone been able to call Renata?”

Ava said, “Candace was trying to call her mobile. She’s not at her apartment in Bergen. She might still be in Oslo. Candace and Brooke are going to the scribe house there with Chelsea. Her mate is stationed there.”

Sari nodded, then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. In that moment, Ava could see the years on her face, though it remained the smooth porcelain of youth. The kitchen was almost empty. Within hours, the evacuation would be complete.

“We always knew this place could not last forever,” Sari said, reaching for her grandmother’s hand. “Change has come. We are ready. Now let this quiet war end.”

Chapter Seventeen

They debated flying to Oslo, but in the end decided that a plane would be too problematic. And traceable. Malachi, Leo, and Rhys decided to drive. Borrowing a new car from Gabriel, they left as soon as Rhys made it back to the house. The scholar was going in circles with his research into Ava’s family background, so he decided to join them. Max hadn’t given them much information. He didn’t know Ava’s exact location, only how to find her, and he claimed that Oslo was the starting point.

“Be prepared,” he had warned. “There is something going on here. Something big. Grigori are swarming the city. The local scribe house has been inundated and has even called on neighboring houses to help. It’s dangerous. Volund’s soldiers are everywhere.”

There was, of course, no talk of Grigori aggression in Vienna. Gabriel quietly took note of the information, then procured a car for the three scribes to borrow indefinitely. It might have been cramped in back, but it was enough for Leo to stretch out while Rhys took a turn during the eighteen-hour drive.

The modern highway sped past as Malachi watched out the window, alternately disturbed and comforted by how familiar and yet foreign the drive turned out to be.

“I’ve driven this route before,” he said to Rhys. “Many times, I think.”

“Probably.” Rhys reached for the cup of coffee he’d been nursing. “You were in Berlin for a long time. I imagine you drove this way when you went to Vienna.”

He frowned. “Would I have gone to Vienna much?”

“You were second to the Watcher in Berlin. I imagine you spent plenty of time there.”

Malachi shifted uncomfortably. “Konrad called me something when we met with him.”

“What?” The corner of Rhys’s mouth lifted. “The ‘Butcher’ thing?”

“Yes.”

The other scribe chuckled. “You loved that nickname. Cultivated it, once upon a time.”

“Why?”

“Because fear is as potent a weapon as fists or knives,” Rhys said. “Think of how many Grigori avoided Berlin knowing that a scribe known as ‘The Butcher’ was there.”

“So they simply went someplace else. What made Berlin more important than any other city?”

“It’s not more important or less, Malachi. But… we all have places that are significant.”

“And my parents died in Berlin.” He remembered what Konrad had said.

“Yes, they did,” Rhys said. “And when you returned to the city, you painted the walls red with Grigori blood.”

“It sounds like I was very angry.”

“You were. For hundreds of years, you were angry. Until you met Ava, I think.”

Ava. His heart ached with unknown longing. He hungered for something but couldn’t remember the taste.

“We all grieve in different ways,” Rhys said quietly.

Malachi tried to control his frustration. His past was a giant empty wound that would occasionally offer up a bubble of insight. But for the most part, there was nothing. Flashes of knowledge. An image. A scent memory. Most of what his mind offered him came from his childhood. His training. There were occasional flashes of Ava, but nothing concrete.

“You weren’t getting anywhere with the research into her family?” he asked Rhys.

“I’ve run into a brick wall. Her mother’s family is transparent. Grandparents. Great-grandparents. Ava told me once that her mother’s family didn’t talk much about their history, but it was relatively easy to find. French and German, mostly. Midwestern immigrants who came in the middle of the 1800s. Nothing about them stands out as having any supernatural origins. It’s her father who is the problem.”

“So it must be there.”

Rhys opened his mouth. Closed it. Finally, he said, “It goes against everything we know about Irin biology, but yes, it must be on her father’s side.”

“So her grandmother must have been Irina?”

“She must have been. And for Ava to be as powerful as she is, her blood must have been potent. Old. To not be diluted in the third generation, her grandmother must have been extraordinary.”

“But we know nothing about her.”

Rhys shook his head. “Her father is a musical genius, obviously, so the angelic blood shows there. But he had a normal—well, normal for him—relationship with Ava’s mother, so he’s not an Irin male. Not like we are.”

“Does he have any other children beside Ava?”

“Not that we know of.”

“Curious.”

“Or just careful,” Rhys said. “He doesn’t seem like the fatherly type.”

“No.” Though from what Malachi had learned of Ava’s father, perhaps his absence had been a blessing in disguise.

“So, Ava’s magic must come from her paternal grandmother, whom we have no records for except a single note on her father’s file that his mother was also named Ava.”

Malachi said, “Leo and I think that Reed hid her records. As an adult, we think he paid to have them disappear.”

“Why?”

“Why do we think so?” he asked. “Or why would he hide them at all?”

“Both.”

“He named his only daughter the same name as his mother. Do you think that is a coincidence?”

Rhys took the turnoff, concentrating on passing a large truck and ignoring Malachi’s comment. “I hadn’t considered that,” he said after traffic had cleared. “You’re right, a coincidence like that is highly unlikely.”

“So Jasper Reed knew his biological mother’s name. And he had money before Ava was born. He’d already made several records at that time. He would have had the money to make her records disappear if he wanted to and knew the right people.”

“And from what I’ve heard, there is more than one person in his employ who has a questionable relationship with the law.”

Malachi said, “So he knew his mother’s name and she has disappeared from the public record. It’s not hard to make the connection that it was deliberate.”

“So the other ‘why’ remains? Why would he hide it? I’ve read interviews with him. He’s very open about being raised in the foster system. Even seems proud of it, in his own way.”

“Maybe she was a criminal.”

“She blackmailed him?” Rhys offered. “And he didn’t want anyone to know?”

“Is she even still alive?”

“The secrecy doesn’t seem consistent with his public persona.”

Rhys nodded. “He’s very well-known. Most of his adult life has been lived in the public eye, and he’s notoriously unstable. He’s been arrested. Publicly intoxicated. Repeated stints in rehabilitation clinics for drugs and alcohol. He doesn’t seem to hide anything.”

“Except…” Malachi’s voice dropped when he realized what Rhys had missed. “Except Ava.”

“What?”

“Ava. He hides Ava. Have you ever heard of him having a daughter?”

Rhys thought for a moment. “No. He doesn’t speak about her in interviews.”

Malachi grudgingly acknowledged, “He seems to be very protective of her, as far as keeping her out of the spotlight. And from what you’ve said, it was his money and his influence with Ava’s mother that kept her independent.”

“Ava said her father was adamant that nothing was wrong with her mentally. Even…” The car slowed as Rhys’s thoughts drifted. He was blasted to awareness by an angry honk behind them. “Blast.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“No. I’m not tired. I was just thinking of something Ava told me once.”

“What?”

“Her father set up an independent trust fund for her to access when she was twenty-two. Her. Only her. Her mother had no access, though she had other child support while Ava was growing up. But it was the trust fund that made Ava independent. She even owns a house in Los Angeles that Reed bought her in the hills near Malibu. Very private. She never stays there, but he bought it for her.”

“So—”

“Reed knew her as a child. She thought he was only a family friend, but she knew him. Quite well. And Ava said he was one of the few people who never treated her any differently, even when she had massive anxiety and mood swings. Even when the doctors were telling her mother to commit her. At her worst—which sounded like puberty—Reed was one of the few adults in her life that Ava said she didn’t have to guard herself around.”

The light began to dawn. “You think he knew she heard voices? Did she tell him?”

“No. But if his mother was Irina, maybe he did know, Malachi. Maybe in some way, he knew his mother was different. Knew his daughter was different in the same way.”

“He named his daughter after his mother, then hid both of them from the world.”

Rhys nodded. “We know what he was hiding with Ava. Or maybe what he thought he was hiding.”

“Maybe he hid his mother for the same reasons.”

It was close to midnight when the three finally arrived in Oslo. They hadn’t warned the scribe house there that three traveling scribes were coming. Rhys knew Lang, the Watcher of the house, and was certain they would be welcomed. Max said he would contact them the next night with more information.

They knocked on the door, knowing someone would answer even at midnight. Lights were on all over the house, and he could hear voices, even past the formidable old door. The cold wind whipped down the vacant street, and the air was bitter with snow. Malachi drew his jacket closer around him.

Rhys knocked on the door again, louder, and Malachi finally heard footsteps. The door was yanked open by a harried-looking man with shaggy blond hair and hard blue eyes. He frowned for a moment until his gaze settled on Rhys.

“Rhys,” he said, a smile cracking the hard planes of his face. “Thank heaven. I didn’t know if London would send anyone. Then… I didn’t know whether I should cancel the order for help. To see a trustworthy face is more than I could have asked.”

“Lang,” Rhys started, “what are you—”

“Your friends”—the sharp eyes grew cold again—“can I trust them?”

“Of course. These are my brothers from the Istanbul house. We’ve just come from—”

“Istanbul?” Lang stepped toward them, and Malachi realized how tall the scribe was. Standing next to him, Malachi almost felt like a boy. Lang had to have been at least six and a half feet, and though his build was lean, he was hard-muscled and quick. His eyes narrowed on Rhys. “That’s right… you’re not in London. Not anymore. You’ve been in Istanbul for years now.”

“You know this, Lang. I didn’t call before because—”

“What are you doing here?” The watcher crossed his arms, and Malachi could see a hint of old talesm at his wrists. All friendly welcome had dropped from the scribe’s face, and he reached back to bang his hand on the door in three sharp, rhythmic raps. Within seconds, two more scribes were there, one even paler than Lang, the other with skin dark as the night around them. They stood, two ominous counterpoints, behind Lang’s suddenly hostile stance.

“Lang?” Rhys’s normally pale face went even paler. “What is this?”

“I received no word that scribes from Istanbul would be coming to my city. What is the meaning of your presence here?”

Malachi tried to keep his voice low. “Has the hospitality of Oslo house fallen so far that three Irin brothers are not even given welcome on a freezing night?”

Lang’s attention shifted to Malachi. “The night may be frozen but my mind is not. You come here for some purpose. I can read it in the Englishman’s face. Who sent you?”

“No one sent us.”

“Really? Then state your purpose. Or leave.”

“Really, Lang!” Rhys was indignant. “What kind of nonsense—”

“Perhaps before we state our purpose,” Malachi said, “you should tell us why you called for help from London.”

“That’s none of your concern. If you will not state your business, leave now.”

He turned and the two scribes behind him stepped forward. Both would be formidable adversaries. Malachi’s palms itched for his knives.

“We’re looking for my cousin.” Leo, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped out of the shadow. Lang turned toward his voice. “You know him. Everyone knows Maxim.”

Lang blinked in surprise, then said, “If you hadn’t said cousin, I would have thought twin. Yes, I know Max.”

“He called us. Told us to come to Oslo. We are searching for someone. A woman.”

Lang’s eyes narrowed. “What would a woman be doing in a scribe house?”

Far from allaying suspicion, the three Oslo scribes became even more hostile.

“We don’t know,” Leo said. “Max told us to come here, so we did.”

Rhys said, “Lang, our house in Istanbul was attacked. Our watcher left with an Irina who had taken shelter with us.”

Lang’s eyes narrowed. “There was an Irina in your house? In Turkey?”

“An Irina who Volund’s Grigori were targeting. It’s a complicated story, but we have been looking for them. Max called and told us to come here. I don’t know why, but—”

A flurry of Norwegian broke out between the three scribes. Malachi could follow only parts of it, but one word stood out.

“Sarihöfn,” Malachi said. “What does Sarihöfn mean?”

The argument stopped, and Lang’s eyes swung toward him. “Who was the watcher who took the woman?”

Rhys said, “Who is the watcher of Istanbul? The same scribe for the last two hundred years, Lang! Damien, of course.”

“Sarihöfn… Sari’s haven? Is that what you’re talking about?” Malachi asked, slowly stepping toward Lang. “Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t know what business you have with Sari, but—”

“For heaven’s sake, Lang!” Rhys broke in. “You know Damien. Think! You know I’ve been serving under him. I am looking for my watcher, and I don’t understand why the hell you’re being so…”

It was a little sound that stopped him. Such a little sound, Malachi thought, to stop six grown men from almost coming to blows. A delicate sound, drifting from the warmth of the open door.

A child’s laughter.

A girl child’s laughter.

Lang barked out, “Close the door!”

But before he did, Rhys and Leo had both stepped forward.

“Who are you guarding, Lang?” Rhys asked. “What is going on here?”

“Can I trust you?” he asked Rhys.

“I can’t believe you’re even asking that.”

“Yes,” Malachi said. “You can trust us. All of us. We’re looking for Damien. I need to find him.”

“Why? I don’t even know your name, scribe.”

Malachi took a deep breath and fought the roar of anger that burned in his chest. “My name is Malachi of Sakarya. I am a bound scribe of Istanbul. And I am looking for Damien, because he is guarding my mate.”

“Your mate?”

Rhys said, “They met in Istanbul. Were mated there. Volund’s Grigori overran the city, and Damien took Malachi’s woman to Sari to keep her safe. But we need to find her. We need to find them both. That is the only reason we are here.”

Leo said, “Though I’d like to know who exactly you’re guarding behind those doors, Lang. That was no scribe’s laughter.”

“It is none of your concern.”

Rhys asked, “What do you know of Sarihöfn?”

“What is Sarihöfn?” Lang asked with a blank look on his face.

Malachi forced himself not to assault the scribe. “Why do you refuse to help us? What are you afraid of?”

The dark scribe who guarded the door stepped forward, putting a hand on Lang’s shoulder before he could lunge at Malachi. He was just as tall as Lang, but with an even broader build. “My name is Jeremiah,” he said, his accent marking him as American. “You must forgive our caution, but we do have reason. Lang—all of us—received a shock a few days ago when my mate returned from Sari’s haven, saying it had been compromised. We don’t know more than that.”

“Sari’s home has been compromised?” Leo asked. “When? How?”

“The Irina are here?” Malachi asked, his heart racing.

“Only a few,” Jeremiah held up a hand. “My mate, along with a widowed Irina and her child. They are only passing through the city.”

“We don’t know the details,” Lang said. “We’ve known Sari’s haven was somewhere in the Nordfjord region for centuries. Jeremiah and one other scribe had mates who sheltered there while they worked in the city.”

“You’ve been there?” Rhys asked Jeremiah.

“No. Chelsea and I met in other locations when we could. Away from the city and the haven. It was the safest way for her and the others.”

Lang said, “None of us—not even me—knew the location. The younger scribes didn’t even know it existed.”

“Vienna had no idea?” Leo asked cautiously.

“No,” Jeremiah said. “The havens are secret for a reason. They are the last places the Irina feel safe.”

“Vienna didn’t need to know,” Lang said. “The council would have the remaining Irina forced back into retreats and breeding like livestock. I would guard Sari’s location with my life, were it necessary. Any of the havens.”

“We have no quarrel with you,” Leo said. “I only ask because we are avoiding the council’s attention, as well.”

Jeremiah and Lang exchanged looks, and Malachi felt some of the tension lessen between them.

Lang said, “We have had no word from Istanbul. Your house burned in a Grigori attack?”

“We have had little news of any kind from Vienna,” Jeremiah said. “When did this happen?”

“Months ago,” Rhys said. “We know it was reported to the council, but someone is keeping it quiet.”

Leo stepped forward and said, “Please, brother, does the fire still burn in this house?”

The ancient plea for hospitality must have moved the watcher and his scribes. Or perhaps they were as cold as Malachi. Lang exchanged a look with both the men at his side, but especially Jeremiah, who gave a small nod.

“Yes,” he finally said. “The fire still burns for our brothers. You may shelter here.”

Malachi and Rhys responded at once. “We offer our strength to defend this house.”

“Your offer is accepted.”

Lang opened the door and let them in.

“I don’t know what to think,” Lang said, his shoulders slumping a little as the four scribes warmed themselves by a large fire in the front room. Jeremiah and the other scribe, who introduced himself as Ari, had retreated to the back of the house.

“Why did you call for help from London?”

“The Grigori have been swarming the city. In the last week, we’ve had a rush of attacks. I have six scribes here at the house, and they’ve all been patrolling every night, yet we’re still losing human women to the attacks. Then a few nights ago, Jeremiah’s mate, Chelsea, arrived with the other Irina, so I’ve kept Jeremiah and Ari here at the house guarding them while the others are out trying to cover even more territory. We’re overwhelmed.”

“So you called to London?” Rhys asked. “Stockholm would be the closest house, wouldn’t it?”

“We normally have a good relationship with Stockholm house, but for some reason, they haven’t returned my e-mails or calls as they normally would. Something is going on, but I don’t have anyone to send to them.”

“So you called London. They said they were sending help?”

Lang nodded. “Then, when Chelsea showed up, I almost considered calling them back and canceling, but I know the Watcher in London. We’ve… discussed some of the council debates in Vienna, and we’re of the same mind. I thought I could trust him. I hope I can, especially with Irina here now. Forgive me, Rhys. I didn’t want to be suspicious, but you have to understand how—”

“Please.” Rhys raised a hand. “Your brother’s mate brought others here for safety, including a child. Extra caution is understandable.”

“There is no need to apologize,” Leo added.

Malachi asked, “Did Chelsea say what was happening with the other Irina who’d been at Sarihöfn? Did she know where any were going?”

“She didn’t. I’m sure the less each knew about the others’ actions, the safer they all were. She did say Sari was staying back with her mate and a few others to secure the compound before they moved.”

Leo turned to Malachi. “I’m sure Ava would stay with them. Damien wouldn’t let her leave without him.”

“Ava? Is that your mate’s name?” Lang asked. There was a frown on his face.

“Yes, that is my mate’s name. Why?”

Lang was still frowning. “That name seems familiar.”

Rhys, Leo, and Malachi exchanged looks.

“Jeremiah?” Lang called.

They heard footsteps, then Jeremiah’s head popped around the corner. “Yes?”

“The American Irina. The one Brooke and Candice were talking about. What was her name?”

“Um… Ana? No, Ava. It was Ava.” Jeremiah’s eyes swung to Malachi. “Is she your mate? No, she can’t be.”

Lang asked, “Why not? How many Irina named Ava would be at Sarihöfn? It has to be her.”

“No…” Jeremiah stepped into the room, suspicion clear on his face. “Brooke said that Ava was widowed. That she was grieving her mate.”

Lang sprang to his feet and Rhys stood to meet him, holding up his hands.

“There was a mistake. He’s not lying. Malachi is her mate, but he’s not dead. It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try,” Jeremiah said. “Because if he is truly her mate then she would know beyond a shadow of a doubt if he was living or dead. That is not something any Irin could confuse.”

Rhys looked at Malachi, then at Leo. Both of them nodded. “You have trusted us. Taken us into your home, even as you shelter your own Irina here. We give you our trust, in kind.”

Malachi rose, pulling up his sleeves to reveal his arms. He’d added to his talesm in Vienna, but they still only reached to the bicep on his left arm. A shadow of his old talesm could be seen on his right arm if he looked closely, but they were barely visible. Lang and Jeremiah halted, their aggression fading at the unexpected sight.

“I… I don’t understand,” Lang said. “How old are you?”

“That,” Rhys said, “is a somewhat complicated question.”

Malachi spoke, keeping his voice low. “I am over four hundred years old. This body, however, is… somewhat newer.”

Silence. Neither Lang nor Jeremiah were able to say a word.

