“I thought you said that I could go at my own pace.”
“You can. But I need to know what’s happening in your dreams.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
So it wasn’t something she was doing. He hadn’t thought so, but he wanted to be sure.
He glanced around again, then turned his eyes back to her. He’d suspected Ava had protection, but Volund’s words confirmed it.
“During our dreams,” Malachi said. “Do you sense it?”
“What?”
“The layer he’s placed over you.”
“Who? Jaron?”
“Yes.”
She frowned. “I’ve sensed… something. But it’s not something I’ve thought about much.”
“He’s shielding you,” Malachi said. “I’m sure of it.”
“From you?”
“No.” From another, darker threat. “He’s an angel. Jaron would probably be able to shove me out of your dreams completely if he wanted to. Or maybe not. I don’t really know. As far as I’ve read, the Fallen do not enter our dreams. I don’t know why Jaron can walk in yours, but I’m fairly sure he’s shielding you.”
He wished she would share what had happened on the rooftop in Oslo. There had been a break in time for him. Looking back, he knew that Ava and Jaron had some exchange, but he didn’t know what had passed between them. As much as Ava shared with him, there were fears she hid. Malachi didn’t even know if Ava realized she was hiding.
“If Jaron is shielding me from something, I don’t know what it is,” she finally admitted. “He’s as confusing to me as he is to everyone.”
I cannot reach her, but I can reach you.
Was he right to conceal Volund’s intentions toward her? Malachi didn’t know, but he didn’t want to bring it up. It was one more problem for which he had no solution to offer.
Malachi shrugged. “The Fallen have never shown any interest in protecting humans as far as I can remember. I have no idea why Jaron is doing it.”
“Not even their human lovers?”
“Humans are disposable to them. All humans.”
“But he protects me.” She frowned. “Maybe there’s more to the angels than what you’ve been taught.”
“I doubt it, Ava.”
“But…” She frowned. “The Fallen and the Forgiven? They’re all angels, right?”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the difference? Why were the Forgiven capable of compassion and not the Fallen?”
“I don’t think you could call the Forgiven compassionate. They were just…”
“What?”
He shook his head. Some lessons were still crystal clear, even if he couldn’t remember when or where he’d learned them. “The Forgiven gave up their place on earth—their offspring, their human lovers—but it was because they were cut off from heaven. They wanted to go back. It was for our sakes, but more for their own.”
“So they were selfish to leave? Not sacrificing?”
“It was both. There had to be an element of sacrifice, because they were allowed to gift their children with magic. The Fallen were not.”
“Don’t the Grigori have magic?”
“Only the natural magic that comes from angelic blood. Which shouldn’t be underestimated. But they don’t know the Old Language as we do. So their magic is limited. It is our main advantage.”
She was still frowning. “I don’t get it, though.”
“What?”
“Why don’t the Fallen teach the Grigori the same magic? Wouldn’t it make them more powerful?”
“I don’t know if the Fallen want their children to be that powerful. Or even if they are able to teach it to them. They might not be able.”
“You don’t know?”
He shook his head. “They’re Grigori. We don’t engage them in conversation. We kill them.”
Ava snorted. “For a race you’ve been at war with for millennia, you guys don’t know much about your enemy, do you?”
“They’re a predatory race. We know enough.”
“Do you?”
He sat up straighter and lowered his leg. “What does that mean?”
She was looking out the window. “You know I’m no fan of the Grigori. But part of me wonders if the Irin don’t choose to be ignorant about them. About their world. It’s easier to dehumanize something you don’t understand. Easier to kill someone you don’t see as a person.”
“There’s a problem with your reasoning, Ava.”
“Oh?”
“The Grigori are not human.”
“No?” Her eyes swung back to his. “Think about it, Malachi. They’re half human. Half angel. The Grigori are as human as you.”
MALACHI stewed silently for the rest of the trip.
The Grigori as human as he was?
Hardly.
The monsters who had tracked Ava like an animal? Seduced and killed countless human women? Taken his own life? Flashes of memory haunted him, flipping through his mind in a litany of accusation.
Knives and blood. Knives were the only way to kill them and release their souls for judgment. And knives were messy, bloody weapons for fighting. Slices across his arms. His chest. He’d almost lost an ear once.
Knives and blood and dead, lifeless eyes. Not the Grigori. No, their bodies dissolved like so much dust, leaving the remains of their prey for others to find. Dead eyes, often open in surprise or rolled back in ecstasy. The Grigori were beings who made a mockery of love, the human women they hunted never suspecting that the glorious creature who touched them was actually sucking the life out of them.
A small, inconvenient voice in the back of his mind whispered, You would too.
His touch would be deadly too.
So the Irin didn’t touch any but their own.
That was the point. It was what made them different. Made them the protectors, not the hunters. They were nothing like the Grigori.
He could hear Ava’s voice. But…
The Grigori had no fathers or mothers as they did. Had no families. No training in magic. They had no Irina.
They had no Irina.
