The Singer (39 page)

“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.”