Leo said, “We don’t know how it happened. He was killed. Max and Damien saw it with their own eyes. Ava did, as well. We saw her grief, and it was horrible. He was dead. But then… he came back. We don’t know how.”

“I heard her voice,” Malachi said to the stunned scribes. “It said, ‘Come back to me.’ And for some time, that was all I knew. My memories are coming back, but slowly. I dream walk with Ava, but—”

“She doesn’t know,” Lang said, his voice rough. “She would think they are only dreams, like we all experience after we lose a mate.”

“I didn’t even realize what was happening until we spoke to Gabriel.”

“Because I’m an idiot,” Leo said. “Sorry.”

“So, she is with Damien and Sari,” Jeremiah said. “If this Ava is the one who the girl speaks of, she stayed with Damien and Sari. As a sister. Brooke said she had no other people. She was alone.”

“She grieves for you,” Lang said, his voice still hoarse. “And you are alive. Heaven above, we have to help you find her.”

“Max called us,” Leo said. “He said to come here. He must know where she is.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “The location of Sarihöfn is guarded by very powerful magic. I do not know how he could have discovered it.”

“But you said it had been compromised,” Malachi said, pulling down his sleeves. It was still freezing cold in the room. “Perhaps he knows where they’ve gone now.”

Lang nodded. “It’s possible. Max knows all sorts of interesting types. He’s not the most conventional in his company.” He glanced at Leo. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Leo said. “My cousin claims to have gambled with the Fallen themselves. I’m hardly shocked by anything at this point.”

“Still,” Jeremiah said, “if he’s in the city, he’s keeping a low profile.”

“Is he keeping a low profile, or has he just not left his flat?” Jeremiah asked. “With Sarihöfn compromised, you know Renata is probably here.”

“Renata?” Leo asked. “Who is Renata?”

Lang smirked. “That, I’ll leave for your cousin to answer. Come.” He waved them toward the door. “Now that you’re here, we’ll feed you, then I’ll map out a section of the city for you to patrol tonight. You may have a mate to find, but until you do, you’re working for me. Oslo is a city under siege at the moment. We need as many hands as possible.” He looked over his shoulder at Malachi. “Even if they’re attached to bare arms.”

Chapter Eighteen

Ava stared out the window into the snow that fell over Bergen. She tried to ignore the tension in the small flat, tried to focus on the book of the Old Language that Orsala had given her before she went to the market, but she couldn’t.

Damien and Sari were fighting again.

“It’s not a good plan. We would be too exposed in Oslo, and Vienna is out of the question.”

“I’m not going to hide like a little girl, Damien. You’re the one who said change had to come. I’m only agreeing with you!”

Damien clenched his teeth. “Yes, change needs to come, but right now—”

“I don’t need to be protected.”

“But Ava does.”

“Whoa!” Ava held up her hands and spoke up. “Do not pull me into this argument. This is between you two.”

“Exactly,” Sari agreed. “And I think we head to Oslo first, before we make our way to Vienna.”

“What exactly do you think you’re accomplishing, exposing yourself this way?” Damien shouted.

“Who is debating now?” Sari said. “Old men? Those who know nothing of the reality around us? I have been hiding for two hundred years and I know more about what’s going on in the world then some of them do.”

“The council will not understand. They’ll try to take you away from me. Try to punish me for abandoning my house. If we’re exposed now, milá—” His voice broke. “I could not bear it, Sari. Not now. Not when we’ve finally…”

Sari went into his arms, and Ava turned her head away. She could still hear them.

“They have nothing to condemn you. Your house burned. You reported it. You took shelter at a scribe house. You went to your mate, but you did not abandon your duties. Evren will confirm this, and you know how he is respected.”

“He’s a scholar, not a politician.”

“Gabriel will vouch for you, as well.”

“He hates me, Sari.” Guilt layered his voice. “As he should.”

Sari’s voice was muffled, as if she was speaking against Damien’s skin. Ava glanced over her shoulder. They were embracing, despite their angry words.

“You told me yourself, Tala insisted on going into that fight. I know my sister. Gabriel knew her, too. He knows this. He may be angry with you, as I was, but he knows his mate would not be held back from battle, whether she was carrying a child or not.”

“He lost so much more than we did, Sari. I have never blamed him for his hatred.”

“Even if he does hate you, he is pragmatic. My presence in Vienna will only bolster the voices on the council who call for the Irina to return.”

They drifted into a quieter argument, and Ava turned back to the book, still trying to concentrate. It was only three in the afternoon, but the sun was already fading. Soon it would be dark. She longed for sleep. Her dreams had been even more vivid in the last nights. Her memories of Malachi gave him life, even if it was only in her own mind. She knew it wasn’t healthy. Knew she was only holding on to an illusion. But for those few precious hours, she wasn’t alone. She’d take them. She’d take anything that let her feel his presence.

She hadn’t seen Jaron again, but the dream of him was far more vivid than any other she’d had. She’d awoken from it feeling perfectly alert. She remembered every word.

“He finds you because he can. Just as I can.”

Who was Jaron talking about? Volund? There was no way of knowing who the Grigori who had found Sarihöfn belonged to because they’d been killed immediately. But Volund was the most powerful Fallen angel in the region, so it seemed logical. But why could Jaron and Volund both find her so easily? According to Orsala, the Fallen had never seen past the spells Sari had worked on the land to shield Sarihöfn. What had caused them to fail?

“I do not know his purpose. Only that he would thwart mine.”

“And what is your purpose?”

“That is not for you to know yet. I gave you my vision once. I will give you others when you need them.”

Why would Jaron give her visions? Despite who he was and how he had lied to her, Ava couldn’t help but sense the Fallen angel did not mean her harm. If he had, he’d had too many opportunities to hurt her and nothing had happened. What did his visions mean? And why could she show them to the other Irina through her song?

“Ava?”

She heard Sari’s voice but didn’t turn from staring out the window. “What’s up?”

“We’ve decided to stay here for a few more nights. I know it’s crowded in Renata’s flat, but—”

“It’s fine.” She closed the book and turned. “I’m fine. Have we decided what to do after that?”

Damien had disappeared to who-knows-where, but Sari sat next to her.

“He’s still voting for the scribe house in Cappadocia.”

“It is very isolated. I felt very safe there.”

“And I’m sure they would welcome us. They’re very old-fashioned, and Orsala would be highly regarded.”

“But you don’t want to go there?”

Sari shook her head. “No.”

“Why?”

“I’m tired of hiding. This struggle between Irin and Irina, it has to end. I can see that now. Just like my anger with Damien, we have let it fester until we are dying from the inside. If we continue like this, sunk in bitterness, anger, and willful misunderstanding, then the Grigori don’t have to kill us. We’ll die anyway.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go to Oslo and see some friends. Contact a few allies. Then I want the Irina to return to Vienna.”

Ava’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t see you as much of a politician.”

She smiled. “I’m not. But my grandmother once sat on the council. And our elders’ seats have been empty too long. We are the ones who stepped away. For us to come back, we must be the ones to return. Then we will no longer be silent.”

“The other Irina—the others in hiding—they may not agree with you.”

“Then I will find them and convince them. If I can convince my stubborn mate,” Sari said, “I can convince anyone.”

“What about me?”

“You need to go to Vienna, too. It’s time to show yourself to the Irin world.”

Ava’s heart began to race. “I… I don’t think that’s a very good—”

“He was right, you know?” Sari nodded. “Malachi. You are a miracle. It was a miracle that you survived in the human world as long as you did. It was a miracle you found Malachi and Damien in Istanbul.”

“They kind of found me.”

“And if they found you, they can find others. Don’t you think there are others out there, Ava? Sisters lost in the human world? I don’t know how, but I do think they’re out there. We have to find them. Show them who they really are.”

“I have a feeling that not everyone is going to like that idea.”

Sari gave her a rueful smile. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve never cared much about being liked.”

“Where are you?” His voice was urgent, even as he braced himself over her, covering her body with his as they lay under the forest canopy.

“Right here,” she breathed out.

Her heart raced. She held on to him, pulling him down until the broad planes of his chest pressed against her. Her lips tasted the skin of his neck. Her teeth caught his ear.

“Where… where are you, Ava?” He almost sounded like he was in pain. “I need to know.”

She frowned, confused, then pushed him back so that she straddled his hips. “I’m here. With you.” Leaning down, she pressed a kiss over his heart. “Always with you.”

“I came back to you, Ava.”

She felt a phantom pain shoot through her chest. “I know.”

“Truly.” He pulled her down, capturing her lips with his own, their breath mingling in the cold night air. It misted around them, though she didn’t feel the cold. The fog was only a blanket, concealing them from the shadows of the forest. “I came back to you. And I must find you. You need me.”

“So much.” The tears stung her eyes and she tried to focus on his presence. The energy she felt between them. It was everything—everything—she needed. She only had it here. Fleeting. She knew it wouldn’t last. She closed her eyes, desperate to hold on to the comfort of his touch.

He kissed her again, gripping the back of her hair with one strong hand. A sharp pain shot through her.

Pain?

He pulled his lips away. “I need to know where you are, Ava. You need me to find you.”

The pain distracted her from the pleasure of his kiss. “I don’t understand.”

“Where are you?”

For a moment, the voice came from outside. From another place that chilled her. An echo of his voice, then another, layered on top of it. She stilled, pulling away from him.

“What is this?”

“Dream…” He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head. “It’s a dream… but not a dream. It’s… it’s more, Ava. I can’t… I don’t know how to tell you.”

For the first time since he’d found her, dread touched her heart. “No.”

“Don’t pull away.” He reached for her, but she was already across the meadow. “Ava!”

Fear and confusion filled the space between.

“I don’t understand.” Tears slid down her cheeks. Hot. Painful. Cold wind bit her ankles.

“I’m trying to come back to you!”

“Why am I afraid?”

“Because I am! I need to find you, Ava.”

She blinked as the memory came crashing down. His face, dissolving into gold dust. She looked down, and muddy water swirled around her feet.

“You left me,” she whispered into the darkness. “And you can’t come back.”

“No,” he said, running toward her. But no matter how fast he ran, he could not come any closer. “I came back! You brought me back, Ava!”

She shook her head, pulling the darkness around her like a cloak. “No.”

His eyes turned desperate. “Ava, come to me.”

“You’re gone.”

“You must come to me.”

She sank to her knees on the cold ground. “It hurts now.”

“Please!”

“It hurts.”

A hedge sprang up between them, circling her, guarding her. Keeping him away.

“Ava, no!”

The pain that had pierced her heart faded, and his panicked voice grew dim. Faint whispers came from the trees.

“Safe.”

“Careful.”

“Safe, safe, safe.”

“Shhhhhh.”

She closed her eyes and sat on the cold ground, pressing her forehead to her knees and ignoring the small hands that tugged at her shoulders.

“Go back,” the small voices said. “You need to go back.”

No. It wasn’t safe. Something… something was different. And wrong. Something had hurt her outside the hedge.

“We need you to find your way back.”

When Ava opened her eyes, it was dark. She curled to her side and tried to stem the flood of silent tears that washed down her face. For the first time in weeks, there had been no comfort in dreams.

“Not real,” she whispered. “They aren’t real.”

Malachi died again in her heart.

Ava let the darkness take her. She closed her eyes, and she did not dream.

The next day, she walked through the flat like a zombie. Sari and Damien were gone. Orsala was in the apartment with her, but the old woman was studying a book and paid her no attention. She sat near the window, scrolling through the news on Renata’s computer. She recognized a familiar name that brought the hint of a smile to her lips.

“Huh.”

“What is huh?” Orsala asked.

“My dad. He just started a European tour for the New Year. Might try to see him if it works out.”

“Hmm.” She was distracted, flipping through the pages of the book with a frown on her face. “You’ll have to speak to Damien and Sari. See if one of them can go with you to meet him.”

The thought of having to ask permission to see her own father grated on her nerves. “If I want to see Jasper, I’ll see him.”

Orsala’s only answer was a raised eyebrow.

The more Ava thought, the more it seemed like a great idea. Jasper might have been a mess, but he did have lots of security. In fact, she liked his security a lot better than most of the nameless bodyguards her stepfather had hired over the years. Jasper’s guards were big and mean-looking, but they usually had a sense of humor. They’d have to, to work with her father. So what if they were mostly for show? It wasn’t as if Grigori were going to break into a suite at the Four Seasons and kidnap her. No one got kidnapped at a Four Seasons.

She sighed and contemplated calling her mother. She’d have to if she wanted Jasper’s number. Her phone had been left in Cappadocia, and she didn’t know anyone’s number from memory except for her mom’s. If she wanted to see Jasper, she had to call ahead. Most of his people didn’t know that Ava existed. Only his manager and head of security knew her by name.

She had time. Looking at Jasper’s website, it seemed like he’d be in Europe through the beginning of summer. Then she noticed movement out the window. It was Sari and Damien, arguing again.

“Cranky and Crankier headed back,” she told Orsala. “Estimated time of arrival, four minutes, unless they start arguing on the stairs.”

Orsala sighed. “They were always like this. For the life of me, I do not understand why.”

“They like it.”

“You’re not wrong.”

A few minutes later, Damien walked through the door with no Sari in sight. But the color was high on his cheeks and his lower lip looked distinctly… bitten.

He cleared his throat. “Sari went to call Renata. She finally got a message from her.”

“Oslo?”

He nodded and hung up his scarf on the back of the door. “I think so. Yes.”

Ava checked her work e-mail for the first time in weeks. Mostly junk, but there were thirty messages from her usual clients. A dozen or so from magazines she’d worked with occasionally. And another from an online publication she’d been considering approaching on her own. She liked their subscription numbers, and one of their regular photographers had won several prestigious awards last year. Things were moving online, and she didn’t want to be left behind.

A few months ago, she’d considered leaving her human job behind and following Malachi around the world. She didn’t know what they would do, but they’d be together. That dream was over. She’d have to find another. And with the knowledge she’d been learning from Orsala, the skills she’d learned from Mala, with a little preparation and a lot of caution, Ava thought she could probably have her old life back. At least a little bit. After all, what else was she going to do? Hunt the Grigori who had killed her mate? The attack in Bergen had shown her the foolishness of that. Join some war she didn’t understand for a race of people she barely belonged to? She had no ties here. No family.

She’d been living in a dream world in more ways than one. That wasn’t real life.

She needed her cameras, her computers, and an assignment that took her far, far away. Maybe going back to Antarctica was an option. The Galapagos. The Brazilian rain forest was probably Grigori-free.

And if it wasn’t, oh well.

“Damien,” she asked, “where are my cameras?”

“In Cappadocia, I believe. Didn’t you bring a small one with you?”

“I need my full-sized—never mind,” she muttered. “I’ll just buy new gear in Oslo.”

Maybe instead of taking one of the assignments the magazines were offering, she’d tag along with her dad on his tour. Take pictures of the rock music world for a while. He’d offered during his last tour of Asia, but their relationship had been too new. Too raw. It was still awkward to think of him as her father. But a few years had passed. They talked regularly… well, if every six months or so with the occasional e-mail between was regular.

He said he wanted to know her more. This might be the perfect opportunity.

Damien sat down beside her. “You seem…”

“What?”

“Distant. Did anything happen?”

I woke up from a dream. I realized the love of my life is really gone. I gave up pretending I was anything special.

“Nothing much. Just checking mail. I need to call my dad.”

“You talked to your mother last week, didn’t you?”

“She informs on me, but I should call him directly. He’s in London right now.”

“Hmm.” He was eyeing her with suspicion, but Ava ignored him. She ignored the pang of guilt. Damien would probably go batshit insane if she talked to him about following her dad on tour. But he wasn’t her boss. Sure, they said she was family, but she wasn’t. Not really. They had a political war to fight that didn’t include her. She didn’t even want to get involved. There were other girls like her out there? Fine. She’d survived. They would, too.

“I know you’ve been cooped up in here. Do you want to go out for a walk?”

And scope out Grigori soldiers for you, so you and Sari could kill them? Make myself even more of a target?

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

He was on to her, but Ava didn’t care. She was just… done. She could rebuild the wall Malachi had pulled down. She’d have to. Then she’d move on with her life. And if the Grigori caught up with her?

She didn’t really care anymore.

There were pounding footsteps on the stairs. The door burst open, and Sari rushed in. She stared at Ava, then her eyes darted to Damien. Then back to Ava.

“What’s the deal?” Ava was trying not to feel freaked out, but something was obviously wrong.

Sari blinked and closed the door behind her. “We need to get to Oslo.”

Damien frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll explain more in the car. But… we need to go.”

“Now?” Orsala asked. “The sun is almost down. It’s a six-hour drive. We’ll go in the morning.”

Damien was more cautious. “What is happening in Oslo?”

Sari glanced at Ava again, but Ava looked back to the computer. She’d follow along to Oslo, there was a large airport there. After that, she’d catch a plane to London and make her way from there. She was done with the Irin fantasy world. She needed to get back to her own.

“Some of the Istanbul scribes arrived at the Oslo house. There is… news you need to hear.”

Her heart twisted a little. Part of her would have liked to see Rhys, Leo, and Max again. But even the thought was too painful. They looked at her and saw Malachi’s mate. She looked at them and saw his brothers. It was too much.

Too much.

She was done.

“Pack up,” Sari said. “I promise I’ll tell you more in the car. I’m… not sure of everything that is happening. Renata is meeting with them tonight. We’ll talk to her after we get there. She’ll know more. Ava, are you ready to go?”

She closed the computer and shrugged. “I don’t have much stuff. I’ll throw it in a bag and we can disappear.”

Damien shot her another suspicious look, but she ignored it and started packing.

Oslo. She’d get to Oslo. And then she’d be gone.

V.

Göteborg, Sweden

“Oslo,” Volund said, stroking the neck of the woman who lay naked across his lap. “The woman is in Oslo.”

“What woman?” the human asked, blinking sleepy eyes.

“Shut up.” Volund looked up at Brage. “She was spotted in Bergen by one of your brothers. Pure coincidence. Jaron had been concealing her there in one of the Irina communities.”

“The Irina?”

“The compound has been found. It’s empty now. They killed the soldiers I sent, but the Irin left anyway. They’re not unintelligent.”

“How do you know they’re in Oslo?”

The sound of the woman gasping was the only clue that Volund was angry. His grip had tightened on her throat and she kicked and flailed while Brage stood in silence, considering his mistake. He’d had too many questions swirling in his mind, and he’d made a foolish error. Volund wouldn’t send him there unless he was certain.

“Forgive me, Father.”

The angel released the hold on the woman’s neck, but she only lay there with tears running down her face. Volund tossed her to the side and stood, growing as he stepped closer to his child and his human mask fell away.

“Find the woman.”

“Yes, Father.” Brage fought to control his physical response as the angel towered over him and the woman whimpered on the couch.

“Find her and kill the scribe. They are stronger together. But do not harm the woman. She is mine.”

Brage trembled before the Fallen.

“Yes, Father.”

“Do you have any messages for me?”

A trickle of urine ran down his leg as he remembered Svarog’s message.

“A message from Svarog, Father.”

“Yes?”

“His words were ‘I know what he is doing, and I want no part of it. If he thinks I will roll over as Jaron did in Istanbul, he is mistaken.’”

Brage stood motionless before Volund, bracing for a reaction, though he could not predict what it would be. There was only the whimpering of the woman, the stink of his own urine, and the white tile that covered the floor as he kept his eyes trained down.

Finally, Volund threw his head back and laughed.

“Svarog…,” he muttered, stepping away from Brage and sinking back into his human facade.