So what hope did they have?
And what monsters would the Irin have become with no hope?
He was silent when they arrived at the hotel. Silent when they made their way to their room. Silent even as Ava stoically put their things away, unpacking from the single bag they had brought, carefully arranging the room with the long practice of years living in hotel after hotel.
“I know you’re mad at me,” she said as he walked up behind her. She was standing at a small dresser, arranging their clothes. “It wasn’t my intention, I’m just saying—”
“Shh.” He bent down, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. “Ava.”
“What?”
Her shoulders had been tense, but she relaxed as he held her and kissed her cheek. Her neck. They had few fights because they were still uneasy around each other. Both of them often retreated into polite silence, and he knew it wasn’t right.
“I love you,” he said, drawing her away from the bureau and into his chest. His hands traveled up her torso, slipping underneath the thin sweater she wore. He hungered for her skin. “You are my hope.”
“Malachi—”
“You are. It is easy to forget”—he kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder—“what I would be without you. There was a time when I was as hopeless as they were. I don’t think the Irin are like the Grigori, but I will think about what you said.”
“I’m not saying I want to be friends with them,” she said, turning in his arms. “I just think there are things we could learn. Me, mostly. But maybe you too.”
“You’re right.”
A teasing light came to her eyes. “You’re so sexy when you agree with me.”
“Am I?” He bit her lower lip as his hands ran back down to cup her bottom. “How about now?” he murmured against her lips.
“Say it a
gain.”
“You’re right.”
“Oooooh,” she said. “Even sexier.”
He grinned as he kissed her. He loved it when she teased him. When she laughed. It was happening more and more as time passed.
“You’re my hope too, you know.”
He paused. “What?”
“What was I before I met you?” she asked. “Lonely. Lost. Never fitting in anywhere. Ruining any relationship I tried to have.”
“Human men would never have been good for you.” A sudden spike of jealousy. No other man would touch her. Not as he did. His mate belonged to him alone. He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
“I know that now.”
She let him roll over her, strip her clothing off so that he could feast on her. Breasts. Knees. Thighs. He bit the soft swell of flesh on her belly. No inch of her body was safe from his ravening mouth.
And she coaxed him with her words.
“I love your mouth,” she whispered. “Love what you do to me. No one has ever made me feel like you do.”
“Ava—”
“I was so lost without you.” Her voice choked on the words. “So lost, Malachi. Only my dreams kept me sane.”
He groaned and pressed his mouth to her breast, turning his head to listen to her pounding heart. To her, he had been gone. A painful memory. But to him, she had been a siren. His only touchstone in a world that made no sense. And he could only hold her in dreams.
Now she was real. With him. Not a dream. Not a memory.
Ava was everything.
“Come here.” She pulled at his clothes, as hungry as he was. “I need you.”
And when they made love, she dug her fingers into his shoulders. Anchoring him in their joined flesh, even as his magic flared. Reached for hers. He could see the glowing silver talesm on his arms.
“Sing to me,” he whispered in her ear as they moved together. “Sing for me, Ava.”
She remained silent, but he felt the curl of her magic wake, and her mating marks flickered in awareness.
“Canım,” he said.
“Malachi.” Her hands tightened in his hair.
“My hope, Ava. You are my hope.”
THEY rented a scooter the next day, climbing up the hills of the Italian Riviera where Jasper Reed had rented a secluded house. They told no one they were coming, and Malachi only hoped that the man who had disappointed Ava so many times would not do so again. It would pain his mate, and Malachi would be hard-pressed not to vent his anger on the human.
Ava leaned against his back, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as they drove over the twisting roads. The sun shone down on them, despite the bite of cold in the air. It was Italy, but it was still winter, and clouds were gathered on the horizon. But Ava had wanted to rent a scooter instead of a car, and he had indulged her.
The address Max had given them led them past a small village and up another steep hill. They came to a gate on the road with the number of the house. He could see it at the top of the hill. Ava opened an unlocked gate and began to climb. A steep fall of stairs cut into the hillside brought them to another gate, this one guarded by a solid man Malachi guessed was American. His stance said professional; his bearing spoke of experience. He was younger than Malachi but would be a reasonably skilled opponent if he were not human.
“Hey, Ruben,” she said, her voice a little breathless from the climb.
“Ava.” The guard’s tone offered surprise, even if his eyes were invisible behind dark sunglasses. “I didn’t know—”
“Yeah, I know I’m a surprise. You gonna let me in, or do I have to call him?”
“I…” Ruben hesitated, but then his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he opened the door. He glanced at Malachi, gave him a little nod, then turned back to Ava and took off his glasses. “He’s not expecting company.”
Malachi noted that he’d been assessed and filed away as Ava’s bodyguard. It was incredibly strange to be among humans who just expected to have armed men following them around for security.
“Really?” Ava raised an eyebrow. “He’s not expecting company?”
