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  “If that shielding is a mark of angelic protection,” he said, “then yes. Jaron or another one of the Fallen must be protecting your father.”

  “Could it be one of the Forgiven?” Her hope lasted for a moment until Malachi squashed it.

  “It’s not possible, reshon. The Forgiven are gone from this world.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Unless one has chosen to fall again, they cannot come back here. Jaron has already shown a connection to you. It’s possible he has one to your father as well. It is the most likely possibility.”

  “But why?” Ava asked. “Why would Jaron do that? My father has never… he’s not involved in your world.”

  She felt his arms tighten around her. “Our world, Ava.”

  She nodded. “Our world. And he’s not involved.”

  “How do we know that?” He turned her so he could look in her eyes. “Ava, he knows you’re different. The way he talked about that house he bought for you. The quiet. The seclusion. If his mother was Irina—”

  “How could she be Irina and have a child with a human?”

  “I don’t know. It might be possible. So many went into hiding after the Rending, Ava. If your grandmother was Irina and had a child with a human, it would be the first to my knowledge.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well I discovered at Sarihöfn that there’s a lot the Irin don’t know about the Irina anymore.”

  “You may be correct. It could be possible—even likely—considering you exist.”

  “Would a quarter Irin blood be enough to let me touch you?”

  He ran a hand up her arm. “I think that answers itself. It has to be.”

  She settled back against him. The sun had reached its zenith in the sky, and Ava felt drowsy. The room was warm and her mate stretched out on the couch, cushioning her body with his own. As upset as she’d been with her father, his refusal wasn’t a surprise. It was easy to deal with disappointment when that was all he’d ever given her.

  “What are you thinking, reshon?”

  “I’m thinking… I like the thought of us getting married. It’ll be easier to explain you to my mother if we marry.”

  “You know, you will not grow older now. With our magic combined, there will come a time—”

  “Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I know. Someday, we’ll have to disappear. For now, let me be happy.”

  He fell silent again and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Be happy,” he whispered. “Despite everything happening around us, I am.”

  She watched the sun track across the room, dozing every now and then as she rested against him.

  “I don’t think she’s dead.” Her eyes felt heavy. “My grandmother. There was something about the way he spoke about her.”

  “If she’s alive, canım, we will find her. I promise.”

  I promise.

  Ava realized as she drifted off to sleep that to Malachi, those words meant something.

  I.

  JARON WATCHED FROM ACROSS the crowded street. He had taken the face of an old man and was holding a newspaper and watching the humans pass in front of him as they strolled the ocean promenade with family and friends. The winter wind gusted on the Italian coast, but it did not bother the angel, only flapped the threadbare overcoat that covered his narrow shoulders.

  Another old man came to sit beside him, holding a bag of warm chestnuts.

  “Does she know yet?”

  “She’s intelligent. She’ll find the answers soon enough. And the scribe is keener than I expected.”

  Barak lifted the steaming bag of chestnuts to his nose and inhaled but did not reach for one. “Mikhael’s offspring are often underestimated,” he said. “Seen more for their physical prowess than their strategy. This is a mistake.”

  Jaron nodded. “Mikhael is a great strategist. His prowess rivals Yun’s.”

  “Only when Yun is not working with you.” Barak tugged on the grey beard that covered his face. “I prefer the human eras that favor facial hair.”

  Jaron lifted an eyebrow at his friend. “Do you? I detest them.”

  “You detest every human era anymore.”

  “Why do you think I’m doing all this?”

  The corner of the old man’s mouth lifted behind his beard. “Why, indeed?”

  “Have you heard what your son is doing?”

  “I hear everything.” Barak’s face wore a look of annoyance. “Which one?”

  “You know of whom I speak. Have you traveled to Sofia lately?”

  “No. Kostas is my brightest child in centuries. There is a chance he would sense me if I came close. I have others watching him.”

  “And do you approve of what he is doing, my friend?” Jaron was amused. “He would remake the world here, even as we seek to remake the heavens.”

  Barak watched a clutch of giggling female children pass by. They shouted and shoved each other, bumping into the knees of the two old men and shouting embarrassed apologies before they ran off.

  Both of the Fallen watched them.

  “Balance,” Barak finally said. “In our arrogance, we have forgotten how the universe loves it. No world can exist for so long without balance.”

  “You’re saying change is inevitable.”

  “Is that not what you’re striving for as well?”

  Jaron shrugged and the old coat slipped off one thin shoulder. “My goals are for myself. And my friends, if they desire it.”

  The other angel sat back, lifting the bag of cooling chestnuts again. “I have not yet decided.”

  “Decide soon, brother.”

  “Vasu will go his own way.”

  “I have seen it.”

  “And me? What have you seen for me?”

  “I see nothing, because there is nothing yet to see.”

  “Hmm.” The bearded man stood and reached over the bench, tossing the untouched bag of chestnuts in a bin.

  Jaron caught Barak’s hand, closing the wrinkled palm in his own. “This time, my old friend, we do not have millennia.”

  “I know this.”

  “You must decide soon.”

  “I know this as well.” Barak squeezed Jaron’s hand and blinked out of sight as the humans rushed by with unseeing eyes.