Volund lifted the woman on the couch and passed a hand over her neck, healing the red marks before he gave her a smile and kissed her on the lips. His fingers brushed away the tears on her cheeks and he cupped her flushed cheek in his palm. “Look at you,” he said. “What a pretty one.”

Brage said nothing, waiting for his Father’s leave to speak. Volund never gave it, but he spoke to Brage over his shoulder.

“Go to the house in Oslo. I’ve already sent some of your brothers there. Kill the scribe. Capture the woman and bring her to me. No harm must come to her. Do not fail me this time.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Feed from one of the women in the house before you go.”

“I will.”

“And tell someone to clean up your piss. It stinks.”

Brage pinned the woman down with his body as she moaned in pleasure, keeping as much skin contact as possible between them. It was heady, the rush of energy that flowed from her limbs and into him. He drew from her as he thrust in and out. She gasped and moaned in pleasure, but he could feel her weakening under him. He needed more.

He needed everything.

He captured her lips, breathing in the rush of her soul’s life. It was the only magic he owned, this terrible hunger. The woman’s soul fed him, filled the hollow in his chest. He could almost picture it. A great black hole that lived where his heart should be.

Hungry. It was so hungry.

He came in a rush after the woman peaked, giving up her climax to the greed of his body. It was the final ecstasy for her, and the closest that Brage would ever feel to satisfaction in anything. For the seconds it lasted, he felt alive.

The woman was unconscious when Brage pulled out of her. He lay back on the bed and pulled her body over his, spreading her arms across his chest to maintain contact.

She would die. But then, she would have died anyway. Humans were fragile. One this beautiful should have been a delicacy to be savored. But he’d been hungry. He hadn’t fed since Budapest, and the visit with his father had drained him.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as he felt the last of her energy soak into him.

For a moment, he recalled the woman and the scribe. Remembered how he’d seen them in Istanbul, embracing. He’d held her against his body and, instead of fainting, she’d grown stronger. He fed her as she fed him.

“Find her and kill the scribe. They are stronger together.”

As the Irin always were with their Irina. It was the reason his father had led the attack that had almost eradicated the females of the race. They were stronger mated with their own kind. Mating was a privilege never given to the Grigori. They could only take and take and take until there was nothing left.

The woman’s heart stopped and Brage pushed her body to the floor, ignoring the bitter taste on his tongue.

Chapter Nineteen

The streets of Oslo later that afternoon were just as cold as Malachi expected. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to keep the Grigori inside.

“Another one,” Rhys grunted, turning down an alley behind a bar on the outskirts of town, following the scent of sandalwood.

Malachi and Lang slipped into the alley behind the other scribe, and Malachi pulled down his leather glove to trace the edges of his talesm prim. Within seconds, he could feel the surge of power. He’d slept fitfully that evening, and his dream walk with Ava was murky. He’d woken from a brief nap with a feeling of dread and loss that chased him out of the scribe house and on patrol with Rhys and Lang.

Urgency stalked him. Some instinct warned him that something very dark and very dangerous was heading toward the cold city on the edge of the fjord. The sky hung bitter and grey, and the clouds were low.

They reached the end of the alley to see two Grigori with human women wrapped around them. The women moaned with pleasure, but as the Grigori turned their heads, the twin expressions on their faces chilled him.

Dead. Malachi had never seen colder eyes. No smirk of pleasure. No vengeful gleam. They were animals, feeding from prey. They shoved off and stepped away from the women in unison, turning to the Irin scribes as they zipped up their pants and pulled out their knives.

“Rhys,” Lang called, “get the women inside somewhere. They’ll die of exposure with this wind.”

Rhys waited until the two soldiers were distracted by Malachi and Lang, then he bent down and tried to help both of the humans up with gloved hands, careful not to touch their skin for fear of harming them further.

The Grigori didn’t stop. They didn’t charge. They walked steadily toward Malachi and Lang, no expression on their pale faces, no caution in their steps. Their dead faces were eerie. Malachi and Lang spread to opposite sides of the alley and the two Grigori split to mirror them.

Malachi raised his dagger, feinting right before he lunged left, flipping the dagger to his left hand and trying to slip under his opponent’s arm, which had lifted to stab him. He felt a quick slice along his shoulder, but within seconds, the Grigori was shoved up against the wall of the alley, and Malachi’s blade was piercing his spine.

The soldier said nothing in his last breaths. Then his dust rose to heaven and the silent monster was gone.

Malachi turned to see Lang with the other soldier propped against a wall. The Grigori’s face was bloody and his hands hung limply at his sides.

“Who sent you?” Lang didn’t yell, and his voice was all the more frightening because of it. “Hmm? I understand what you need. Do you think I do not pity you? To have to touch these… humans, just to feel alive. No one pities you more than I. But tell me, who sent you to my city, eh?”

The Grigori soldier said nothing, perhaps sensing Lang’s false sincerity. He looked exactly like his brother. Pale and ethereally handsome, the two could have been runway models. Their light brown hair was close-cropped and their skin unlined. The two humans would have been entranced by the sight of them, Malachi was sure.

Undiluted by generations, Grigori were bred from the Fallen themselves. Direct descendants of the ancients, and their looks proved it. Not even the Irina were immune to their unnatural charm. But for Malachi, Grigori perfection prompted an instinctive revulsion.

“There are more of you this past week,” Lang continued to speak softly, but the Grigori still had no expression. “Is there a master in the city? Has Volund come for a visit?”

With any luck, Rhys would have both of the women at the hospital. Human medicine couldn’t do much for them if the Grigori had drained too much of their energy, but the doctors would provide a safe place for the women’s bodies to heal themselves if they were able.

“Tell me what is happening,” Lang said, “and I will let you go. You can chase after the human again. She probably didn’t go far.”

Finally, the Grigori’s expression changed. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Why run after the humans, scribe, when far more delectable flesh awaits those who please my father?”

The air might have been sucked from Malachi’s lungs.

“We know…” The soldier grinned, the smile of a predator assured of his prey. He sang, “They’re baaaack. We know—”

He broke off when Lang’s fist met his mouth. But the Grigori only spit out blood and smiled again.

“My brothers look forward to welcoming the Irina home.”

Lang did not hesitate. He pulled the soldier forward by the ear and smashed the monster’s nose into his knee. Then the silver knife plunged in, and the Grigori dust rose.

The watcher said nothing, staring at the grimy wall while music and voices from the bar filtered through the alley.

“It’s happening again,” he said. Spinning around, Lang walked quickly, his long legs eating up the length of the alley while Malachi hurried to keep up.

“Find Rhys. Keep hunting. I need to make calls. We’ll not be taken by surprise again. Look for Max and Renata. If anyone knows what the Grigori may be up to, it will be Max. And Renata will be able to contact Sari.”

“I’ll keep hunting,” Malachi assured him, halting near the car while Lang opened the door.

“This will not happen again,” Lang said. “Not in my city.”

Then he got in the car and shot out into the street. Rhys found Malachi only a few moments later.

“Hey.” Rhys’s breath froze in the night air. “Where did Lang go?”

“The Grigori know the Irina are back,” he said. “He went back to the house.”

“Damn.”

“We need to find Max.”

Rhys shrugged. “No need. He keeps a flat downtown. He’s not nearly as secretive as he’d like to think.”

“Is it far?” It was cold, and Malachi didn’t relish trudging through the dark streets, though it was possible they would pick up a few more Grigori kills along the way. The two they’d just hunted had been their sixth and seventh of the night. The city truly was flooded with the creatures.

Rhys watched the taillights of Lang’s car turn left at the light. “Does it matter? We’re walking, whether we like it or not.”

“Lead the way.”

They turned in the opposite direction and began walking. Silent, at first, then remarking on the streets they passed and the human traffic, which didn’t seem to slow, even so late at night. They passed many young people, but no other Grigori crossed their path. By the time they made it to the nondescript apartment building where Max kept a flat, Malachi was ready for a drink.

“Do you think he has beer?” he asked Rhys.

“You know, even without your memories, you’re still remarkably you.”

“And even though I don’t remember you, I know that statement should annoy me, and yet it doesn’t.”

The two scribes entered the building smiling, only to be met in the lobby by a muttered curse. Malachi lifted his eyes to see a stunning, dark-haired Irina, as tall as he was, though far better dressed. He didn’t know how he knew she was Irina. Some instinct drew him. Her aura radiated power.

“Ren, do you know where I put my—” Max stepped out of the stairwell, breaking off when he saw them. He halted in the act of wrapping a dark red scarf around his neck and practically shouted, “You’re here!” His smile made no mystery of their welcome. “We were just about to drive to Oslo house to find you.”

Max walked over and embraced Rhys, slapping him on the back, but Malachi’s eyes never left the woman that Max had called Ren.

She stared at him, her face growing pale. He could see her hand trembling and knew just by looking at her that the gesture was uncharacteristic. Max went to her side.

“Renata?”

“You told me… I didn’t believe you. Not really. But it’s really him.”

“I told you.”

“He’s really alive.”

Malachi might have been mistaken, but he thought he saw tears in the corners of the woman’s eyes. She walked over, tentatively reaching out a hand.

“I’ve seen you, scribe. In pictures. In her visions. Her memories of you. She sang them to us. Her grief… To see you here, I cannot—”

“I told you,” Max said quietly, putting an arm around Renata’s waist.

“You tell me many things, Maxim.” Her voice held a note of irritation, even as her hand lifted to Malachi’s cheek. It rested there while he met her wondering eyes.

“She thinks you dead, Malachi.”

“Please.” He fought back the hitch in his voice. “Where is she?”

They sat around the table in Max’s stylish apartment, waiting for Renata to finish her phone call. Malachi looked around warily.

“You live well, Max.”

The scribe crossed his tattooed arms and smiled. “I’ve never been very comfortable with the communal life. I serve my scribe house, but that doesn’t mean that other… projects do not interest me.”

Rhys said, “Max has always been an excellent gambler.”

“And investor.” He shrugged. “Sometimes interesting opportunities present themselves. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of them.”

“This is all very interesting, but why can’t Renata just tell us where Ava is? We know Sarihöfn was compromised. Surely Renata knows where they would take her.”

“That was a surprise to her. I can tell you that much. She’d not checked her messages for a few days as we were busy. She’s contacting Sari right now. They have a system, and I’m not privy to it. No scribe is.”

Rhys said, “They’re very cautious.”

“They’ve managed to stay hidden for over two hundred years. Of course they’re cautious.”

“Have you ever been there?” Malachi asked. “To this haven where Ava was?”

“No. And I’ve no idea how to find it. She couldn’t tell me if she wanted to. Which she doesn’t.”

Rhys shifted in his seat. “Renata doesn’t seem like your average Irina.”

“She’s not.”

“What does she do?”

Renata walked into the dining room, phone still in her hand. “Whatever I want to, scribe.” She looked at Max. “I left her a message with this number. May I keep this phone for a while?”

“Of course.”

She sat down, plainly staring at Malachi.

“How?” she finally asked. “Max said he saw you die.”

“We don’t know,” Malachi said. “Her magic. I don’t remember much.”

“I’ve seen her do many things,” Renata said. “None of them close to bringing someone back to life.”

Rhys said, “Maybe she didn’t know she was doing it.”

“Obviously.” Renata rolled her eyes at Rhys. “She thinks he’s dead.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“The question is,” Max broke in. “How are we going to tell her that you’re not dead without her going into shock?”

“Would she think it’s a trick?” Renata asked. “Not that any of us would be that cruel, but she’s going to have a hard time accepting it.”

“Maybe not as hard as we think,” Rhys said. “They’ve been dream walking.”

“I know they have!” Renata said. “They’ve been giving her a hard time about sleeping so much. They think she’s depressed. Of course, we all thought they were only dreams. There was no way of knowing he was actually… you know.”

“Alive?” Malachi said. “Is it that hard to say?”

“It’s that hard to believe, and I am not your mate.”

What was she, exactly? Malachi looked between Renata and Max. There was clearly some intimacy there, but Malachi was too weary to try to decode it.

“When will they be here?” He sighed. “I just want to see her. We can sort out what to say later. I just… I need to see her, Renata.”

Her hand slid across the table and enveloped his. Malachi chanced a look at Max, who had his eyes locked on Renata’s hand, clearly displeased.

Oh yes. There was something there.

“I cannot imagine what the two of you have been going through,” she said. “But we will make it right. You will be together again. I imagine with the message I left Sari, they will be here by tomorrow. Then you will see your Ava again.”

“Thank you,” Malachi said. “I know this is all hard to fathom.”

She smiled, lifting a hand to tug on the front of his hair. “You’re a miracle. Her miracle.”

“I hope she thinks the same.”

Rhys went back to the Oslo house to let Lang know what was happening. Malachi stayed in the spare bedroom at Max’s. Renata had given Sari that address. When Ava came to the city, she would meet them there.

Malachi tried to sleep, but his dreams troubled him. He was once again walking through a dark forest. Ava was nowhere in sight, and she no longer called for him. In fact, the air was dead silent. No birds sang. It was as if all life had left the place. He walked through the shadows, softly calling for her, but she did not answer.

When he woke, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what it meant. From the beginning, his dreams of her had kept him sane. Was she simply not sleeping? Had she withdrawn? Was that even possible between mates?

It was early morning, but the moon was still out. He stared into the blackness outside Max’s flat, ignoring the city lights and looking at the stars. A soft knock came at the front door, and he sat bolt upright in bed.

His heart raced, but the only voice he heard was unfamiliar. And male.

Malachi threw on a shirt and walked to the door. Cracking it open, he saw an Irin couple standing in the entry way. The woman was embracing Renata, the man was shaking hands with Max.

Damien. This must be the Watcher they spoke of. He was imposing. Commanding. His presence filled the room, and keen eyes swept the apartment. Malachi opened the door a few more inches and watched as Damien finally saw him.

Shock. Grief. Disbelief. Awe. The emotions flickered through his eyes though his expression did not change. “Impossible,” he whispered.

“Not impossible,” said Max. “He’s here. It’s him.”

Malachi stepped into the room and saw Sari watching him.

“It’s him. It’s…” She grabbed for her mate’s hand. “Damien?”

“Yes.” The first hint of emotion hit Damien’s voice. “It looks like him. Brother?”

Malachi approached. “It’s me, Damien.”

An exclamation of praise in the Old Language, and then Damien walked to him, grabbing his shoulders in a tight embrace. All taciturn soldier forgotten, he hugged Malachi as a brother.

“Praise heaven! I don’t know how this is possible,” Damien choked out. “It’s you. Your voice— It’s truly you. How?”

Max said, “We don’t know. Evren thinks it’s Ava’s power. That she somehow brought him back.”

“I heard her,” Malachi said quietly. “In the Old Language. She called me to come back to her. And… I did.”

He heard Sari say, “She can project her visions. Can she actually will them to be?” Her voice bordered between awe and fear.

Damien slapped Malachi on the back and stepped back, wiping his eyes. “No miracle like this would occur without the will of the Creator himself. Who are we to question this, milá?”

Sari was still eyeing him with some suspicion. “This will be a shock to her.”

Damien nodded. “We will be cautious. But this could not have come at a better time. She has been drawing away. She bought plane tickets to London on her phone.”

“What?” Max said. “London?”

“Her father is there. I think she was planning to go to him. Not that I’d have allowed it, of course.”

Malachi bristled at Damien’s tone, even though he knew the watcher was guarding his mate. “Where is Ava?” he asked. “Is she with you?”

“Heaven, no,” Sari said. “We needed to make sure Renata hadn’t lost her mind first. She’s at Lang’s house. She was happy to see Brooke there.”

“And Rhys,” Damien added. “Though we warned him not to say anything about you yet.”

Sari said, “I think she and Orsala were going to get some sleep. Neither was able to rest in the car.”

“So you know she was planning to escape to London, yet you left her in an overwhelmed scribe house with only a few guards?” Max asked. “That seems… prudent.”

Malachi walked to the door, grabbing for his jacket. “Take me there.”

“Brother, hold.” Max put a hand on Malachi’s shoulder.

“Take me to my mate!”

“Give her time to rest,” Sari said. “This is going to be a massive shock. I know you need to see her—you must be going out of your mind with it—but give her time. Otherwise your reunion could go very badly.”

Malachi vibrated with need. His heart was racing just knowing she was within reach. He ached for her, but he tried to think of Ava’s needs before his own. She thought him dead. It was going to be a shock no matter how much they prepared her. He slowly released the grip on the doorknob and stepped back.

“When?”

“It’s not even dawn,” Damien said. “Stay here. We’ll bring her to you later today. But let us give her time to prepare. Don’t forget, Malachi, she felt you die. You don’t remember that pain, because you were gone, but she lost half her soul that day. She barely ate. She has grieved, brother. This may be far more difficult for her to accept than any of us can know.”

“And you are not yourself,” Max added, squeezing Malachi’s shoulder. “You barely remember her. You barely remember any of your past. You love her, but you don’t know her anymore. You will have to learn each other again.”

“Give us time, Malachi.” Sari, the Irina whom so many regarded with frightened awe, came to him and embraced him. “Give your Ava time, and we will bring her to you.”

Chapter Twenty

As much as Ava enjoyed seeing Brooke at the scribe house in Oslo, she was anxious to get away. It only made her decision to go back to the human world that much harder. She didn’t want to witness the easy camaraderie of the Oslo scribes, which reminded her so much of Istanbul. She didn’t want to recognize the open adoration the men showered on Brooke and her mother—whom Ava had finally discovered was named Candace. They delighted in every childish story the girl told and answered any question Candace put to them. The older scribes were obviously more accustomed to Irina—one of the men was mated to Chelsea, who had been at Sarihöfn—but they doted on the women no less because of it.

They were exhausted from patrolling but still had time to cook breakfast for all of them and make them welcome in the large old house in the middle of Oslo. They welcomed Orsala with wonder, clearly honored to have the elder Irina in their home. They greeted Damien and Sari with respect. One young-looking scribe clearly had to hold himself back from openly embracing Ava when she walked through the door.

“They’ve come back,” she heard him whisper to his brother. He didn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. “Do you think… they’ve really come back?”

Ava tried to ignore it all. She hid in the small room they’d given her, ignoring their kind eyes and welcoming voices. She tried to sleep but couldn’t, even though she was exhausted. When she finally dozed off midmorning, she woke to see a familiar figure sitting near the foot of the bed.

“Rhys? What are you doing here?”

“No one had seen you for hours,” Rhys said quietly. A bashful smile was on his lips. “I’m sorry to intrude. It’s just… very good to see you, Ava.”

“What are you doing in Oslo?” Her voice was hoarse, and she reached for the bottle of water near the bed.

“Max called us. He’s in the city.”

“You left Turkey?”

He nodded. “Things happened. We needed to go to Vienna. I went to the archives there. Tried to find out more about your family. I… uh, I did find out a bit more, but where you come from is still a mystery.”

“It’s not important.” Not anymore.

He just nodded. “I met Orsala. She says you’re doing very well with your lessons. Says you’re going to be very powerful. A daughter of Leoc? That’s wonderful, Ava. Such a gift.”

“She’s a good teacher.” What would she do about living in the human world again? Would she continue to have visions? Would the spells Orsala had taught her continue to shield her? If so, she could live a far more normal life than she had before. Sure, she wouldn’t be in physical contact with the Irin again, and her anxiety would probably skyrocket, but she could deal. She’d dealt before. The drugs were improving all the time.

Awkward silence descended. Part of her was ecstatic to see Rhys again. Even with the friends she’d made at Sarihöfn, she’d still felt different. Set apart. She wondered if part of her would always think of Istanbul as home, simply because he’d been there.

