The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “So why did my words, which aren’t even a spell, bring Malachi back from the dead?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps because it wasn’t a spell. It was a plea. To Malachi? To the Creator? Maybe it was simply an answered prayer.”

  Ava paused. “It wasn’t because my power is different?”

  “Your power is different and it isn’t,” Orsala said, leaning her elbows on the table. “It feels the same as all Irina power but… condensed. Your eyes are so gold. Your power so raw. Even untrained, you worked incredibly powerful magic. Your bloodlines must be very potent, whatever they are.” There was a flicker of concern in Orsala’s eyes, but then the old woman blinked and it was gone. “We should get back to—”

  She broke off at the commotion near the doorway. There was a slam. A shuffle of coats and shoes. Low, urgent voices. Ava and Orsala rose to their feet just as the door burst open.

  Maxim strode into the room.

  Leo followed him. “But I don’t understand—”

  “Ava,” Max said. He came to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and stared. “Ava.”

  “Max, what is it? Why are you here?”

  Orsala looked past them to the door. “Renata? What are you doing here?”

  Ava put her hands over Max’s and ignored the other voices in the room. She almost felt as if she were the one holding the massive man up. His eyes were focused on her as they had been the first time they’d met in the old scribe house, when Malachi had drawn the ancient words over her skin, marking her as one of their lost Irina. Max had stared then as he stared now.

  Wonder. Confusion. Awe.

  “Max, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t…” His eyes pleaded with her. “I can’t explain. You have to see.”

  “See? See what? What are you talking about?”

  She turned when the door from the kitchen opened and Malachi walked in.

  “Maxim,” he said. “What has happened?”

  Max just shook his head, still staring at Ava.

  Renata walked further into the room and said, “We’ve just come from Bulgaria. The two of you—”

  “He said nothing about Malachi,” Max said.

  “He is her mate,” Renata said. “She’s not going without him.”

  Rhys walked in on the commotion. “What in heaven’s name—”

  “You need to come with us,” Max said. “There’s something you have to see.”

  “In Bulgaria?” Malachi asked.

  Max shook his head again. “I can’t explain. You have to see. I didn’t believe… didn’t know. But now… It changes everything, Malachi.” He squeezed Ava’s shoulders. “Trust me?”

  She nodded. Max had been instrumental in spiriting her away from Istanbul after Malachi had been killed. She knew he had dubious contacts in the outside world, but she trusted him implicitly.

  “Malachi?”

  Her mate said, “If you want to go to Bulgaria, we’ll go to Bulgaria. Did you two drive here?”

  Renata said, “Yes.”

  Orsala asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I want Mala to take you to the city,” Renata said. “I want you with Sari and Damien. We’ll send Ava and Malachi to you after we travel to Sofia.”

  Orsala narrowed her eyes but said nothing else.

  Ava exchanged a look with her mate. Malachi shook his head, looking as confused as she felt.

  Ava didn’t know what was happening, but for the second time in her life, she had a feeling that everything had just changed.

  “TELL me again,” Renata said. “What did your father say about his mother when you confronted him?”

  “Not much,” Ava confessed as she sat next to Renata in the back of the car, talking about Jasper. “He called her ‘maman.’ Claimed she died, but I know he was lying. I could hear it.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “And not much else. There were a couple of times he looked…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What did you see?”

  Her voice dropped. “He looked… different. I can’t say exactly. Just different than he used to.”

  “Hmm.” Renata sat back and folded her hands on her lap. “Interesting. We don’t know enough, but it could fit.”

  “I really hate you guys keeping me in the dark on this.”

  “I know that, but if I tell you what I suspect, then I’ll have to tell you everything.” Renata waved her hand in a cutting gesture. “And if I tell you everything, you won’t believe me.”

  “You realize that makes absolutely no sense, right?”

  “It will after we get there.”

  “And where are we going?”

  “To meet a man named Kostas.”

  “Does he know where my grandmother is?”

  Renata shook her head. “I doubt it. But you might get some answers about what she is.”

  “MAX.” Malachi’s voice was a low growl in the front seat. “What is this? I thought we were going to the scribe house.”

  “You have to trust me, brother.”

  Ava had never been to Sofia, the capitol and largest city in Bulgaria. It was only six hours from Istanbul but seemed farther when you climbed the mountains. Snow dusted the sides of the road in places, and the temperature had dropped from the damp and mild weather along the Bosphorus.

  Ava asked, “Who’s Kostas?”

  “Someone I’ve known for a long time,” Max said.

  Malachi said, “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  Max said nothing as Malachi carefully scanned the outskirts of the city where industrial areas sprawled. Wherever they were going, it didn’t look close to the heart of the historic city. Commercial trucks and trailers seemed more common than cars.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” Malachi said.