Ruben sighed. “Okay, he’s not expecting his daughter. You know how he is. Ava, I wish…”
Malachi realized, quite suddenly, that this bodyguard was more than familiar with Ava. That he actually cared about her.
The guard had probably known her for years. He might even live in her father’s household. Did she consider him a friend? They might have traveled together. Eaten together. How strange to live and travel with people you employed. Were they friends? Was true friendship possible when one was employer and the other employee? The thought added a new layer of loneliness to Ava’s history.
“I know how he is, Ruben.” She brushed a hand along the human’s arm. “It’s fine. Is Luis here?”
“Not right now. Went into town to do some stuff. There’s no Internet up here.”
“I bet he loves that,” she muttered. “Do me a favor and don’t call Luis, okay?”
Ruben’s tone was pleading. “Ava…”
“Fine.” She sighed. “Call your boss so you don’t get fired. Is Jasper alone?”
“Right now? Yeah.”
“No girls expected?”
Ruben shook his head. “Not until later.”
“Got it.” She took his hand. “This is Malachi. He’s with me.”
Ruben examined him with newly suspicious eyes.
That’s right, human. I am much more than her bodyguard.
“Hey.” He held out a hand. “I’m Ruben.”
“Malachi.” They shook hands, and Malachi was relieved the human didn’t do the idiot measuring hand squeeze. That never ended well for humans. He did, however, make a point of meeting Malachi’s eyes. The threat was unspoken but clear. The man considered Ava his responsibility.
They stared at each other until Ava said, “And it appears we all have plenty of testosterone. Ruben, let go. Malachi’s my… boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” Ruben was definitely surprised. He dropped Malachi’s hand and stepped back.
“I really don’t like that word,” Malachi said.
“What should I call you? My lover? Husband? Ma—”
“Boyfriend is fine.” He squeezed her hand, glanced at Ruben, then nudged her toward the door. “Don’t you need to see your father?”
“You’re so cute when you’re annoyed,” Ava said lightly, and he could read the tension in her voice. She was nervous and trying to hide it.
“Come on.” He let go of her hand and put a steadying arm around her waist. “Ruben, where can we find Jasper?”
The guard’s keen eyes flipped between them, but he said, “Probably out in the gardens.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Malachi let her guide them up another set of stairs, this one shorter than the last. When they walked through the last gate, the garden opened up to a graveled walkway lined with olive trees interspersed with flower-filled urns. Ava didn’t stop to admire the view but went straight up the path, heading for the large house he could see towering over the gardens.
They passed the front door and the covered patio beside it, still following the path to the side of the house where he could hear the faint sounds of a guitar and the recognizable voice of one the most celebrated human musicians.
Jasper Reed was known for performing rock and roll, blues, and American folk music, but he’d collaborated with classical musicians and even written scores for movies. He was, without a doubt, one of the most gifted human musicians of his age. And when they finally rounded the corner and came upon him, Malachi knew his talent wasn’t merely rumor.
The man sat on a low bench, guitar in his lap, several empty coffee cups on the table in front of him along with an overflowing ashtray. Several of the domestic staff watched him from a shaded doorway, one smoking, two whispering, but all of them with rapt eyes on the man.
Reed appeared to be in his forties, but Malachi knew he h
ad to be older in human years. Dark hair like Ava’s. A classically handsome, unlined face. And a soft voice laden with a practiced breathy rasp.
The music was pure in its simplicity. Seductive in its tone. His voice was quiet but seemed to suffuse the air around him until every human within its hearing was held in thrall. Even Malachi was entranced.
Ava stopped in the shade of a spreading oak, watching her father. And he was, undoubtedly, her father. She’d said she looked like her mother—and she did—but there was a quality of expression she shared with Reed. So much that Malachi wondered how anyone could have been ignorant of her parentage. Her face was yearning. Her power flared.
And was answered when the music stopped and her father turned toward her.
A crooked smile. “Ava? Baby girl, what are you doing here?”
Then Reed’s eyes fell on Malachi, and the scribe knew without a doubt where his mate’s power had come from.
Talented musician. Wasted drug addict. Delinquent father. Jasper Reed might have been many things.
But he wasn’t human.
Chapter Four
“HEY, JASPER.”
Her father put his guitar down and held out his arms. “Come here! What are you doing here, Ava?”
She could lie to herself all she wanted, but when Jasper opened his arms, the little girl in Ava leaped with joy. The girl who’d never belonged stepped forward and embraced the man who had fathered her.
“Came to say hi.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
His arms were warm, and he smelled like sunshine and coffee and soap. He’d probably smell like cigarette smoke soon enough, but in that moment, she took a deep breath and enjoyed the feeling of his stubbled cheek against hers.
“Wanted to surprise you.”
Jasper wasn’t stupid. He pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since Luis was being closemouthed about where you were. Why weren’t you answering my e-mails?”
He scratched his cheek, the dark stubble hinting at some Mediterranean heritage he’d never confirmed. He didn’t know much about his family, he’d always told her. But was it the truth? Or did he just not want to share?