But the other part of her—the pragmatic one—didn’t want to see any of Malachi’s brothers. Especially Rhys. She didn’t want to remember his grief or hers. Didn’t want to remember his friendship. After she left for London tomorrow morning, she wouldn’t see him again.

A clean break from everyone was better. She just hoped she could get to the airport without Damien finding out.

Rhys was still staring at her. “How have you been?”

She nodded. “Fine. Good.”

“You’re being very…”

“What?” She rubbed her eyes.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. “Sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“Only a few weeks, really.”

Was it only a few weeks? Her days and nights had run together in one long ribbon of confusion, revelation, and grief.

“I suppose it only seems longer. We missed you very much.”

“Max and Leo are here, too?”

He nodded. “Max keeps a flat here in the city. Which no one knew about. Get him out of Istanbul and he’s quite the man of mystery. I suppose we know part of where he goes when he leaves town. We just assumed it was Monte Carlo or Las Vegas.”

She smiled. Somehow, it wasn’t all that surprising. “And Leo?”

He hesitated. “Out patrolling right now. Helping the scribes here. There’s been an unexpected influx of Grigori and no one knows why.”

Ava’s eyes narrowed, and she opened her mind to listen to his inner voice. Rhys was lying. But why? What was Leo actually doing, if not patrolling?

“Good of him to help out. I heard about the Grigori. I mean, we didn’t get all that much news in Sarihöfn, but once we got here, everyone was buzzing.”

He didn’t say anything, just continued watching her with those solemn green eyes.

“What’s going on, Ava?”

How could he even tell?

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re different. Something is different.”

“I’m tired, Rhys. It’s been a crowded few months. Everything in Turkey… and now I’ve had to run from the one place everyone told me I was totally safe. I’m… tired.”

She was tired. No, more. She was weary. Weary of running. Weary of struggling through a world she didn’t know anymore. Weary of having tasted happiness only to have it violently yanked away.

“Don’t give up on us yet, Ava.” His voice was so soft, his words so poignant, it was almost as if he could read her mind. “There are things you haven’t seen yet.”

“Rhys, I…” She felt her throat closing up, and her eyes started to tear.

Why was he still there? Why couldn’t they all just leave her alone? Didn’t they understand she didn’t want to be protected anymore? The grief was too much. The pain was exhausting. Her whole life… “I’m just really, really tired, Rhys. Can you let me sleep?”

“Sweet dreams, Ava?”

She blinked away the tears and looked up in shock. “What?”

He cleared his throat. “Have you been having good dreams? No nightmares, I hope.”

“They’re fine.” Or they had been until she’d forced herself to remember she couldn’t live in a dream world anymore. “I don’t remember my dreams much, to be honest. Never have.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. About having good dreams or about remembering them, Ava? Hmm?”

“Why are you still here?” Anger spiked through her sadness. “You can leave now.”

“Fine.” He stood, his eyes never leaving hers. “Get dressed. Get washed up. I’ll meet you downstairs. We have someplace to go.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.”

He rolled his eyes before he turned. When he got to the door, Rhys called over his shoulder. “Don’t create a scene, darling. Wouldn’t you rather keep a low profile before you try to sneak off?”

Bastard scribe. He always saw too much.

Ava decided to act like the interlude in her bedroom hadn’t even happened when she finally made her way downstairs. Rhys was at the counter, speaking with Orsala. It sounded like they were debating the interpretation of some story or myth.

“But the St. Petersburg manuscript—”

“Manuscripts?” Orsala said. “Manuscripts are always influenced by the scribe. There is no avoiding it. What you must look for is the common thread running through all the historical accounts. That is where the truth lies.”

Rhys shook his head. “I… I can’t believe you’re discounting the oldest known account of Deandra’s vision. Carbon dating has placed that manuscript within a hundred years of her life. No other existing document comes close.”

“But that is only one document. You must look at more than just the documents, Rhys. You must—”

“This sounds like an argument that can’t be won,” Ava said with a false smile. “Hey, Orsala. I see you met Rhys.”

She smiled until her eyes creased. “Such fun to debate with a knowledgeable partner. I met Rhys’s mother many years ago. She would be proud of his good mind.”

Ava saw the blush at Rhys’s neck, but she ignored it and said, “I heard we have some place to go?”

He nodded and finished the cup of coffee in front of him. “Sari and Damien are over at Max’s house. During the day, the Grigori activity seems to be slow. I thought we’d head over for lunch.”

“Sure. Why not? Orsala, you want to come?”

“I have something to speak to Lang about when he wakes, then I believe I will spend some time with Brooke and Candace.” She smiled and patted Rhys’s shoulder. “Conversation with the young is a joy to the old.”

“Okay.” She nodded toward the door. “I’m ready when you are.”

He stood and grabbed a jacket that was lying over the back of a chair. They walked to the door and Rhys grabbed her hand, bending down to speak quietly in her ear.

“I’m sorry about before. In your room. Your dreams are none of my business, Ava.”

She didn’t want to think about her dreams. Or his apology. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. We all grieve in our own way. I just hope… I hope you’ll be better soon.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Rhys smiled, and there was a knowing gleam in his eye. “I think you’ll be more than fine.”

She opened the door and walked out into the glowing white of the street. It was cold—according to Orsala—even for Oslo. It usually didn’t reach the lowest temperatures until later in the winter.

“Just lucky for me, I guess,” she muttered to herself.

“What?” Rhys closed the door, testing to make sure it was locked.

“Nothing.” She heard the complicated alarm system Lang had tried to explain to her beep in their wake before she and Rhys started walking.

“Do you have a car?”

“It’s at Max’s. They dropped me off earlier. We can catch a taxi up the street. It’s not far.”

They walked in silence, the air frosting their breath as Ava tucked her scarf closer around her neck. Something itched under her skin. She’d noticed it that morning in the shower. It was almost as if she could feel her mating marks moving. The skin along her spine and neck crawled with energy. It wasn’t painful, just an awareness of the marks he had left on her. The marks that would never go away. She wondered if she would feel them less and less as the years went by. Maybe, if she wasn’t around other Irin, she wouldn’t notice them as much.

Rhys walked in silence. Suspicious, she opened her mind. His inner voice was a confused jumble, but she could pick out a few words. Her knowledge of the Old Language was growing.

Stop.

Pain.

Malachi.

Mate.

Malachi.

Malachi.

Malachi.

Her soul welled in grief at the sound of his name. Rhys’s thoughts circled until she locked down her mind with a few whispered words.

“What?” He looked down.

“Sorry. You were… loud.”

He blinked at her, startled. “And you used a spell to shut me out. You can understand my thoughts now?”

“Not much. Just… It’s never the way people think, you know? Now that I can understand bits of the Old Language, I realize people don’t think in complete sentences. Or their souls don’t, I guess. It’s more like… impressions. A word here or there. A phrase. It’s more emotion than distinct thoughts.”

“Oh.” He turned at the corner and headed toward a taxi stand. It was the middle of the week and traffic was light, but it still took a few minutes for a car to show up. They slid in the back and Ava rubbed her hands together, happy to be in the heat again.

Rhys leaned forward. “Pardon me. English?”

“Of course.”

He gave the driver an address, then sat back and looked at her. Then he looked away and stared out the window.

“I know you’re worried about me, Rhys.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m fine. Really. This is normal, right?” She tried to explain it in a way that would leave him unconcerned about her future. “Like you said, we all grieve in different ways. This is a step. It’s hard for me to be around you, because you remind me of… Malachi.” She forced herself to use his name. “That will pass in time. God knows, I’m not the only woman in the world to lose a partner. I’ll be fine.”

She was surprised when he grabbed her hand.

“Just… wait,” he said. “Don’t shut down on me. Don’t draw away.”

The intensity of his voice rocked her. What was going on? Did Rhys have feelings for her? There had been a flirtation at the beginning, but she could have sworn they were past it.

“Rhys, you know I only think of you as a friend, right?”

He shook his head. “It’s not that. I mean, yes, of course I know—”

“I’m not even thinking of anyone that way right now. I can’t.” Her concern for him broke through her resolve. The last thing she needed was to break a friend’s heart before she cut him—all of them—out of her life. “And I don’t want you to think—”

“Ava!” He pressed his lips together when he saw the driver looking back at them suspiciously. “I’m not talking about my feelings for you. Which are only of friendship, of course. I’m talking about—”

“Then what’s all the talk about me shutting down and drawing away?”

“I just…” He almost looked as if he was in pain. “There are some things… some mysteries—”

“Here!” The car jerked to a halt in front of a large, modern apartment building. The driver looked at Ava. “Are you getting out with him, miss? Or can I take you to another address?”

Ava smiled at his concern. “I’m fine here. Thank you.”

Rhys paid the driver and slid silently from the car, holding out a hand to help her on the icy sidewalk. As the taxi pulled away, he put both hands on her shoulders and dipped his head down to meet her eyes.

“There are some magics—some destinies—we can only guess at. As much as I study, as much as I revere science and strive to be a rational scholar, I can never forget this. We are”—he let out a rueful laugh—“descended from angels, Ava. There are some mysteries only heaven knows. Remember that.”

She frowned. “I know.”

“Remember that.”

“Will you just tell me what the hell is going on, Rhys? I’m starting to worry.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the lobby. “Welcome to my world for the past few weeks.”

As soon as Ava walked through the door, her senses were assaulted. There was something seriously… other about Max’s place. She ignored Sari and Renata’s warm greetings. She ignored Damien’s obvious concern. She felt like she was going to jump out of her skin. She flinched when Max put a hand on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You tell me.” She crossed her arms and stepped away from him. “I don’t… I don’t feel good. What’s going on?”

All five of them exchanged worried glances, but Ava had a hard time focusing on anything but the crawling feeling beneath her skin. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it was difficult. Her instincts urged her to flee.

“Ava,” Damien started.

“Where’s Leo?”

She rubbed her arms. Her skin was going crazy. She whispered another spell to shut out the souls in the room that were practically shouting at her. The tension caused her stomach to pitch.

“I think… I need to go.”

“Ava, why don’t you sit down?” Sari said.

Her breathing picked up. “What’s going on here? What’s wrong with this place?”

Rhys stepped forward and raised his hands. “Remember what I told you, Ava. Remember what I said.”

“What?” She didn’t remember anything. She felt battered. There was too much going on. Too many thoughts. Too many emotions. And threading through the chaos was the echo of a voice that couldn’t be. Malachi’s voice. She hadn’t heard it months. Not since she’d started lessons with Orsala. The memory of it shoved her back painfully. Ava felt the tears come to her eyes, but she blinked them back.

“Rhys, I want to go.”

“No!” Renata almost shouted. “You can’t.”

“Please,” Max said. “Ava, if you’d just sit down and—”

“Where’s Leo?” she asked again. She would see him, then leave. She couldn’t stay in this apartment any longer. “Where is he? I just want to see him and then I’ll go back. I don’t want to be here.”

A door down the hall burst open and Leo came charging out with a smile. “Hello, sister.” He rushed over and picked her up in his arms, swinging her around. She buried her face in his chest and took a deep breath.

“I missed you, Ava.”

“I missed you, too.” His arms were warm and steady around her, a familiar comfort. “I’m sorry, Leo. I… I need to go.”

“No. Please, stay. Everything will be all right.”

“It’s not you. I just don’t feel good.”

“There is someone here, Ava. Someone—”

“Your shirt.” She picked at the button on the front, frowning. Something about it.

“You need to sit down. We don’t want to shock you, but… There’s no easy way to say this.”

There was something about the scent of his shirt. Ava took a deep breath as Leo’s hand smoothed over her head.

“We all missed you so much.”

“What is that?” she murmured, staring at the warm flannel that covered his chest.

“What?”

Her head reared back when she placed the smell. “What the hell?”

Ava shoved away from him, holding up her hands, backing away from all six of her friends.

“Your shirt, Leo.” She didn’t want to be mad, but months of suppressed anger reared up. She’d tried. She’d tried so hard to keep going. And no matter what she did, Malachi followed her. In her memories. Her dreams. Now, even the scent of him crept up on her from his brother’s clothes. It was wrong. So wrong.

Leo only looked confused. “My shirt?”

“It smells—that smells like Malachi’s shirt! Are you wearing his shirts now? Why would you do that?”

Leo grabbed for her hand, but she was already heading toward the door. Whatever sick intervention they had planned was over. She was done. Gone. She never wanted to see them again. She needed to get as far away from their twisted world as she could. Ava was getting off the Irin roller coaster, and she never wanted to—

“Ava, please!” Rhys cried out. He ran to her, wrapping his arms around her before she could open the door. “We didn’t know how to tell you. We didn’t know what was right.”

She whirled around in his arms. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The memory of his voice grew louder. It pressed on her. Without her volition, she saw the mating marks at her wrists begin to glow.

Rhys saw them, too. “Open your mind, Ava. Remember what I said. Look at your arms and listen. Don’t you hear him? Don’t you feel him?”

The memories crashed through her. “Why are you doing this?” she said, tears falling from her eyes. “Why?”

Leo stepped forward and raised his hands in supplication. “He’s alive, Ava.”

“No.”

“We didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” She could feel it. Her heart was actually breaking in her chest. “Why would you even say that? I saw him die! Let me go, Rhys. This is sick—”

“We don’t know how,” Rhys whispered. “He’s alive. Your magic. His. Malachi is alive.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she yelled. “I saw him die! I felt him die!”

Leo pointed down the hall. “He’s in the bedroom, Ava. I’m not lying. It’s been killing him not to come to you.”

She shook her head and wiped the tears from her red, angry cheeks. “I’m leaving. Now. You people are crazy. Rhys, let me go.”

“Listen,” Renata commanded. “Listen to him! I can hear his voice, and I’m not even his mate.”

“Ava, please!”

A muffled shout echoed down the hall, and everyone fell silent.

Her heart stopped, and her mind went blank.

It couldn’t be.

She’d finally broken. She’d been expecting it for years. Maybe it had all been an illusion. Some desperate construct of a sick and lonely mind. Her knees buckled and she went limp as Rhys lifted her.

“Take her to him,” Leo said.

“No.” Ava shook her  head.

Rhys carried her down the hall. Ava fought the urge to vomit. Her head swam. The crawling feeling came to her skin again, and the dark voices fluttered at the edges of her mind.

“Rhys,” she whispered, eyeing the door with painful dread. “Don’t. Please, let me go.”

“You have to see,” he said. “You have to see it’s real.”

“Don’t. Please don’t.”

They were at the door. Rhys set her down and pushed it open. Ava drew back but could not stop her eyes from peering into the dimly lit room.

A dark figure was pacing in the lamplight, his hands tearing at his hair. He turned to her, and tortured grey eyes met her own.

A ghost. A dream.

“Ava.”

She slammed the door and ran.

Chapter Twenty-one

He shot out of the room. Waiting in the bedroom while she cried had almost broken him. He couldn’t lose her.

“Ava!”

They all got out of his way. He caught up to her before she could make it to the door.

“Ava, please!”

“No! No no no no no…” She said it over and over. She closed her eyes when his arms wrapped around her. She shook her head and turned her face away.

“I’m alive.”

“No.”

“It’s me.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet smell of her skin. She was shivering, but her mating marks glowed against his. Gold on silver. Shining as he held her back from bolting to the door.

“You’re dead,” she whispered. “I felt it. I can’t—”

“I’m not dead. I came back.”

There was nothing from her but a sob. The tears leaked from her closed eyes, and he sank to the ground with Ava in his arms.

“I came back to you,” he whispered, his lips pressed to her temple. “Vashama canem, reshon. I heard you. It was the only thing I heard.”

She had stopped struggling, but her eyes were still closed.

“Look at me, Ava.”

She shook her head.

“You think you’re crazy, don’t you?”

She nodded, still silent.

“You’re not crazy.” Malachi forced his voice to harden, even as he held her as softly as he could. “Ava, look at me.”

Her head did not lift.

“Look at your mate.”

He felt her shoulders begin to soften. And the fists he gripped in his hands tentatively turned their palms to his.

“I saw you in the spice market,” he began, thinking back to the dreams he thought had only been illusions. The flickers of memory his mind had recovered. “It smelled of cloves and honey.”

Her head lifted a little.

“And you were carrying an old leather case. I followed you because… you fascinated me.”

She finally opened her eyes but didn’t look directly at him. Their friends stood, surrounding them, holding their collective breath, but Malachi pretended they weren’t even there.

He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “I met you in the forest. I found you, and I picked you up off the ground. I held you, and I loved you under the stars. You thought they were only dreams. I did, too.”

Ava finally turned to him, her eyes wide and wet with tears.

“I tried to ask you where you were. From the moment I woke, all I have searched for is you.”

She lifted a hand, tentatively touching his jaw. He saw her lips form his name, but no sound escaped.

“I was helpless in the forest. I lost you again, and I thought I would lose my mind.”

“This is real?”

He nodded.

“This is real?” she asked again, her voice rising. Her other hand joined the first, touching his face. Tracing his lips, then moving down his body. She turned in his arms, but her hands never left his face. His neck. His shoulders.

“It’s me, Ava.”

She laughed once. Sharp. Painful to his ears. Then she buried her face in his neck and inhaled. “Your smell,” she said, her lips pressed against his neck as his arms tightened around her. “It’s you. I smelled you on Leo’s shirt, and I thought—”

“It’s me, Ava. I promise. It’s not a trick.”

“It’s… impossible!”

“I know.”

She burst into tears again, but this time he heard relief, not panic. He felt their friends relax, and he saw Damien pull Sari into an embrace.

“It’s not possible,” she said again, sniffling.

“I know it’s not. It just… is.”

She picked her head up, narrowed her eyes on him, then leaned forward, shocking him when her lips met his.

It was everything. So much more than the liquid quality of their dreams, Ava’s lips were heat and life. His mouth opened to her tongue as she forced her way inside. Tasting him. Drawing back to bite the edge of his lip as he groaned in pleasure. He buried his hands in her hair, pressing her closer. Their teeth clashed. She drew back, only to have him pull her forward again.

He could live on the taste of her tongue in his mouth. The reality of her. The bitter edge of coffee and the salt of tears. And the taste of her. Her. It was no dream. She was real beneath his hands. Her flesh gave, and the sharp crescents of her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

Malachi heard murmuring around them, but he ignored it.

Ava finally pulled back, her lips swollen and red. Her eyes wide. “It’s really you.”

“Would you like to test some more?”

She blinked. “Maybe not while we’re being watched.”

For the first time, Malachi broke into a smile. The relief coursed through him. Ava smiled tentatively, lifting a hand to touch the lips she’d just kissed.

He closed his eyes at the tender touched and whispered, “Hello, Ava.”

“Hi.”

“I think I’m going to hold off on flying to London for a while.”

He frowned, looking down at her as they sat on the couch and drank coffee with Max and Renata, Sari, Damien, Rhys and Leo. Half of them were sitting on the floor, allowing Ava to stretch out at Malachi’s side. She had her arm around his waist and he had his around her shoulders. They spoke quietly to each other as the others made small talk and pretended not to watch them.

“You were going to London?”

“I was not in a good place a few days ago.”

He frowned. “That dream. I tried so hard to ask you where you were that I frightened you.”

“It didn’t make sense to me. I still thought they were only dreams. How could a dream feel so real? I guess my mind rebelled against it.”

“It still doesn’t feel real, does it?”

She shook her head and turned her face into his shoulder. “No.”

“It’s real. I’m really here.”