  “To see Kostas.”

  “Damn it, Max!”

  “You’re going to have to trust me,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I am limited on what I can say. I gave my word.”

  “Your withholding information makes me want to grab Ava and walk back to Istanbul right now.”

  Ava looked at the whipping wind outside the vehicle grabbing flurries of snow. “Maybe we shouldn’t walk. I do know how to hot-wire a car.”

  Renata bit back a smile. “You are always full of surprises, my friend.”

  “Rebellious kid with lots of money and an overprotective mother. I had interesting friends as a teenager.”

  “I suppose so.”

  They turned onto a small road that led between a group of warehouses. Some of them were open, but most were closed. It was nearing midnight, and Ava rubbed her eyes to fend off the worst of the exhaustion.

  Malachi must have caught the gesture, because he said, “We should find a place to rest. Do this tomorrow.”

  “It was difficult to get him to agree to meet with us. I don’t want to delay.”

  They turned into a small parking lot in front of an older warehouse that looked more like a barn. It was freestanding. Not connected to any others, but still had the anonymous grey paneling they’d seen everywhere else.

  “I’m so tired,” Ava said with a yawn.

  “I don’t like this,” Malachi said.

  “Trust us.” Renata grabbed her hand as they came to a stop. “Stay with me and Malachi, Ava. Let Max do the talking right now.”

  They walked toward the door where a small window was glowing. It was the only light in the darkness. Not even a star appeared above them. The clouds had rolled in during their drive, and the night was pitch-black. Ava fell in step between Malachi and Renata.

  Ten feet from the door, Malachi halted. “What the hell?”

  Max turned and held up both hands. “I know what you’re thinking, but you have to trust me. I would never lead Ava and Renata—”

  “What the hell?” Malachi’s voice echoed between the metal corridor of buildings and Ava heard the door open.

  She loo
ked beyond her mate and Max.

  “Ava, get back in the car. Now!”

  Renata held tighter to her hand. “Malachi, calm down. No one is going to hurt her.”

  There was a silhouette in the doorway. The man stepped forward, his lithe body moving with preternatural grace. As he stepped closer, Ava saw him and her heart almost stopped.

  Pale, luminous skin set off eyes the color of the winter sea. Dark, curling hair fell over his forehead, touched by hints of the snow that had started to fall.

  Beautiful.

  Ethereal.

  Grigori.

  Malachi roared and reached for his knives as Ava stepped back.

  Her mate rushed the soldier, who immediately countered with his own weapons. Malachi fought in a fury of knives and kicks, slashing the Grigori who fended him off with a short staff and a machete.

  “Malachi, no!” Max was yelling.

  Renata held Ava in an iron grip, keeping her from running to the safety of the car or joining her mate in battle. “Stay here and keep out of it.”

  “Stop,” Max shouted. “Please!”

  They didn’t stop. Malachi had a deep gash across his cheek, but the Grigori looked worse. Still, the soldier fought with grim determination and focus. He winced and rolled away when Malachi knocked him to the ground.

  Max, Ava noticed, was not helping. He was only shouting at the two men to stop.

  “You have to listen to him,” Renata shouted. “Malachi, stop!”

  Four more men appeared in the doorway, hands clenched on their own daggers. One held up a gun.

  “No!” Max yelled, rushing toward them. “He doesn’t know!”

  Renata left Ava and ran to Malachi, spinning him around and pulling him away from the Grigori. “Stop, you idiot, and listen!”

  Malachi bared his teeth at Renata and lunged at the Grigori again, though the man was curled on the ground, barely moving.

  Renata pulled him back and punched Malachi across the jaw.

  “Hey!” Ava shouted, rushing forward. “What are you—”

  “Don’t you lose your head too,” Renata said, swinging Ava around and holding her arms behind her back. “Look at them.”

  “Malachi—”

  “Look at them!”

  She looked.

  Another Grigori stood in front of Max, his hands in his pockets. She could smell the sandalwood on his skin. His eyes surveyed the scene clinically as the soldiers rushed from the doorway and rolled their brother to his back to examine his wounds. Malachi was stirring, his hand reaching for his dagger, but Renata stepped on it and bared her teeth.

  “Let. Max. Talk.”

  “Kostas said to bring the girl,” the soldier in charge said to Max. “Not an Irin assassin.”

  Max said, “The scribe is her mate. She doesn’t go anywhere without him. And you didn’t leave me time to explain. I told Kostas to wait for my signal.”

  “Kostas does not answer to you.” The Grigori’s eyes narrowed. “And the butcher of Berlin isn’t known for his understanding.”

  “Let me talk to him, Pietro.”

  “Fine. But get him under control. Or Kostas will refuse to allow any of you in.” His lazy eyes flicked to Ava. “Maybe her.”