  It was the way of things. Human sight was so very limited.

  Though Barak had shifted away, Jaron’s eyes were trained on the balcony where Ava and her scribe sat, drinking wine and watching the street musician who played below them. The musician was… not good. But Ava seemed to enjoy the performance anyway.

  The scribe’s eyes watched her but more often swept up and down the street, surveying the crowd, watching for threats. Jaron could tell the scribe did not care for his mate being out on the balcony, exposed to possible danger.

  The angel approved of this. Perhaps Ava’s unexpected call to heaven had manifested a boon for him. He still didn’t fully understand why the Creator had allowed the scribe’s body and soul to return, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take advantage. More than his own eyes would be trained on the woman if he weren’t protecting her.

  It wasn’t time. There were still pieces to move into place.

  Soon, time would run out.

  Chapter Five

  THEIR RETURN TO ISTANBUL was easier the second time. Ava seemed less cautious and more relieved to be heading back to Turkey. They caught a morning flight and were driving to the scribe house by lunch time. To Malachi, it almost seemed as if she’d left her melancholy in Italy with Jasper. She was lighter. Smiling more.

  “You’re happy to be back,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “It feels like… coming home. With you. I missed it.” She rolled down the window and took a deep breath of the air, only to wrinkle her nose at the smell of fish as they crossed the bridge. “Okay, I didn’t miss that.”

  Malachi laughed and reached over her to roll the window up. “So no fish for lunch?”

  “No,” she said. “I want l
amb and salad. Maybe some of those fried potatoes you make.”

  “Now I’m hungry.” But happy. He enjoyed cooking for her, and her mood was infectious.

  They reached Beyoğlu just a few minutes later, and when they walked into the house, Malachi heard fighting.

  Immediately on alert, he held up a hand and put a finger to his lips. Ava dropped her bags and went to the closet, searching for the cache of weapons Leo and Rhys kept ready.

  “Who?” she whispered.

  He shook his head and held out his hand, catching the sheathed dagger she tossed him. Ava stuffed a throwing knife in her waistband and grabbed a short staff, falling in step behind him.

  Malachi crept down the hallway, past the living room, and toward the closed door. The sounds were coming from the practice room, but there were none of the usual shouts and cheerful taunts of his brothers. Strained breathing and grunts. The clash of wood and bodies hitting the floor.

  “Wait.” Ava put a hand on his lower back. “I think…”

  He turned and put a finger to his lips. “Wait here,” he mouthed, tracing his talesm prim. He felt the wash of magic over his skin. His eyes grew sharper. His ears keener.

  “But I think—”

  In one movement, Malachi shoved the door open and rolled in, staying low as his eyes swept the room. Leo was on the floor in the corner, a woman straddling him with a staff across his neck. The big man was trying to throw her off, but she only pressed down harder, the muscles rippling in her lean brown arms. Leo scissored his legs in an attempt to flip her, but the woman pushed into it, angling the staff even harder against his throat.

  Malachi heard his brother choking. He charged the woman, ignoring his mate’s shouts from the doorway. With a bent shoulder, he tackled her to the ground, only to have her twist away before he could put her in a choke hold. Her staff came up and struck his temple, but he shook his head and brought up his dagger to attack.

  “No!” Leo jumped between Malachi and the woman. “Malachi! Don’t you remember Mala?”

  Mala?

  A faint memory from Oslo. Mala was one of Sari’s Irina. A fierce warrior who’d lost her mate during the Rending and almost lost her own life in a battle near Lagos.

  He shook his head. “Mala?”

  “We were only sparring.” Leo was panting. But grinning too. “She’s amazing. Such skill with the short staff! I’ve never fought an Irina before. Are they all like this?”

  Leo sounded as excited as a child at his Naming Day celebration.

  “Mala!” Ava ran over, laughing as she embraced the dark-eyed warrior. “Please don’t kill my mate. We just got home. We weren’t expecting you.”

  The corner of the woman’s full lips turned up. She embraced Ava with one arm, then pulled back, using her hands to sign.

  “Slowly,” Ava said. “I’m out of practice.”

  Mala signed again. Ava nodded, still grinning. “I’ll tell him. She says you have a strong tackle, but you should work on your balance. Strength is no substitute for grace.”

  Malachi glowered.

  “Hey.” Ava held up her hands. “Don’t kill the messenger.”

  His eyes shifted to Mala, who only looked amused. It was a welcome expression on an otherwise fearsome face. The Irina had been beautiful once. Was still beautiful. But her jawline was marred by horrible scars that looked like an animal had attempted to rip out her throat. That was why she did not speak. The Grigori had taken her voice.

  Malachi held out his hand. “Well met, sister. You are a fierce opponent.”

  Mala bowed slightly, then turned to Leo. Ava translated when she started signing.

  “I think… she says you rely too much on your size. A smaller opponent is often more… flexible?” Ava paused, watching Mala. “Nimble?” Mala nodded and continued. “She says you should practice dancing.” Ava frowned. “Really? Dancing?”

  Mala nodded vigorously.