“I don’t care. If I’ve finally lost it and this is all a hallucination in the loony bin, I’m just going to go with it.”

“Maybe we both died,” he whispered. “Maybe this is heaven.”

Rhys leaned over and slapped the back of Malachi’s head so hard his teeth rattled. “That feel heavenly, brother?”

Ava fought back a smile and drew her legs up and over his so she was almost sitting in his lap. “Don’t damage my mate, Rhys.” There was the first spark of playfulness in her eyes. “I just got him back.”

Rhys smiled at her, a smile so full of love and relief that Malachi was almost jealous. Almost, but not. It was his lap that Ava sat in. Her skin against his. He could feel the calm energy between them. It would occasionally heat when he flashed to a memory of their dreams, and he wondered when he would be able to have her alone. He needed her. Almost desperately. But hers was the greater shock, and he was wary.

“You’re waiting for me to start crying again, aren’t you?”

He cautiously said, “There was a lot of crying.”

“I’m fine. For now.”

He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “It was understandable. It was very difficult for me to listen to them try to tell you. We thought it would be best if I didn’t just…”

“Walk up and say, ‘Hey, how’s it going? By the way, I’m not dead’?”

“Your reaction might have been somewhat violent.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong.” She let out a sigh and he felt more of the tension leave her shoulders. “Rhys?”

“Hmm?”

“What now?”

Malachi and Rhys exchanged glances. It was the hardest question to answer, past the mystery of how Ava had managed to call him down from heaven.

“I don’t know, darling,” Rhys said. “We didn’t plan much past this moment. He was a bit of a mess in Turkey.”

“I was fine.” Malachi bristled.

“You didn’t even remember your name,” Leo said from the other side of Ava. “You’ve years to go before your talesm are back to normal, and—”

“What?” Ava’s head shot up and clipped the bottom of his chin. “What’s wrong with his talesm?”

Would it change how she saw him? Malachi had never felt the loss of his powers more keenly. Was it possible she would no longer find him a worthy mate? He glared at Leo, who did not get the message.

“They  disappeared. It was like the day he was born,” Leo told her blithely. “Well, not completely, of course. But not a single spell remained. All his scars are gone, too.”

“What?” He could feel Ava tense in his arms.

“Leo,” Rhys started. “Perhaps you should let Malachi—”

“He used to have this great nasty gash across his ribs—I’m sure you noticed it, Ava—and it’s completely gone. Of course, it’s possible that when his memory comes back—”

“Wait, what?”

The whole room fell silent.

Ava turned to him. “What about your memories?”

“I don’t… I can’t—”

“You don’t remember… what? The fight in the cistern?”

He swallowed, trying to pull her closer, but she leaned back, eyes intent. “It’s not just my death, Ava.”

“So… what? What don’t you remember?”

Leo and Rhys had wisely fallen silent, and Malachi felt the weight of the room on him.

“I don’t remember much, Ava. About… anything. My family. My life.”

He could barely hear her when she spoke. “Me?”

“I remember a little.”

She pulled away and stood, taking a deep breath. “Oh… shit.”

“Ava, it’s—”

“All of it?” She stared at him, but he couldn’t read her expression. It was confusion. Sadness. Guilt? “But… the market. You remembered the market and the dreams and—”

“They’re coming back to me.” He grabbed for her hand. “Please, Ava.”

There were the tears again. “Do you even remember who I am?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you? Or is it just this—this mating instinct? If you don’t even remember what we were, or how we fell in love…” Her voice fell away before she whispered, “Do you even love me anymore?”

Everyone was staring, but no one was offering to help explain. Of course, what was there to explain? None of them knew anything.

He stood and took Ava’s hand. “If you would excuse us, I don’t think we need an audience.”

He’d pondered how he would approach this since the day he and Rhys had talked in the library.

“You love your mate. But… you don’t love Ava. You can’t, because you don’t know her anymore.”

But he did! He’d hoped his memories would have returned by the time he found her. He’d hoped, but it was in vain.

“You don’t,” she whispered. “You don’t remember me. You feel the same bond I do, but it’s instinct. You don’t remember Cappadocia or Istanbul. When you showed me the Basilica Cistern… or the way you used to scold me when I would talk about being insane—”

“I still don’t like that, so don’t start,” he snapped.

He closed the door and spun toward her, suddenly angry. With her. With himself. With the whole damn confusing maze. Didn’t she realize? He was as lost as she was. Ava looked shell-shocked, standing in the center of Max’s bedroom, staring at a wall.

“You don’t remember the island or the kiss. The first time we made love. You don’t remember any of it?”

“Stop reminding me of everything I’ve lost. Trust me, I know.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and he could feel her withdrawing. “How could you not remember?”

“It’s not like I had a choice, Ava!”

“But…” She worked to speak. “It was… our time together, Malachi. It was—”

“Brief. I know. They told me it was only a few months. But we are bound. Marked. So it’s possible—”

“It wasn’t brief,” she said softly. “It was everything.”

He stopped speaking, and the anger drained away.

“It was everything,” she repeated. “The happiest time of my life. The first time I felt like I belonged anywhere. With anyone. With you.”

He reached for her, glad she didn’t pull away. He’d known he loved her, but until that moment, he’d had no concept of how much she had loved him. It thrilled him. Malachi wanted to roar in triumph, but Ava was still trembling.

“I’m remembering more every day. I do remember some things, and—”

“Do you remember any of the things I just mentioned?”

He paused. Malachi ached that those moments were a blank in his mind. “No, Ava, but—”

“So you don’t. This isn’t just about me.” She shook her head stubbornly. “And if you don’t remember me—”

“Are you serious?” He was angry again. “I don’t remember you?”

“You just said—”

“Ava, you are the only thing I remember!”

She said nothing, but he could see the doubt in her eyes.

“When I woke… there was nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing. I was nothing until you called me. I heard nothing until I heard your voice. I didn’t remember my name until you named me. I do remember a few things. It’s coming back. And each memory is like a beacon—a marker—of the life I lost. You were the first one. I will remember more. And we will make new memories together. So many that the life I lost will be nothing to compare to it.”

The doubt still lived in her eyes. He wanted to battle her doubt and fear the way he battled a physical enemy, but he couldn’t.

“Please, Ava. You have to understand.”

“I love you.” She spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “I never stopped. Even when you died. But do you love me?”

He knew it without question.

“Yes.”

“But how—”

“I love…” He stepped closer to her and spoke firmly. “I love you.”

How could he make her understand when he hardly understood himself?

“I don’t remember the first time I kissed you,” he said. “I don’t remember the first time we made love. And Ava… I may never remember those things. But I know I love you the same way I know that… I’m right-handed.” He tried to smile, but he knew it came out forced. “I love the taste of oranges because they make me think of my mother… who I also don’t really remember. The same way I know that… I will have to shave twice a day for the rest of my life or resign myself to a full beard. I don’t like guns, but knives are like an extension of my own hand and axes are highly underrated.”

“Malachi—”

He just kept going. “I like beer and not vodka. I get restless when I’m too long indoors and want—need to go running.”

He saw her eyes start to soften, so he stepped closer and prayed she didn’t retreat from him.

“I don’t remember a fraction of what I was taught in my training, who is on the council in Vienna, or what singer is popular on the radio. But I can tell you what foods I like and what music makes me want to tear my hair out. And I can tell you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I love you.”

She lifted a hand and clenched it above her heart. “Please—”

“Because loving you is part of who I am. It’s not a memory or a moment. It is in my soul. And I will never—can never—forget my soul.”

Ava said nothing. His heart raced. But finally she went to him, embraced him, and Malachi let out a relieved breath. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed his cheek to her temple.

“I don’t understand it either. I just know it’s true.”

“I love you,” she said. “And part of me thinks it’s not fair of me to love you when you don’t remember—”

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.”

“I don’t care!” Her voice was fierce, and he reveled in it. Reveled in her possession. The way her arms tightened around him, claiming his body as her own. “I lost you once. And I pulled you down from heaven to bring you back. You’re mine.”

“Completely.” He kissed her temple. Her cheekbone. “Completely, Ava.”

Working his way down her face, he searched for Ava’s lips.

“Some days—”

He found them. Kissed her silent, but she pulled away to say, “Some days I thought I wouldn’t breathe again. That I didn’t even want to.”

“I need you.” He was rock hard and aching for her. Like her kiss, her body was heat and substance. Not the thin shadow of a dream, but flesh and blood and skin and life.

She began to pull at his shirt. He stepped back and tugged it over his head. Her hands spread out over his chest and dug in, her fingers gripping him almost painfully. Malachi threw his head back and groaned.

“Ava.”

She kissed his chest, licked at his skin, tugged at the hair that grew there and scraped her teeth over a sharply aroused nipple. His hands pushed her shirt up her waist to feel the heat at the small of her back as she painstakingly undressed him. The button on his pants, then the zipper. Then she slipped her fingers down the back and pushed down, taking all his clothes with him. He was helpless under her small hands.

Walking him back to the bed in the corner, she waited until his knees hit the edge, then she came down with him, stripping him of his socks, running her hands up his legs. Her mouth followed everywhere.

“You’re real,” she whispered, over and over again. “Real.”

“Come here.”

“Your face…” She stood and traced a finger over the arc of his cheekbones. The curve of his lips. “Real.” Her warm palm opened on his skin. “Your shoulders…”

Bare. His body hummed with energy, and he tried to ignore the burn of shame at the reminder of his bare skin. He was naked before her in every way.

“Your hands.” Her voice was thick with emotion. He could hear the tears she battled as she reached down and linked their hands together.

“Ava, please. I need you.”

She ignored him, kneeling on the ground between his legs. “Your feet…” Her nails scraped up the sensitive flesh of his ankles. “Real.” Her fingers followed up his calves to his knees. She bit the skin on his inner knee as her fingers tickled the sensitive flesh behind. “Legs. Real. Knees. Real.” Her tongue traced a line up the inside of his thigh.

She brought him back to life only to kill him slowly. Malachi couldn’t tear his eyes away from her lips. She bent down and kissed the very real arousal that was staring her in the face.

“I need you too,” she whispered.

The heat of her mouth enveloped him. She took him deep, and he twisted his hands in her dark hair.

“Ava,” he groaned again, his head falling back and his eyes closing in ecstasy. He wanted to keep watching, but… “I can’t.”

Her mouth left him. “But—”

“Not that.” He would spend himself like a virgin if she kept going, and he needed to be in her, connected more deeply than just her mouth. “Come here.”

He pulled her up and grabbed her waist, tossing her on the bed as he began to undress her.

“Too many.” The shoes and heavy socks were gone. “Clothes.” The pants, history. “In Norway.” The delicate lace-edged panties could be replaced, along with the stockings.

Half undressed, she arched back and fumbled to remove her sweater, long-sleeved shirt, and bra. Malachi took the opportunity to bend down and taste her as she had tasted him.

“Malachi,” she moaned, halting her movements to enjoy his tongue. “I thought…”

“I missed your taste,” he murmured, pausing to lightly bite the inside of her thigh. “The scent of you. Dreams were not enough.”

“Real,” she whispered again. “Not a dream.”

He spread her legs wider, kneeling down on the floor to take the edge off his hunger. Beautiful. She was utterly beautiful in her pleasure. Her legs thrown over his shoulders. His arms holding her down. He felt her shirt hit him in the face.

“Come up here,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”

He kneeled on the bed, bracing himself over her, feeling the heat from her body. Their breaths mingled together when their lips met, and he pulled her leg up as he slid inside, seating himself to the hilt. He thrust his hips when he felt her clench around him.

Real.

Now he understood why she said it, over and over again. Everything paused in that moment, as he looked in her eyes.

Real.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Ava smiled, and there were tears in her eyes. “I believe you.”

“I love you, reshon.”

“I love you, too.” She held on to him as he began to move. “So much it hurts.”

“Don’t hurt. Please, Ava. Not anymore.”

She was always the one who wanted faster, but this time, she didn’t have to beg.

“Too long.” He was going to come apart in her arms. Fly to pieces when her legs wrapped around him and her heels dug into the back of his thighs. “Ava!”

“Yes,” she breathed. “There you are.”

“I’m here.” He was very, very there.

“Not a dream.”

He reached down, changed the angle of his thrusts until she let out a hitched breath that told him—how did he know?—she was close.

“Yes,” she chanted again. “Yes yes yes…”

He felt her go over the edge and he followed, moving through the rush of her climax and closing his eyes as the lights flashed in his mind. He saw them before, making love in a cave, thousands of miles away, her mouth falling open in pleasure and her head thrown back. The images overlapped in his mind, and he saw them.

The first time.

Again.

Always.

His body met his soul, and Malachi lived.

Chapter Twenty-two

The forest was warmer, but darkness still hovered around the edges. The hedge was wide and high, and though she could hear him on the other side, she did not try to find her way to him. She sat in the center of the dark meadow, knees drawn up to her chest, listening as he paced.

“Why do you keep him away when you brought him back?”

She turned her head and the radiant creature was with her again. “Did I?”

He sat down on the grass next to her and stretched his legs out. “Bring him back? Yes. It was unexpected.”

“How?”

The Fallen glanced up. “I am no longer privy to the whims of heaven. Nor do I fully understand your power.”

“I’m not really sure I have that much power to begin with.”

“If I did not feel your uncertainty, I would think you were jesting.” He grimaced. “Your soul rears in rebellion, even in this place.”

“Rebellion against what?”

He ignored her and turned his face back to the sound of pacing outside the hedge. “Tell me. Why do you keep him away?”

Her heart stuttered. “I… don’t know him.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I could hurt him.”

“Yes, you could.”

She could feel the frown creasing her forehead. “I don’t understand this place. Is it a dream? I thought it was a dream. It didn’t seem real, but now I think it was. It is.”

The Fallen sneered. “Foolish child. Dreams are more real than you know. It has always been so. What is the world around us but a dream?”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted quickly, and she saw before her a nondescript human in glasses, then a giant black cat, then a pure gleam of light. Or had she? Before she could blink, the shining creature was sitting next to her again.

“What do you think I mean?”

“Are you real?”

“Very real.”

Their eyes met, and she felt a thread of connection that surprised her. “Who are you?”

“You know who I am. You will wake this time and remember it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless your human mind rebels against that, too.”

“Rebellion,” she murmured, remembering what he had said before. “What am I rebelling against?”

“Who you are. Who he is.” He nodded toward the sound of the pacing man beyond the dark hedge, then the creature leaned forward and dropped his head to hers. “You will always rebel,” he whispered in her ear. “Against power. Against control. Against the will of others. It is in your very blood, Ava. I may have fallen, but you ripped the threads of heaven itself to get what you wanted.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice vibrated with a peculiar resonance. It was excitement and dread. Curiosity and pride, all at once. “Or maybe that is all that matters.”

Her heart began to race. The angel pulled back and narrowed his eyes at the sound of the pacing man beyond the hedge.

“He does not understand yet,” the creature murmured. “Not yet. But soon.”

“Was it bad? To call him back?” Panic was a fist around her heart.

“You don’t ask the right questions, child.”

“What do you—”

“What is bad, what is good? These things are unimportant. You must only ask, is it necessary?”

He was necessary. Not the angel. The man beyond the dark hedge was necessary. She could feel it in her bones, though her head ached with confusion as she listened to him pace.

She wanted him, but he frightened her.

“Are you frightened of him or for him?” her companion wondered. “I don’t know. I know so many things about you. Where you sleep. When you dream. But I cannot interpret the emotions I feel.”

“Can you ever?” she asked. “With humans?”

“I don’t know that I ever tried.” He shrugged. “Maybe. Or perhaps I simply do not remember. I have existed longer than your mind can fathom.”

The man beyond the hedge continued to circle, growing ever more agitated. She could sense his desire to come to her. His desire to protect her from the creature that sat at her side. She knew this, just as she knew that she could not let him in.

“Not yet,” she whispered.

The Fallen smiled. “No, not yet.”

“What do you want from me?”

He placed a hand on her temple and whispered, “It’s time to listen.”

But it wasn’t a song she fell into. The images shot to her mind in glittering, violent life. Two dark eagles with golden eyes, wings spread as they screamed. They flew at each other, colliding in midair as blood dripped over her eyes. A wolf paced at her feet and a tiger lounged in the distance, watching with a lazy, glowing stare.

Only watching.

Jackals circled and laughed, but the laughter held fear, not glee. All the while, the great birds screamed as feathers and blood filled the air.

They tore at each other until one, claws dripping with blood, plunged his bladed beak into the chest of the other, ripping its heart until the great bird fell at her feet, staring into her eyes as she screamed.

“I will tear the threads of heaven to return. And you will help me, Ava.”

Tears were hot on her face when she woke. Ava gasped and sat up, but Malachi did not stir beside her. His bare shoulders twitched as if he was still dreaming. She looked at him, scooting away until they no longer touched. She had slept pressed against him, and her body revolted at the loss.

But her mind…

Somewhere in his sleep, he reached for her. He stretched his arm across the expanse of the bed until his hand lay resting against the skin of her ankle. His fingers closed around it, he took a deep breath, then he relaxed into sleep again.

“Why do you keep him away?”

She remembered everything from her dream. Unlike the misty visions she’d clung to when she’d dreamt of Malachi, her vision of Jaron was glaringly clear.

“You will always rebel… It is in your very blood.”

The thought made her shiver, so she stared at the broad expanse of Malachi’s back, mentally tracing the patterns that were no longer there.

In the silent darkness, a wave of doubt washed over her.

What had she done? It was Malachi, but it wasn’t. She had made love to a dream but woken with a man she no longer knew. A stranger who claimed to love her but had no memories of their brief life together.

“Imagine a person created for you. Another being so in tune with you that their voice is the clearest you’ve ever heard in your mind.”

Would she still hear him as she had? Or had their connection been permanently severed in death?

Had she heard his voice the night before? Had she imagined it? Maybe she’d forced herself not to listen for it, but a tiny voice whispered to her that maybe…

Maybe Malachi wasn’t truly hers. Not anymore.

“I think I’d pull down heaven if that’s what it took to keep you here with me.”

“And I’d abandon it if you weren’t there.”

The memory of his words brought tears to her eyes, because as precious as that memory was to her, he wouldn’t remember it. He wouldn’t remember their first kiss or the soft laughter after they’d made love. He wouldn’t remember her anger and confusion or his quiet way of reassuring her with just a look and a hand. He wouldn’t remember the stories she’d told him about her family or the rambling memories of four hundred years of life that he’d shared with her.

Mind-boggling. Wonderful.

Gone.

He wouldn’t remember the night he mated her, drawing his magic onto her body or the passion that had united them as one. The stranger who’d come back to her had found the other half of himself, but Ava’s soul still felt torn in two.

Her hand reached out, tracing the curve of a bare shoulder. She tried to remember exactly what had once covered it, but she couldn’t. At her touch, his twitching body stilled, and she cautiously opened up her mind to his voice.

It was the same, but different. And just like before, it was startling in its clarity. Words tumbled over each other as he dreamed. She could hardly keep up with his mind. But one phrase whispered to her, over and over.

Vashama canem, reshon.

Come back to me.

This time, he was reaching for her. The dark hedge in her dream flashed into her memory, and Ava started to sniff. Malachi woke at the sound and immediately sat up, wrapping his arms around her.

“What is it?”

She shook her head but could say nothing. She’d never felt more confused in her life.

“Ava, please.” His voice was strained, and he rocked her back and forth. “I need to know how to help you. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what is wrong?”

