Текст книги "The Singer"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Hunter

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

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.