  “I can do that,” Leo said with a grin. “But I’d need an Irina partner.”

  Mala picked up her staff and walked out of the room.

  Leo said, “I guess that means she doesn’t volunteer.”

  “I’ll dance with you, Leo.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Not really. But at least you won’t make me pass out, which is an improvement over most partners you’re going to find around here.”

  “True.”

  Malachi sheathed the knife and tried to calm a heart that still raced. “Leo, do you still want to spar?” he asked. “I’ve been on a plane all morning and I’d love to stretch my legs.”

  “Of course.” The big man picked up the second staff that was lying on the mat of the training room. “Ava, Orsala arrived with Mala.”

  Ava groaned and covered her eyes. “No.”

  Malachi went to her and kissed her temple. “She’s probably with Rhys in the library, devising more magical torture for you. The longer you delay, the worse it will be.”

  “Save me,” she said.

  “I will battle Grigori for you, canım,” he said gallantly. “I’ll abandon heaven and cross continents.”

  “My hero!”

  “But I will not interfere with that old singer’s plans. Do you think I want to die again?”

  She slapped his backside and walked toward the door. “Leo, kick his ass for me. He’s getting way too cocky.”

  Malachi only laughed. “I love you, Ava.”

  Leo said, “I love you too, Ava. Good luck with Orsala.”

  “Both of you—useless!”

  “MALACHI?”

  He looked up from his drawing pad. “Orsala?”

  The old woman smiled tentatively when she walked into the room. She wore the silver hair and lined face of an Irina who had stopped her longevity spells. Malachi had heard her mate had been killed years ago, so allowing herself to age and pass away was not unexpected.

  “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

  “Not at all.” He pushed the sketches to the side. He had several talesm he’d been planning to scribe once they were back in Istanbul, and he needed to practice the characters. But sketching could wait. Malachi had a feeling she wanted to talk about his mate. “Is Ava—”

  “She’s fine. Resting, I think. She went to your room with a headache. I believe she was becoming frustrated.”

  He rose to go to her, but Orsala put a hand on his shoulder. “If I could have a moment…”

  Malachi paused. “What is it?”

  “She is very resistant.”

  “To using her magic?”

  “Yes.”

  “I know.” He took a deep breath. “She’s afraid of what she can do.”

  She smiled, and warm creases formed around her silver-blue eyes. “I do not want to interfere. Or ask you to break her confidence. I want to help her.”

  “Let me talk to her again.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I warn you, though.” He gathered his papers and turned to leave. “I will not pressure her to use her magic if she’s not ready. My loyalty is to her, not any cause.”

  “As it should be,” Orsala said. “You remind me much of my own mate. He was highly protective, even when I was at my strongest.”

  “It is when we are strongest that we often don’t protect ourselves,” he said. “Whatever her destiny is in this life, it is my job to defend her.”

  “For the Irina, I think the time has come for offense, not defense.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not talking about the Irina. I’m talking about Ava. I will not let her be dragged into a war of your making, Orsala. However much I may support your cause, her part in it will be of her choosing.”

  “She has not chosen this,” the old woman countered, “but Jaron has. The Fallen has targeted her.”

  “And protected her.”

  “I know.” Orsala stepped closer. “We need to know why. There is a darkness in her. A darkness to her magic that I have never seen before.”

  “I do not fear her d
arkness.”

  “Nor should you. But we need to understand it so we may understand her. She needs to understand herself, Malachi. If you do not fear the darkness, then do not shield your mate from it, either. Sometimes we must do exactly the thing that terrifies us most in order that we may live the life we were meant to have.”

  WHEN he reached their bedroom, he knocked. It was their shared room, but if she was exhausted—

  “Come in, Malachi.”

  He pushed the door open. Ava was lying on the bed in a beam of sunlight, the sun catching red strands in her hair. Her eyes were closed. Her forehead smooth.

  “Orsala said your head was hurting.”

  “I lied. Kind of.”

  He toed off his shoes and lay down next to her. “What’s wrong?”

  Ava rolled over to make room for him. “You know, I think this was what I missed the most when you were gone.”

  He said nothing. The fact that she was talking about her grief was extraordinary enough. He didn’t want to interrupt her.

  “I missed lying next to you. Just… that. Not sex. Not even your touch. I missed all those things, but it was just… you. Being here. Knowing that someone gave a shit about me other than my mom. Knowing you were beside me at night.” She moved her leg over to hook it around his knee. “I could reach out for you if I needed you. Or just wanted you. When I had that… I’d never had that before.”

  He took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m a second mate. As if you grieved for someone entirely different. That you still grieve.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t.” He rolled over and watched her face in profile. Her eyes were still closed. But now there were lines of tension on her forehead. He took a finger and smoothed them away. “Don’t be sorry. You lost me, but I never lost you. I think I would go quite mad if our roles had been reversed. The man I am now has always had you. My memories began with you, so I never felt the pain you did. You were where I began, Ava. I was the lucky one.”

  She choked out a laugh even as the tears leaked from the corner of her eye. “You were the one who died.”

  “But that pain only lasted a heartbeat. Yours lasted for months. Please, don’t hide your grief from me.”