“I don’t know… anything. You’re here, but I still feel alone.”

He went completely still.

She forced the words out of her mouth. “I’m so confused, Malachi. You were dead. I felt you die. I still feel that ache. But you’re here. And I was—I am so happy. I don’t know how to explain it.”

His arms dropped from around her, and he leaned away. His voice came to her so low she could barely hear it.

“I am no longer the man you love.”

She grabbed his hand, willing him to understand, even when she didn’t. “But you are. And… you aren’t.”

He rolled his shoulders. “I am not as strong as I was. My talesm—”

“Have nothing to do with how I feel about you,” she said quickly. “They never did. I didn’t fall in love with you because you were strong or fast or a good fighter.”

She couldn’t see his eyes in the low light of the early evening that filtered into the room. There was a lamp in the corner, but his back was to it.

“Why did you fall in love with me?”

She melted at the vulnerability in his voice, so different than the reckless confidence he’d always worn before.

“I fell in love with your mind, which understood me. Your humor. The way… you would look so stern, then just the corner of your mouth would turn up when you smiled.”

His face was still in shadow, but she thought she saw a smile tilt the corner of his lips, so she continued.

“I love the way you would take care of me. Of anyone you cared about. You were—are—one of the most thoughtful men I’ve ever met. And I loved how confident you were, because it gave me confidence. I thought you could protect me from anything.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You did. There were dozens of Grigori in that cistern, but I’m alive. You protected me. Even though it cost your life.” She could feel some of the tension leave his shoulders. “I’m just confused.”

“Are you sorry we made love?”

“No,” she whispered. “When I touch you, it’s like being home.”

“I feel the same way.”

She blinked hard to force back the tears. “But you don’t remember me. Or why you fell in love with me.”

“But I do love you,” he said urgently. “I don’t understand either, but when you’re in pain—as you are right now—I ache with it. I felt incomplete until I found you. Half-alive. Now you’re telling me you still feel that way, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

She couldn’t stop the tears that fell. She could hear the panicked sound of his inner voice, but she closed her eyes and whispered the spell to quiet him.

“Ava—”

“I need time, Malachi.”

“Don’t push me away.” His voice was low. Pained. “Please.”

“I won’t.” She admitted it to herself, “I can’t.”

As much confusion as she felt, she knew she needed him. She wanted the comfort of his body desperately, wanted the soothing sound of his voice. She wanted more than memories.

“This is going to take time.” She tugged him closer and leaned against his shoulder. Whatever her mind was telling her, Ava’s body shouted loud and clear that her mate was home. Wounded, but alive.

Her soul recognized him. Her body did, too. Her mind and heart would just have to catch up.

“A wound doesn’t heal,” she whispered, “just because it stops bleeding.”

“But it does heal.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted it up, so she looked into his familiar grey eyes. Pure calm. Pure determination. It settled her in a way she couldn’t put into words. It was as if her soul took a breath after holding it for too long.

“It will heal.”

They sat on the bed together, wrapped in blankets, enjoying the silence of the apartment. Ava had no idea where the others had gone. If she had to guess, they’d taken off right about the time things got interesting. And loud.

The clock on the small desk read 01:11. Midnight had crept by and dawn was far off, but Ava was wide awake. Sleeping next to Malachi had settled her energy and she’d rested better than she had in months.

The sex probably helped, too.

Her mind was clear, and her magic ran like a fluid line down her back. She could feel the mating marks he’d given her as if they were a living thing. She’d had so little time to get used to them after he’d marked her, and then he’d been gone and their power had dulled, though not disappeared, in his absence.

In his presence, she could sense them again, like a living coat of magic.

She felt his palm at her neck.

“They’re glowing,” he murmured. “Your marks.”

“Do you remember giving them to me? At all?”

“No.” He hesitated. “It’s very hard to explain. With some things, once people tell me something that has happened, then it pops into my mind, like a puzzle piece fitting, and it’s as if that memory was never gone. Other times…”

“What?”

He shook his head. “There are blanks that refuse to be filled. Maxim tried to explain to me what happened in the cistern, but none of it seemed familiar. The only flashes I have seen so far have been of you. I can… hear you, sometimes. Hear you scream. Smell the water. But other than that—”

“Maybe it’s better you don’t remember.”

“I could find the scribe house in Cappadocia, but I had no memory of Evren, Max, or Leo. Only a little of Rhys. I had a single memory of us there. The rest came in pieces. Many of which I still don’t have.”

She rubbed his arm soothingly, tracing the new spells he’d written there, which were also glowing softly as he touched her. “And these?”

“I had nothing when I first woke. I’ve scribed these only in the last month or so.”

“They’re different.”

“How?”

Ava smiled. “They’re neater, for one thing. You did the first set when you were what? Twelve? Thirteen?”

“I would have started when I was thirteen.”

She nodded. “So they were messy. But… it was kind of endearing.”

He smiled back. “How?”

“You were this big badass, right? You always were. But then you had this kind of childish writing on your left wrist and forearm. Almost like a kid drawing on himself.” Her finger ran up his arm, over the sensitive notch of his elbow and the delicate skin there. His powerful body shivered under the touch.

“Ava—”

“There were certain letters I could tell you’d exaggerated. Made more elaborate, like a young man would show off.” Her finger trailed up the curve of his bicep and over his shoulder. “Then, as you grew up, you could tell you’d matured. The letters became neater. More economical. No boyish flourishes, just… utilitarian, I guess.”

“Did you like them?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

She laid her lips on the swell of his shoulder, where a particularly beautiful talesm had once lived. Now the area was bare, but the flesh pulsed with life.

He was a miracle. A gift. But not a gift without cost.

“Your talesm were beautiful and frightening. They were you.”

She closed her eyes and her tongue flicked out, tasting his skin. A noise left his throat, and he closed his eyes, letting his head hang down as his skin shivered under her touch.

“I could stay here for days, Ava. Talking to you. Touching you,” he said. “Making love to you and learning you again. But I don’t think we should.”

The thought was tempting, but she reluctantly agreed, so she pulled her mouth away from the salt of his shoulder and shifted away. “I know. We should get back to the Oslo house.”

“I don’t like the coincidence of Sari’s haven being compromised right when there is an influx of Grigori into the nearest major city.”

“You don’t think it’s a coincidence at all, do you?”

“No.”

She sighed. “I’d like to stop running. Just for a little bit. Think that’ll ever happen again?” She scooted forward, but he grabbed her hand before she could leave the bed.

“We went to the ocean once, didn’t we?”

She smiled. Nodded. “Do you remember?”

“I remember you, standing near the waves. It was dark, and someone had lit lanterns that flew into the sky.”

She nodded, and her heart swelled. “Yes. That happened in Kuşadası.”

“See?” He kissed the palm of her hand before he smiled. “It is coming back to me even more now. Soon I will remember every moment.”

She tried to lighten the mood so she wouldn’t cry. “When you get to the part about remembering you need to put your towels in the laundry basket, focus really hard on that one, okay?”

“What?” He frowned, but she could see a familiar gleam of mischief in his eyes. “I have a habit of not putting dirty towels in the laundry? This is… shocking.”

“I’m guessing that bit hasn’t changed at all, has it?”

He grinned, and in that moment, he was the cocky warrior she hadn’t been able to keep away from so many months ago.

“Real,” she murmured.

Ava bent down to lay a searing kiss on his lips before he could stand. He held her head, fisted a hand in her hair to hold her close, before he finally let her catch a breath.

“Real,” he breathed out. “And yours. Everything else, we will work through. Together.”

“Okay,” she whispered, closing her eyes and nodding slightly, though he still clutched her hair in his hand. “Okay.”

It was more than a wish or a hope. It was a commitment. He’d been taken from her, but he was given back. A gift and a miracle. She didn’t know why or how, but he was alive.

There would be fights. Misunderstandings. But those were inevitable, weren’t they? Her heart knew him. Her soul did, too. They would learn each other again. And in the meantime, there would be no secrets.

“Malachi, in my dreams, when you’re not there… There’s someone—”

“Who?”

“Jaron.” The hand in her hair tightened, and he held her even closer. “He’s been there, Malachi. In my head. And he’s shown me things.”

He said nothing for a while, but he relaxed his hands and stroked the hair back from her face, soothing her. Touching her. As if to reassure himself that she was still there and unharmed.

“Tell me everything.”

VI.

Oslo, Norway

Brage lounged on the cold roof of Volund’s house near the waterfront. He watched the cruise ships come in and saw his brothers head out, following the scent of a human female as a shark scented fresh blood.

He waited.

He’d fed again when he arrived in the city. There were already forty brothers in the house, which had been converted into apartments decades ago before the waterfront redevelopment. Normally, it was mostly empty. Now it held the burgeoning swarm of Grigori soldiers Volund had sired. Soldiers who were beginning to make waves among the human authorities.

Police had come by the house the day before, responding to complaints from the neighbors. Loud parties and women’s screams. Brage had been able to assuage them. After all, it wasn’t as if the women were screaming in pain. The officers left with embarrassed grins, and Brage had taken out his anger on the back of one of his younger brothers. They were all told to be more cautious, but Brage knew it was useless.

He wondered why Volund had sent so many. After all, he’d killed the scribe the first time in Istanbul with half the men he had here. It was only a matter of herding the woman and her Irin mate to the right location. He knew they were in the city somewhere.

“Brother?” A young scribe shivered at the door to the stairwell.

“Yes?”

“There is someone here to see you.”

Brage frowned. “Who?”

The young soldier blinked in confusion. “I… I don’t know.”

“What?” Brage stood, walking toward him, but stopped when he saw the unassuming man coming up the stairs. The middle-aged man in glasses put a hand on the Grigori’s  shoulder and the young man turned, leaving Brage alone on the roof with his visitor.

He sat, recognizing the angel’s disguise from Istanbul. If Jaron wanted to harm him, he would already be dead.

“I know who you are,” Brage said.

“It’s good that Volund has some intelligent offspring,” Jaron said as he tossed back the cover on one of the patio chairs. A flurry of ice fell to the ground.

“What do you want?”

“Why are you still hunting her?”

Brage frowned. “Why do I do anything?”

His father asked it of him. It was not within his power to refuse.

“Fine.” Jaron sat back, still wearing his human facade. He walked in the guise of a fatherly middle-aged man in spectacles. Not too old. Not too young. A confessor. Trustworthy. Despite knowing it was false, the facade still put Brage at ease.

“Tell me why Volund hunts her,” the angel said.

“I do not know.”

“Don’t you?”

Brage shrugged. “He says she belongs to him. Other than that, it is none of my concern.”

Jaron smiled. “In a way, he is not wrong.”

“Then why do you protect her?”

“Why does your father only tell you half-truths?” Jaron countered. “For though the woman is his, she is also mine.”

He closed his eyes and forced himself not to sigh. It would be taken as a sign of disrespect toward the angel. Talking in circles. Why did the damn ancients have to talk in circles so much? Was it too much to ask that one of them give him any kind of answer?

“Half-truths?” Brage said. “I am sure Volund tells me as much as you tell your sons.”

“I tell my children only what they must know.”

“Then we understand each other.”

Jaron laughed. “No. You do not understand me at all. But then, you cannot. Is it true that he gave you Grimold’s blade? A heavenly weapon to kill an Irin scribe? It seems excessive. But of course, you failed last time, did you not?”

The spike of anger was quick and hot. And Brage knew that Jaron had caught it, for the human facade wavered in that moment, and the glowing gold eyes of the angel flashed.

“Why are you here, Jaron?”

“I want you to leave the woman alone.”

“You know I cannot.”

“She is something you would not wish to harm.”

Brage narrowed his eyes. He had his own suspicions about what the woman was, but they were based on whispers and rumors, like so much in his world. And if both Volund and Jaron claimed her…

“What is she?” he asked.

There was silence. Brage wondered if Jaron would respond at all.

“She is under my protection,” the angel said. “You will not harm her.”

“I don’t intend to. Volund wants her alive. Though I will kill her mate. Again.”

“Her mate interests me only so far as he benefits her.”

“Then you will not interfere?”

“No.”

“Do you vow it?”

Jaron leaned back in his chair, smiling. “Does your father appreciate your audacity?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then he is a fool.”

Brage said nothing.

“Fine,” Jaron said. “I will not interfere with your mission, as long as you do not harm the woman.”

It was the best that Brage would do under the circumstances. Jaron did not rise, so he dared another question.

“Is she what I think?” he asked. “What the heretics claim?”

“Yes.”

His cold heart quickened. “Truly?”

“And no.”

Fucking angels.

Brage curled his lip and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Jaron was gone.

Chapter Twenty-three

She was still cautious around him. Still hesitant as he held her hand and walked into the scribe house.

Was the caution a result of his reappearance or because of the encounter with the frightening creature who had given her a vision? He couldn’t read her well enough to know yet. Some things were achingly familiar, but others still confounded him.

Wary smiles and respectful nods greeted Malachi as they walked past the dark entryway and back toward the kitchen. It might have been the middle of the night, but the house was clearly on alert. Malachi spotted Damien, Rhys, and Lang strategizing over a map of the city, which had been spread out over the kitchen table. Sari and an Irina elder he didn’t know were with them.

Rhys and one of Lang’s scribes were putting red and yellow dots all over the paper. The rest of the gathered company nodded at them but did not interrupt the conversation.

“Ava,” the old woman said softly, walking over to greet his mate. “I heard. I am… astonished.”

And pleased, from what Malachi could gather. Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled and grabbed Ava into an embrace.

“Thank you, Orsala.”

“Have you told Brooke yet? Does everyone know? I only heard from Sari a few hours ago.”

“It just happened yesterday. And we…” He saw her cheeks flush a little. “We needed some time alone.”

“Of course, daughter.” Orsala turned to Malachi and took his hand in hers, though he kept one hand firmly anchored in his mate’s. “A blessing,” she said. “A miracle sent from heaven.” There were tears in the old woman’s eyes. “How can we know the purpose of the Creator? And yet we rejoice in it. I am so happy for you both, Malachi.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

The others were still quietly arguing over the map.

“—follow what I’m trying to say, Leo. The red is a confirmed attack and kill,” Rhys said. “The yellow are for attacks that were stopped, but the Grigori wasn’t eliminated.”

“So many,” Sari said. “Lang, this is far more than average, correct?”

“Yes. Activity has picked up over the past year, but the majority of these attacks have been in only the past couple of weeks.”

Damien asked, “Do we think there is any chance this increase in activity and the exposure of Sarihöfn are not related?”

Everyone was silent.

Malachi stepped forward. “There are few coincidences in the world. It’s possible, but I don’t think it’s likely.” He glanced at the map and moved closer, still holding Ava’s hand. “Tell me more about Volund.” It was Volund’s child, Brage, who had killed him, but there was little Malachi remembered about the powerful Fallen angel.

Lang said, “As far as we know, Volund still has one of his primary bases near Göteborg, which gives his soldiers easy access to the continent and a steady stream of tourists, whom his men usually target. He’s been building in power for centuries. We believe he took out the major power in Russia in the 1920s, and he appears to have connections with the lesser Fallen in Spain and France.”

Leo leaned forward and frowned, staring at the map. “Have you talked to Maxim about what he’s heard?”

Lang nodded. “Your brother has been an unexpected font of information over the past few years. I don’t know who he knows—”

“It’s better you don’t ask,” Damien said. “I never did when he was in my house.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Lang continued. “The sudden absence of Grigori last summer fits what you and Max have said about him making a move in Istanbul.”

“The Istanbul offensive makes no strategic sense to me,” Sari said, still staring at the map. “Why Istanbul? It’s far away from his power center. It would make more sense to approach from the north, in Russia. Or from the west.”

“Remember, milá, in some ways the Fallen are as unpredictable as the humans. They’re often creatures of impulse.”

“Particularly Volund,” Lang said. “And from what we know of him, he is a grudge holder. Istanbul could have been a personal vendetta.”

Damien shrugged. “From what I know of Jaron, I can imagine the two did not get along. Jaron was vicious, but deliberate. A planner.”

“The complete opposite of Volund, in other words,” Rhys said.

“And Jaron has a connection to Ava,” Malachi said. “We don’t know why or how, but he protected her in Istanbul, in his own way. And…” He glanced at his mate, but she nodded at him, so he continued. “And he appeared to her again more recently. In a dream.”

“When?” Damien stepped forward. “At Sarihöfn? Was he able to find you there? Is that why—”

“I don’t know,” Ava answered. “I haven’t remembered the details of my dreams about him until the one last night, though I’m fairly sure I’ve seen him before. He was… cryptic.”

“How surprising,” Rhys muttered.

“I’ve been talking over the vision with Malachi to try to make sense of it, but a lot of it is confusing. I… I can try…” She was clearly uncomfortable with so many eyes on her.

Malachi gave her hand a squeeze, and she looked to him again. He nodded to her, offering encouragement. After she had explained what happened at the sing with the other Irina, he’d been awed. But the vague memory of her voice singing to him crept into his memory. It had been the same night he’d noticed some of his talesm had reappeared under his skin. There was power in her voice. She was only touching the edges of it. He hoped, now that they were together again, that she could reach her full potential. That they both would.

“Tell them. Show them,” he said. “There is no shame in trying.”

“I can try to sing you the vision so you can see what I saw,” she said, almost as if she were running out of breath.

“Like you did at the sing?” Sari said. “That was amazing.”

“What is this?” Lang asked.

“Would you sing for us, sister?” One of Lang’s scribes asked from the edges of the room. He appeared to be quite young and more than eager to hear Ava’s song. “Would you?”

Lang smiled at Ava. “Most of our scribes are young. They have never heard Irina song before. Only heard stories.”

Orsala smiled. “Ava’s song is like no other. You would be spoiled by her vision.”

Malachi could feel her turning in on herself, shrinking from the attention.

She said, “I don’t know if it will work again. It might not.”

“This was a vision from Jaron?” Damien asked. “Like the one you had in Istanbul?”

“Yes,” Malachi said. “It might have something to do with what is happening now.”

“Try, Ava,” Orsala urged her. “Only try.”

She was pale and nervous. Malachi stepped behind her and put his arms around her waist, holding her to his chest as she faced the room of staring people. He could hear her before she started. Could feel the wave of power pass through him as she opened her mouth. There were no words at first. There was a soft hum and an unsure melody, simple and achingly beautiful. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly and steadily, willing the calm from his own body into hers.

It grew in his chest and moved down his arms. He could feel the marks he’d given her alive beneath him. Malachi dropped his head down, eyes still closed, and put his lips against the back of her neck as she sang. The moment his lips touched her skin, he felt it.

Like a current connecting, power surged from him and into her. She’d told him what was in the vision, but this time, he saw it for himself. It flashed in vivid color across his mind.

Two eagles, circling and attacking each other.

Hot blood sprayed down along his skin. He could hear it. He could feel it.

He heard the growls of the wolf at his feet and the eerie laughter of jackals in the bush.

Watching. All were watching as the fierce birds ripped at each other, screaming in rage.

A plummet to the earth.

He felt the wound as if the bird had ripped open his own chest. A blade of sheer agony pierced his heart as he heard the echo of the words in her mind. Jaron’s words, not hers. The voice of the Fallen gave him chills, and his mating marks pulsed in warning.

“I will tear the threads of heaven to return. And you will help me, Ava.”

The monster called his mate by name, and the vision broke off when Malachi felt a roar erupt from his chest. His eyes flew open and she was there, holding his cheeks in her hands and shouting—

“Malachi!”

Rage washed through him like a churning river, like a flame ripping though dry brush. He wanted to hunt what stalked her. Wanted to wipe it from the earth and bathe in its blood. The fury coursed through his veins until Ava put her lips on his.

He took them. Digging his hands into the soft curve of her waist, he clung to her. He banded his arms around her body.

Malachi felt hands on his shoulders, breaking into the trance between them. Voices became clear.

“Leave him. Leave her. There’s no way—”

“Did you see that? I’ve never seen light like that. It looked like fire from the inside out.”

“Malachi.” Someone pulled at his arms. “Let her go. She can hardly breathe, Malachi.”

“No.” Ava pulled away from his kiss with a gasp. “I’m fine. He’s fine. Malachi?”

He snarled at those surrounding them, and they stepped back. Then she pulled his face down to hers and pressed her cheek to his.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “Fine. Safe. You’re here. We’re safe. It was just a vision. Not real, Malachi. It wasn’t real.”

He reached down and pressed her hand over his heart where a phantom pain still lingered. “Hurts. Did it hurt you?”

“No. I didn’t see it that way. I’m not hurt.”

“He wants you.” His voice was hoarse, as if he’d been screaming. “Wants to use you, Ava.”

“You won’t let him, will you?” Her voice was calm, and he clung to that. “We won’t let him use us.”

“No.”

“And neither will our friends.”

As violent as his reaction was, Ava was safe. They were surrounded by allies. She was safe. He forced himself to take a deep breath. His talesm still glowed with light, as did Ava’s mating marks. In fact, as he glanced around the room, every one of the Irin was lit up like a Christmas tree.

Rhys grinned. “That was different.”

Sari said, “It was similar to the vision she shared with us at Sarihöfn, but this one was far more violent and powerful. I would guess that having Malachi back is multiplying her power.”

“Two birds…,” Lang said. “Volund and Jaron?”

Damien nodded. “I think it’s clear that some war is between them now. There were others there, watching. Did anyone else see that?”

Orsala nodded. “And there were jackals. Scavengers. Waiting to see who the winner is? To pick at the bones of the defeated?”

“Is this what is happening in Oslo right now?” Lang asked. “Is all this Grigori activity a result of two of the most powerful Fallen angels in history fighting? That… can’t end well.”

“And I hardly think the council will be much help,” Damien said. “According to Leo and Rhys, there are increases in Grigori activity all over the continent and they are being ignored. Who knows what’s happening in the rest of the world?”

“Whatever is happening in Vienna, we need to deal with the problem in Oslo right now,” Rhys said. “Analyze Ava’s vision later. If so many Grigori are hunting in the city, they have a base. They stay together when they’re not feeding. They would have… a house. A warehouse, possibly. Somewhere that a lot of them could be hidden. We need to find it and destroy them in their nest. Fighting all these individuals as they attack is not solving anything.”

“So you’re proposing aggression?” Lang asked. “Not just defense, but offense?”

Rhys paused. “I know it’s not the official policy, but—”

“Just clarifying, brother,” Lang said. “You won’t get an argument from me.”

“Nor me,” Damien said. “And technically, I’m still your superior.”

“So we find them,” Leo said. “Take them out where they sleep.”

Malachi said, “And we do it now. It’s near dawn. They’ll be hunting right now, but they’ll be sleeping at dawn. If we pull everyone in, find where they’re taking shelter and strike quickly, we might be able to stop this.”

Orsala said, “They won’t expect it. This is one of the things the Irina have learned. The Grigori expect Irin to be defensive, not offensive. They won’t be expecting an attack from you because it’s not officially sanctioned.”

“And we are oh so very good at following rules,” Rhys said.

Everyone moved closer to the map. Malachi took Ava’s hand again, leaning in to survey the red and yellow dots. It was true, there were many. Too many. But somewhere in the forest of attacks, they would find a nest of enemies.

Which was good. Malachi was more than ready to kill something.

“An apartment building in the city center?” Sari said. “Would that be too conspicuous?”

“A hotel?” Leo offered. “If many of them have come in very recently, they might not have a house big enough. But a hotel…”

“It’s possible,” Lang said with a nod. “They would be inconspicuous. And there are many hotels near the larger tourist sites where they’ve been hunting.”

“A group of supernaturally attractive men all in one hotel would be pretty darn conspicuous,” Ava said. “I mean, it might still be an option, but I have a hard time believing they’d be able to hide for long. It would look like a convention of male models taking over downtown Oslo.”

Leo added, “I’ll try to get in contact with Max and his friend.”

Sari said, “We’ll start without them. Send out scouts. Find the Grigori. Find their base. We find it before dawn, and then we kill them all.”

Only three hours later, Leo received the call from Max.

“We’ve found them. It’s not good.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Ava had spent little time in Oslo, usually only using it as a jumping-off point for treks in rural Norway. The waterfront was something new. The normally bustling sidewalks of the Aker Brygge were silent at dawn. None of the tourist traffic was out, and the few boats that sat in port bobbed quietly in the frosty air. Tall buildings rose on one side while the frigid expanse of the fjord stretched out before them. It was foggy and near freezing, and Ava stood as close to Malachi as she could while they huddled in the alley with Maxim and Renata. Jeremiah and the other Oslo scribes were cautiously strolling through the area, trying to spot any lingering Grigori or humans. They’d found the body of one girl, dead from attack or exposure, they couldn’t tell.

“The police are noticing,” Max said. “The girls who are disappearing are not just prostitutes and drug addicts anymore.”

Lang said, “Grigori attacks prior to this have been unnoticed—mostly because the women survive and don’t remember exactly what happened coupled with the fact the Grigori prey on the most vulnerable on the streets. But this many in the city? I’m surprised it’s not raised a public panic yet.”

“The house is two blocks down,” Renata said. “We haven’t been able to get inside, but we’ve been watching. I would guess there are around sixty soldiers.”

“I’d guess more,” Max said. “And I think some came in on a ferry today. I’m not positive—I was too far away—but they looked right for Grigori and the human women were reacting to them.”

“We never knew about this place,” Lang said. “They’ve kept it very quiet.”

“And you’ve been reactive, not proactive,” Renata said with a shrug, clearly not caring if she pissed off the tall scribe who glared at her. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. All the scribe houses are.”

“Renata,” Max said with a warning tone. “It’s not important now. What is important is that they’re here now.”

“We’ve been watching,” Renata said.

“And most of the Grigori are in for the night. Saturday night is easy hunting for them. They get their prey early, so the majority will be in the house.”

“Ava,” Sari said in a low voice. “Do you hear anything?”

“I haven’t been trying. Do you want me to?”

Sari nodded.

Ava took a deep breath and let go of Malachi’s hand. He didn’t want to, but she needed to lose the connection before she could open the door.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “All of you hum or something.”

“Hum?” Rhys frowned at her.

“Yeah, hum. Sing a little ditty. That seems to be the best way to keep your inner voices quiet when I scan for static.”

“Clearly,” Lang said, “there is much to learn about how the Irina fight.”

“Not Irina,” Renata said. “Just Ava.”

“And thank you again for pointing out how weird I am, Ren. Much appreciated.”

“You just have better range and accuracy than anyone else,” Sari said. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Unlike Renata with her quicksilver knives, Sari had brought the traditional staff she’d fought with in Sarihöfn. Ava, however, only had her mind and Malachi’s hovering presence. She could feel him at her back. Could hear him. She took a deep breath and tried to push past the clear sound of his voice. Stepping into the street, she opened her senses.

“It’s quiet,” she said. “I don’t… there’s not much. There’s kind of a murmur. I can’t tell if it’s human or Grigori.”

“If they’re sleeping, there won’t be much,” Renata said.

Max added, “And it’s definitely Grigori in the house. We didn’t see any humans come in. The buildings around the house are offices, for the most part. They’d be empty right now.”

If no voices meant sleeping, then they’d picked the right time to come. The only inner voices Ava heard were those of the Irin scribes and singers behind her.

Wait.

She stepped closer. There was something…

A faint echo. Familiar and eerily calm.

“There’s someone…” There was one voice. One that lifted over the others. It was old. Powerful.

“Ava, do you recognize—”

“Brage.”

She breathed out his name on a gust of frosty breath. She was certain of it. Brage was near. And he was waiting.

“Brage? Who?”

She wasn’t sure who spoke. Chattering erupted around her, but Ava closed her eyes, focusing on his voice until the rasp of it cut into her mind and his presence flooded her senses. Old memories from Istanbul rose up, and a wave of black swept over her. Anger. Fear. Disgust. She could feel it all in his voice. His soul was a black pit, but instead of backing away, Ava stepped closer.

“Come…”

She heard his soul whisper to hers.

“Come to me…”

The black pull of his voice called her, and the dark edges of her heart reached out to the voice.

“Yes…”

She didn’t realize she had moved until she felt Malachi’s hand on her arm.

“Where are you going, canım?”

Malachi was behind her, holding on to her arm while the others argued in the background. His softly spoken endearment snapped her back to her senses.

Canım.

“I loved it when you called me that.”

He bent down, and the arm that held her wrapped around her waist as he bent down and whispered in her ear.

“Then I will call you that every day, canım. But do not leave this place without me.”

“Do you know?” she asked, turning in his arms. “Do you know who Brage is? What he did?”

“He is the one who killed me, yes?”

She nodded.

“Then I have a debt to repay,” he said. “Don’t I?”

He glanced over Ava’s shoulder at the group of arguing Irin who were all debating how to attack the building.

“He’s waiting for me,” Ava whispered. “For us.”

“What does he want?”

“For me to go with him.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to?”

She blinked, shocked that he had picked up on the dark compulsion. “A part of me wants to. I don’t understand why.”

His eyes narrowed, then he bent to brush his lips across hers before he said, “He cannot have you. You’re mine.”

Ava looked over her shoulder. Sari and Lang were arguing while Rhys tried to referee. Damien was rubbing his temple, clearly aggravated. Maxim and Renata, Leo and the others waited with impatient expressions.

“They’re sleeping right now,” Sari hissed. “It doesn’t matter how many there are. We go in—quietly—and we will wipe out the house within minutes.”

“You’re right,” Lang said, “so there is no need for you, Ava, or Renata to come into the fight.”

“You are really arguing this with her?” Damien asked.

“I know she’s capable. But there are few Irina left. There are thousands of Irin. It makes no sense to risk the few when they are so—”

“If you say precious or dear or rare or anything of the sort,” Rhys said, “you know she will rip out your throat.”

“Then rip it out,” Lang said. “This is battle. Not politics.”

Renata broke in. “This is useless! We need to go. Now! If Ava can hear Brage, then he is awake. If he is awake, he will wake the others and our advantage will be gone.”

Ava spoke under her breath. “But he’s not waking them. He’s waiting.”

“For you?” Malachi asked.

“Yes.”

Malachi looked over her head, then down the dark alley where they were hiding. Fog hung low to the ground, and no stars shone overhead. He looked back toward Damien, then at her. Ava felt his grip on her hand tighten a moment before he tugged them away and into the night.

“Do you have your staff?” he asked, once they had slipped away.

“No. Do you have a knife I could borrow?”

He didn’t answer, just slapped a heavy hunting knife into her hand as they continued jogging. She didn’t hear anyone coming after them but knew the others would be loath to draw attention to themselves by shouting after them.

“Can you track him?”

Ava forced him to stop, then closed her eyes and searched for it. It was still there. Distant. Fainter than it had been. Brage’s voice was moving.

“He’s moving.”

“Can you track him, Ava?”

“Yes.” She pointed in the direction of the Grigori voice and opened her eyes. “That way.”

She was pointing at the side of a brick building, but Malachi only nodded and urged her forward. When they came to the end of the alley, he stopped again.

“Which way?”

It was easier to find now that she recognized it.

“There.” They ran to the left.

Ava and Malachi continued to thread their way through the narrow alleys and streets of the waterfront. Sometimes climbing over fences, a few times dodging humans or dogs they encountered.

“He’s moving away from the others,” she said.

“He wants to get you alone.”

“How did he know I would follow him?”

“I don’t know.”

“If he wants to get us alone, we’re playing right into his hands.”

Malachi grunted. “We’ll manage. Is it still only him you hear?”

“Yes. He’s alone.”

They continued to follow, Ava listening for the Grigori’s harsh whisper, leading Malachi in what felt like circles. Every street looked the same in the darkness.

“We’re heading back,” Malachi said. “He’s going back to the house.”

Ava nodded, her breath catching in a panic. “And he’s not alone anymore.”

Malachi stopped and grabbed her shoulders. “There are more?”

“He’s heading back to the house,” she said. “And the others. They’re awake.”

When they reached the house, it looked eerily calm. Only Ava could hear the tumult inside. Bright Irin voices, male and female. Grigori whispers scraping through the air. The soldiers’ voices were softer, but more painful to Ava’s mind. The Irin voices rose over them, shining and clear. One thread suddenly cut off without warning, and Ava knew a scribe had lost his life.

“We need to go, Ava.” Malachi tugged her hand.

Ava froze, and the smell of fetid water filled her nose.

“Ava!”

Brage’s body bursting out of the water. Malachi’s face shimmering gold before it dissolved.

She could hear her own voice screaming.

“Ava.” He squeezed her hand. “Canım.”

“I don’t want to go in there,” she gasped. Her heart pounded, and the still-seductive whisper of Brage’s black soul called her toward the house.

“Ava?” He bent down and captured her eyes. “Look at me.”

“I don’t want you to go in there,  either.”

“He’s waiting for you. He wants you. Which means that I am going to kill him.”

“No.”

“Ava.” His voice was implacable. “He will not hurt you.”

“But you—”

“Or me.”

She didn’t say anything. The terror muted her.

“He will not rob us twice. Do you understand?”

Ava shook her head.

“I will not allow it, Ava.”

Tears welled in the corner of her eye. She’d imagined killing Brage so often. Had yearned for it. But Malachi had been dead then, and the thought of risking her life was nothing. Now, the sheer terror of loss paralyzed her. She wanted to live so badly. Wanted her mate to live.

“I can’t lose you again,” she said.

He gripped her chin and laid a fierce kiss on her lips. She drank it in. Drank in the heat and the life and the burning presence of him. His arms wrapped around her, and his voice rang in her mind, brighter and stronger than the others. Stronger than it had been. A song whispered in the back of her mind and she breathed it into his mouth, her lips moving against his, not in passion, but in words she barely recognized.

Malachi breathed in the magic, and his skin heated under her hands. She pulled away and looked down; his talesm were glowing.

His head had dropped back, and she could see his throat working to pull in air.

“Malachi?” Had she hurt him?

He shook his head, his eyes closed. “Wait.”

The silent furor in the house behind him continued unabated. Grigori voices snuffed out over and over. Irin voices. And threading through it all, Brage’s seductive whisper.

“Come…”

Malachi’s eyes opened, as if he’d heard the call, too. They were bright with magic, and she blinked in surprise.

I gave him that.

Ava knew it without question.

He took a deep breath and released her, holding out a hand that she clasped with her own.

“Take me to him, Ava. Now.”

Once they entered, Ava could see that the old house rose four stories, with rooms branching off the stairwell and going back into the house. More like an apartment building than a house, and silent voices filled every corner, Grigori and Irin mixing together in almost-silent chaos. A low hum filled the air as singers worked magic. She could feel it like a tremor along her skin.

A low scuffling from the left.

The door burst open and Damien tumbled into the hall, bashing the head of a Grigori soldier into the ground, over and over. Gold dusted his shoulders, rising when he reached the open air of the stairwell. It drifted toward the doorway, escaping like a ghost. Another soldier escaped the apartment and leapt on Damien’s back before Sari walked out, sweeping her staff under the soldier’s abdomen and flipping him off her mate.

Malachi ignored them and tugged Ava’s arm. “Where?”

“Shouldn’t we help—?”

A choked gasp cut off Ava’s words as Damien plunged a knife into the back of a Grigori soldier. Almost immediately, Sari kicked another to her mate’s feet, and he killed that one, too. Gold dust rose around them, filling the air as Damien claimed Sari’s lips in a ferocious kiss before they plunged back into the dark room they’d come from.

Malachi looked down at Ava. “I think they’re fine.”

“Up,” she said. “He’s up. I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Too many!” She was already becoming overwhelmed by the clamor and resisted using the spells that would close the door, still hoping to be able to track Brage.

They started up the stairs but had to stop on the second landing when three Grigori burst out of a doorway, knives bared. Malachi pushed Ava behind him and attacked. Ava pulled out the knife he’d given her and looked for a target, but the crowded landing made positioning herself difficult.

The three Grigori had come from above and they had the advantage. Malachi was just as fast as he’d always been, but she noticed he didn’t heal as quickly. The cuts they gave him were open and bleeding. Blood splattered from the throat of one soldier as Malachi sliced his throat, then used him as a shield to attack the others.

The scent of urine, sweat, and blood surrounded her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a hand shoot out as a Grigori ran from below and reached for her. Ava grabbed his arm on instinct and pulled, jabbing the knife into the cord of muscle on his bare skin. When the knife pierced his flesh, a shot of pure adrenaline lanced through her system. Her heart sped. Her vision cleared. The thrum of voices dropped to the back of her mind, and Ava could hear him again.

“Yes…”

A low laugh cut off by Malachi shouting her name.

“Ava!”

A strangled curse and shout. She was shoved back into the banister as Malachi pulled the Grigori closer and plunged a silver knife into his spine. The dust rose, clouding her vision. Then Malachi was there and pulling her with him.

“Come.”

“He’s upstairs,” she choked out, blinking the dust from her eyes. “I can hear him again.”

“This is a madhouse.”

“We’re killing more of them than they are of us.”

He didn’t ask how she knew.

They climbed the stairs. One flight. Two. Three.

“He’s above us,” she said. His voice was no longer whispering, but a thin thread of his presence lingered.

“There has to be a roof,” Malachi said, sweeping his eyes from one hallway to the other.

The majority of fighting was going on below them. Ava could hear Renata shouting for Max. Then she screamed and a man roared in anger.

Ava ran toward the stairs, searching for her friends.

“Ignore them!” Malachi shouted. “We need to find Brage.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her down one hallway, but there was no exit. They went back the way they came. At the end of the other hallway, there was an exterior stairwell and a pocket of frigid air. The door had recently been open. Malachi ran through it and Ava followed. He held knives in both his hands, loose and ready at his sides. Ava watched him with pride. Possession.

Her mate.

Broken. Lost. And still every bit the warrior that he had been. With his talesm glowing in the dark and a shot of her own magic running through him, Malachi did not hesitate.

Snow dusted the rooftop. It swirled in fat flakes as salty wind blew off the fjord and twisted around them. It was a rooftop garden, bedded down for winter. Heavy furniture lay covered with thick canvas, tied off against the weather. A few evergreen trees sat in pots, their branches a festive white.

Oblivious to the cold, Brage lounged in one of the chairs, its canvas cover thrown off. He was impeccable in a pure white shirt and black slacks, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he balanced a dark metal blade on the back of his hand.

“It’s about time you arrived.”

Chapter Twenty-five

“It’s amazing, isn’t it? So perfectly balanced,” the Grigori said as they approached. “But of course, it was forged in heaven. Or hell. I’m honestly not sure what I believe at this point.”

Malachi said nothing, trying to place the blade. He knew he should know what it was. There was something…

“Don’t recognize it? I’ll admit, it was dark in that shit hole of a cistern,” Brage said, flipping the blade from the back of his hand to rest in his palm. “Maybe you couldn’t see it clearly.”

The knife pulsed with power. Its metal was dull, almost black. There was no decoration on it. No leather wrapped the hilt. Nothing to detract from the purpose of such a grim weapon.

Death.

“Your silence intrigues me,” Brage said.

Malachi realized that the Grigori wasn’t speaking to him. He was speaking to Ava. And Ava couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“You killed him with that,” she said softly, the air fogging as it left her lips.

“Yes, I did. Apparently it didn’t take.” Brage glanced at Malachi, then back to Ava. “My father wants you.”

“He can’t have her,” Malachi said.

“Was I talking to you, scribe?” Brage continued to stare at Ava, flipping the knife in his fingers. Handle. Tip. Handle. Tip. He didn’t fumble once. “Will you come with me? Or will I have to take you?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you creepy asshole.”

Malachi approved of the disdain dripping in her voice. He stepped between Ava and Brage, his knives ready, his heart eager. Her power coursed through him. He could feel her song whisper in his mind.

Brage’s eyes flickered to Malachi. Then they closed briefly as a whisper left his lips. “Boring.”

He pounced.

The Grigori took Malachi by surprise, knocking him off balance and trying to slip behind him, the blade already raised to strike. Ava stuck her foot out and tripped Brage, distracting the Grigori and causing the blade to nick the side of his forearm as he stumbled back. There was a hissing sound as the smell of sulfur filled the air, then the wind swept it away.

Malachi sheathed one of his knives and circled his opponent as Ava braced her back against the brick wall of the stairwell. Brage swept a foot out and punched Malachi’s knee, causing him to slip on the icy bricks. He fell, the snow and slush soaking his back and side.

“Do you even know what she is, scribe?” Brage taunted Malachi as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll admit, I didn’t at first. I’m still not sure of the details. I do know that your kind won’t know what to do with her.”

Malachi rose with him, keeping himself between Ava and Brage. The Grigori’s lip was cut and the wound on his arm seeped a steady flow of blood. It was black and thick. When the snow hit  it, it sizzled.

Brage continued to stare at Ava, cocking his head as if he were puzzling over a specimen in a laboratory. Malachi lunged in, hoping to catch him distracted, but Brage grabbed his wrist and pulled, switching the black knife to his left hand and trying to slice up at Malachi’s elbow. He could feel the pulse of magic as his talesm repulsed the Grigori’s strike. Stepping closer, Malachi hugged Brage to his chest and plunged the silver blade into his side. Blood gushed over his hand, but Brage pushed back, pressing a hand to his waist to stem the bleeding but never lowering his knife.

His lip curled. “I was told you lost your talesm.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Brage lunged again, but his movements held an edge of desperation. Malachi knew he couldn’t let the black knife touch him. The cut on Brage’s arm was growing. The flesh around it was gray and the veins stood out black against his pale skin.

“You’re dying,” Malachi said. “Tell us why Volund wants her.”

Brage only laughed and dropped to the icy brick, sweeping a leg out again, catching Malachi’s ankle with his foot. He brought them both down and scrambled over to him, trying to climb atop Malachi.

Shit.

The Grigori had the upper hand, and Malachi couldn’t find purchase on the icy bricks. He was close to panic before a clang sounded through the air. Malachi blinked and Brage fell to the side. Ava was standing over him, clutching a copper urn smeared with blood.

“I couldn’t just stand there!”

“Good!”

Climbing to his feet, he almost slipped again, but Ava held him. Brage was shaking his head and blinking at Ava. A frown creased his eyebrows. Still, he persisted.

“Come with me,” he pleaded. “You can change everything. You have no idea—”

He stopped when she threw the urn at him.

“Are you nuts?” she shouted. “Why don’t you just die?”

Malachi ran and slipped across the roof as the snow swirled. There was a scream on the wind. Nothing human or even animal. Brage looked up, past Malachi. Over his head and into the black night. His mouth fell open in horror and Malachi halted.

A great gold eagle landed on the roof, and the snow exploded around it. It stepped forward and grew into Jaron. He glowed with light, and Brage raised a hand, pointing at him.

“You promised! You said you would not interfere!”

Jaron lifted the Grigori up by the neck. “I lied.”

Malachi turned to run to Ava, but found his feet were frozen to the ground.

“No,” he gasped. “Ava!”

His body was frozen. He could not reach her. Malachi twisted his neck around, but could barely catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder.

She stepped closer, her eyes locked with Jaron’s. Her face held no fear, only a grim fascination.

Malachi shouted again. “Ava, no!”

She didn’t turn toward his voice. And she didn’t stop.

It was quiet. So quiet.

Peaceful.

One minute she was frightened, watching Malachi and Brage slip across the frozen roof as they tried to kill each other. It held none of the terrible grace she remembered from Istanbul. It was dirty and bloody and cold. Then Brage had looked at her. Malachi was only steps away from killing him, and Brage looked at her with a terrible hunger.

Longing.

For a second, his voice smoothed out. The whisper did not rasp. It curled and twisted, seducing her. Softening her. Then—

Quiet.

Quiet like in her dreams. As if the world had been wrapped in cotton wool and the only sound she heard was his voice.

She saw him, holding the Grigori out to her like an offering. And when he spoke, the whisper came to her ear.

“Do you want him?”

There was nothing and no one on the roof except the three of them. The wind was silent. She was warm. Comfortable. She stepped closer.

“Why?”

“He is yours if you want him,” Jaron said, his voice for her ears alone. He held out the black knife as he raised Brage in the air. In his hand, the blade was not a dull black, but a swirling crystalline jewel, glowing with heavenly power.

“Why would I want him?”

The angel frowned. “Don’t you want to kill him?”

Of course she did. She’d imagined it countless times. But somehow, the thought of plunging a knife into the limp Grigori that Jaron held out felt wrong.

“I… I don’t know. Was he going to kill me?”

“No. In his own way, he very much wants to protect you.”

“Then wouldn’t it be wrong?”

Jaron cocked his head. “Does it matter?”

Did it? Ava blinked and tried to remember. In front of her, the glowing knife beckoned. She knew it would be warm in her hand. It would fit perfectly. She could feel it sink into the Grigori’s spine, and a soft voice whispered in her mind.

Yes…

Come with me…

Take what is yours…

She stepped closer. Brage hung limp in Jaron’s grip, like an offering presented to her.

An offering.

To her.

“He would kill your mate,” Jaron said. “He would take you to his father, but he would kill your mate to do it.”

He had killed her mate. In that moment, Ava remembered. The Grigori had killed Malachi. Ripped him from her. Torn Ava’s soul in half. The fury rose up and the black whisper grew louder.

Yes.

Kill it.

This is yours.

Ava looked into Jaron’s eyes, which held a softness she’d never seen before.

“Tell me what you wish, my daughter,” he spoke to her mind. “Tell me, and I will grant it.”

She didn’t know what to do with such a gift. It was too terrible to offer.

Ava was tired. She only wanted Malachi.

Jaron said, “I cannot grant to you what you have already taken.”

“If he would kill my mate,” Ava said, “then let my mate kill him.”

The angel smiled and closed his hand around the black knife. “I offer you a gift and reap an unexpected reward. How very interesting.”

In a blink, he was gone, and Malachi was there, holding Brage by the neck, plunging his silver blade into the Grigori’s spine as the monster screamed.

Then the screaming stopped as Brage’s body dissolved. The wind snatched his dust, whisking it away from Ava and Malachi, sweeping the snow off the roof in a violent flurry until there was nothing under their feet but black ice and cold brick.

The storm stopped, and everything was silent.

Malachi knew he had experienced it before. Change happened slowly and in the blink of an eye. The filthy smell of old water in his nose, the chaos of splashing and shouts and a sharp pain in his neck and Ava’s scream—and nothing. Sheer black, as if a veil had dropped over him. Then from nothing, he’d woken with a gasp and a need and the sharp yearning of unremembered dreams.

He was frozen in place, staring helplessly at his mate while she walked toward the fallen angel and the Grigori soldier.

And in the next breath, his hand was on the soldier’s neck, the silver blade plunged into his spine. Dust rose, and Brage was no more.

Jaron was gone. Ava was there, staring with haunted eyes at the place Brage had been. And Malachi had no idea how or when he had crossed the roof to kill his murderer.

The furious wind had stopped, and the moon reappeared.

“Ava?”

She blinked, as if coming out of a dream, but she did not speak.

“Reshon?” Malachi dropped his knife and put his hands on her shoulders to draw her close. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head and hugged her, but she did not respond.

“Canım,” he whispered. “Please.”

He finally felt her arms go around him and he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“I don’t hear them.”

Her voice was so soft he barely heard it, even on the now-silent rooftop.

“What?”

“The Grigori below. I think they’re all dead.”

“And the others?”

She paused, and he felt the tension leave her shoulders.

“I’m missing three. But none of our friends.”

He said nothing. His relief would be silent, for three of their number had been lost. Malachi might not have known them, but they had died—in part—protecting his mate and humans who would never know their sacrifice.

After a few more minutes, he asked her, “What happened?”

There was a pause before she simply said, “Jaron.”

“He was here, and I couldn’t move, Ava. I couldn’t hear. Then he was gone and Brage was in my hands. And I don’t—”

“He offered him to me,” she said. Her arms went tight around his ribs. “Like… a present. He offered me the knife and asked if I wanted to kill him.”

Malachi had killed hundreds of Grigori. Possibly thousands. They were predators. Monsters. In service to their Fallen fathers, they thought nothing of preying on human women, reducing them to nothing more than food for their unnatural hunger. Brage had murdered hundreds. Had even killed Malachi.

And yet the angel’s offer to Ava chilled him.

“You refused?”

“Jaron told me Brage didn’t want to kill me. That he wanted to protect me, but he would kill you to do it.”

“He would protect you by killing me?”

“And so I told him… I told him to let you kill him.” Her voice caught. “So you killed him, not me.”

“Good.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry, Malachi.”

He hugged her closer. “Don’t. You did the right thing.”

She started to sniff. “Then why do I feel like a coward?”

“Ava—”

“And the worst part… I wanted to. I wanted to kill him. So much. Not just kill him, I wanted to make him hurt. It was there, Malachi. It’s still there inside me. No one understands. There’s this black voice that wants me to kill and hurt and keep going until—”

“Stop.” He crushed her to his chest, whispering against her cheek and tasting her tears. “Stop.”

“Who am I?” she asked, her tears making her voice rough and swollen. “What am I?”

“You’re my mate,” he said, pushing her away so that her eyes met his. His hands cupped her cold cheeks, forcing her to keep her eyes on him. “Mine. My heart. My soul. That is all that matters to me.”

“But—”

“That is all that matters.” He pressed a kiss to her lips, but she froze.

Distant. She drifted away from him even as he held her in his arms. Malachi kissed her, but she was not there. She was lost in her own mind,  racked with needless guilt for the death of a predator. Fearful of her own power.

Vashama canem, reshon.

He could feel his soul reach for her.

Come back to me, Ava.

Tentative hands came to his waist, then reached around and pressed to the small of his back. Her lips softened under his and she allowed him to pull her closer. He wanted to take the kiss deeper. Wanted to spirit her away from the cold killing ground where the scent of sandalwood and sulfur still lingered in the air.

He held her long after they broke the kiss, tucking her head under his chin before he steered her down the stairs, past their friends and the wondering eyes of Damien and Sari. He ushered her into a car someone had brought to the front of the building. It was near dawn, and shopkeepers were beginning to show themselves. Humans called to each other near the docks. The city was waking from the darkness of night, unaware that the silent threat that had been stalking it was gone.

For now.

Malachi took Ava to the scribe house and up the stairs to the room where he found her things. He lay down next to his silent mate and held her until she fell into fitful dreams. Then he followed her into sleep and held her there, too.

It was silent in the meadow, but the dark hedge was gone. Flowers dotted the edges where the forest stood, silent and watchful over its residents. He cradled her in the grass, her arms twined around his neck.

“There’s a darkness,” she whispered. “And it scares me so much.”

“Do not fear the darkness.”

“And when the darkness is in me? Should I fear it then?”

“No,” he said, lifting her hand from his neck, knitting their fingers together. “Look, my love, there is light, too.”

Glowing silver letters pressed against gold. Their arms linked in the moonlight. His dark skin was lit from within by pure white light. And her pale skin—almost white in the moonlight—was touched by burnished gold. Glimmering black lined the edges of her mating marks, and they burned with frightening beauty.

“We were meant to be like this,” he whispered. “Two halves of the same soul. Dark and light together.”

“How do you know?”

“I know because you told me.”

“I did?”

He bent to her ear and whispered, “Remember…”

Chapter Twenty-six

The city of Oslo would never understand why the sudden rash of attacks against women suddenly dropped off with no arrests by the police. There were whispers of organized crime but no complaints. The collapse of an old apartment building near Aker Brygge was only one more mystery that no one tried to solve. There had been rumors about the place for years. Suspicious men coming and going. Strange noises. Rumors of corruption during redevelopment.

The column Ava read in the English edition of the online paper held no answers, only question after question that she knew would never be answered. Not if the Irin had anything to do with it. She sat in the kitchen of the scribe house, drinking coffee and relaxing while everything was still quiet.

“What are you reading?” Malachi asked, sitting next to her with a mug of dark tea.

She snapped her laptop shut. She had no idea why Malachi had carried it while he ran around Europe looking for her, but she was grateful to have it back. “Nothing. Just some news online.”

“Anything that will give Lang a heart attack?”

She smiled. “Lang is paranoid.”

The watcher was convinced that Irin exposure was imminent. He’d been on the phone with every contact he had in Vienna, trying to figure out what was going on, but he was getting nowhere. The lines of communication were only getting more tangled, and Sari and Damien were no longer debating going to the city. They were planning on it.

“May I?”

Malachi held out his hand, and she passed him the computer, curious what he would do. It was password protected, after all. It wasn’t as if he could—

He typed in the password with rapid fingers.

“Hey!”

Malachi shrugged. “Remember how I said that some things just came to me? Well, that was one of them.”

“I don’t remember giving it to you in the first place!”

“I suppose I must be very observant, canım.”

She ignored the sweet rush she felt with his endearment and tried to scowl. “That is my computer, Malachi,” Ava protested as he pointed and clicked. “You don’t have any right to—”

“This,” he said quietly, angling the screen toward her. “Will you tell me about this?”

He had the photo gallery open. Pictures of Topkapı Palace littered the screen. There were hundreds of thumbnails, but he’d opened the one she’d taken of him while he sat near the cafe, drinking a cup of tea and watching her from behind his sunglasses. He was wearing a linen suit and the sun caught streaks of red in his hair. She put her fingers to the picture, touching his serious face. It was when he was still pretending to be her bodyguard. Before she knew… anything.

“Why this one?”

“I’ve looked through them all. I tried to start at the beginning, but I still don’t remember much. Will you tell me?”

“Yeah.” She blinked back the tears. “I can tell you about it if you want.”

“I want.”

He looked like her mate. Felt like her mate. But in many ways, Malachi was still a stranger to her. This quiet man held only hints of the arrogant, reckless warrior she’d fallen in love with. He was different. More serious. But then, Ava imagined that she was, too.

“You kept following me around the city.” She started to smile. “I was pissed, but I can’t deny I was enjoying the scenery.”

He smiled back. “And you weren’t suspicious?”

“You have to understand about my stepfather. I thought he’d hired you.”

“Why would your stepfather hire someone to follow you?”

“Carl… he has this accountant who worries…”

He peppered her with questions until she started yawning. Then he guided her up the stairs and into their small room. She let him hold her because she slept better in his arms. So did he. Because, even though her mind didn’t know him, her heart and her body did. She let him hold her because Malachi kept the worst of the darkness away.

It still haunted her. She worried about using her magic for more than the most basic protection. Worried about the marks on Malachi’s arms that he told her appeared when she sang to him in their dreams. She worried about the strange visions Jaron had given her. And she worried about going to Vienna.

Malachi didn’t like the idea either, but if Damien, Sari, and Orsala were going, they both agreed they should follow. She still needed lessons from Orsala. They both needed the protection of friends. Vienna was a hotbed of politics, but it was also the repository of ancient secrets Malachi felt sure would shed light on Ava’s origins.

Plus, her father had a concert there in two months. And according to Rhys and Malachi, Jasper Reed might be the one human who could answer questions about the strange blood that made her an Irina.

And why she’d attracted the favor of a powerful fallen angel.

“Tell me what you wish, my daughter. Tell me, and I will grant it.”

Ava worried. But for the first time in months, she also hoped.

She drifted to sleep in Malachi’s arms, surrounded by the comfort of her mate. And as she drifted, her shields fell. His soul’s voice whispered to her, soothing murmurs of love and desire. They wrapped around her heart, fed her soul, and carried her when the darkness beckoned. In her mind, she saw them as they’d been in her dream, light and dark, bound together by heaven.

Not even death had been able to part them.

In her dream, the great circle rose, like the sun after a long night. Gold and silver twisted together, it climbed the sky until it shattered and a thousand points glistened in the darkness. Endless stars lost in blackest night.

And Ava stood below it, staring into the darkness, with Malachi at her side.

Epilogue

Jaron sat in a corner of the cell, staring at the woman with tangled hair. Like all her kind, she possessed an ethereal beauty. Her unlined skin was the color of sunset over the desert. Her hair was black and streaked with ribbons of red and gold. When it wasn’t tangled, it lay in sumptuous waves over her shoulders. Her lips were the color of ripe berries, and her gold eyes were rimmed by thick, curling lashes.

The woman in the cell knew none of her own beauty. Not anymore. She was lost in her mind.

The humans didn’t call it a cell, but that’s what it was. They’d given her paints with no brushes, because she would use the brushes as weapons if she could. But she’d used the paint to decorate the bleak walls with the visions that still came to her. Vivid hues surrounded her even though her clothes were an offensive white.

At one time she would have scoffed. As a child, she’d hated any dull color, and he had indulged her.

He’d indulged her audacity, and it had led to this.

She blinked her eyes open in a moment of lucidity and stared at him. “You.”

Her voice was hoarse from disuse. He hadn’t visited in a long time.

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Imagining?”

“No.”

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. He assumed it was difficult to distinguish reality from fantasy. But then, fantasy had always been real to her.

He felt the energy before she started to hum, and he flashed to her side, putting a finger over her lips.

“Shhh,” he soothed. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “No singing, remember?”

“Why not?” Her voice held the petulance of her childhood.

“You know why.”

She laughed, but there was no joy in it. It was a dark laugh. Strange and frightening. If Jaron had been human, he imagined it would chill him to his bones.

“I sing sometimes when you’re not here,” she said, taunting him.

“You should not.”

“But I do.” She kept giggling until the laughter turned to tears, and she was rocking back and forth with it, knees pulled up to her chest.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “No more tears. If they come, I will go away.”

She sighed again and curled into his chest. “Tired.”

“Then sleep.”

“Okay.”

He put a hand on her head and held the woman to his chest. Jaron held many powers, but the ability to heal her broken mind still eluded him. The injustice of it angered him, but he put it aside, knowing the feeling would disturb her.

“No dreams,” she murmured. “Don’t want to dream about him.”

“Sleep, Ava.” Jaron sent a calming wave of power over her, and her twitching limbs fell still. “I’ll keep the dreams away.”

END OF BOOK TWO.

Please visit ElizabethHunterWrites.com for more information about the Irin Chronicles and other work from the author. ScreamQueen

Content

The Singer
Irin Chronicles - 2
Elizabeth Hunter

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

I.

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

II.

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

III.

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

IV.

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

V.

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

VI.

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Epilogue