  Calm. Slight interest. But none of the grasping hunger she’d felt from the Grigori in the past.

  There was something different in his gaze.

  “Calm your mate, sister,” the Grigori named Pietro said to Ava. “Then come inside.”

  Ava froze.

  Pietro turned and followed the other Grigori, who had not attacked but only carried their fallen comrade into the dimly lit warehouse. Malachi stopped growling and rose to his feet, suddenly aware of the change in the air.

  “Ava, what’s going on?”

  Sister?

  He reached for her frozen hand as Ava’s heart had begun to pound.

  “Ava—”

  “I want to go in,” she whispered. “I need to go in there.”

  She followed the strange Grigori without thought. Malachi fell in step behind her, still grasping her hand. She felt the blood sticky on his palm, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Ava could feel the tension ratcheting up his arm.

  As the Grigori led them through the building, various doors cracked open, but no one attacked them. No one even showed their face.

  They made it into the cavern of the warehouse, a living area lit within the darkness. Low conversation flowed around the small group of men. No more than ten or fifteen were there. As they approached, they passed tables and chairs set up, old pallets and broken-down crates.

  A man rose from the couch, his hands fisted on his hips.

  His hair was long and pulled back to reveal another stunningly handsome face. Rich brown eyes and coffee-colored hair. Aquiline features that bore a hint of nobility, despite the grime and wreckage around him.

  Max stepped forward and held up a hand. “Kostas.”

  “I said you could bring her. Not a scribe. He injured one of my best men.”

  “She is his mate. I told you she wouldn’t come without him. And I saw him. No permanent damage was done. Please excuse me. This is my fault. I didn’t prepare Malachi to meet you. I thought… I didn’t know how much to say. It would be better to see.”

  Kostas’s eyes flicked to Malachi, assessing him. “He is the one who returned?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you?” Ava asked.

  The Grigori’s eyes shuttered. For a long moment, Ava waited to see what he would say, half of her tugging forward and the other half wanting to run. She lifted her shields and listened to the voices around her. Unlike the scratched voices she was expecting, these Grigori voices were touched with a resonance that reminded her of the Irin. But it was a jumble; her own mind was too scrambled to make sense of anything. She could only hear emotion.

  Longing.

  Anger.

  Fear.

  Ava looked around. She was surrounded by at least fifteen Grigori, but no one was coming after her. No one even approached. The normally seductive stares were wary. Cautious.

  “As long as my people come to no harm, he may stay,” Kostas said, then he narrowed his eyes at Ava.

  Malachi stepped forward, blocking his gaze. “What is this place?”

  Kostas smiled and, despite the knot in Ava’s stomach, she reacted. He was so beautiful it was as if the sun had broken through clouds.

  “Welcome to the heretics’ house,” Kostas said, giving them a deep bow. “The children of the Fallen your brethren have killed surround you.”

  “Oh shit,” Ava said as Malachi tensed.

  Kostas continued. “Allow me to officially extend my appreciation for your service.” The gleam in his eyes was lethal. “We very much appreciate it.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Malachi asked Max.

  “Wait.”

  The Grigori named Pietro stepped toward Kostas. “Boris and Roman checked the perimeter. They’re alone.”

  “Good.” Kostas looked toward a corner blocked off by crates. “Kyra, you may come out now.”

  A woman stepped from the shadows as Ava moved forward. She felt Malachi’s hand on the small of her back; he stood steady and protective behind her.

  She was tall and dark-haired; her long brunette mane was streaked with ebony. She turned her gaze, and Ava met eyes a mirror of her own. Glowing gold behind thick black lashes. She heard Malachi suck in a breath. The woman was beautiful. Incandescently beautiful.

  Inhumanly beautiful.

  Like the Grigori she stood beside.

  “Ava.” Kostas took the woman’s hand. “I’d like you to meet my sister. Kyra.”

  Of course.

  Of course.

  Sister.

  The memory of a dark angel’s voice in her mind.

  “Soon. You will know soon.”

  It was a startling, beautiful clarity, fresh as the sky after rain.

  Kyra smiled at Ava. Her gold eyes were shining. “Did you th
ink the angels only had sons?”

  II.

  JARON STOOD ON THE ROOF of a warehouse near Barak’s son, watching Ava in his mind’s eye.

  Of course.

  “Did you think the angels only had sons?”

  No.

  There had always been others.

  Barak appeared a second later. Vasu followed.

  “She knows,” they said together.

  “Soon she will go to their city,” he said. “And I will remove my protection.”

  “Volund will be drawn out?” Vasu asked.

  “He will come,” Barak said. “He has his own interest in the woman.”

  Vasu curled his lip slightly. “I still do not understand your fascination.”

  “Not fascination,” Jaron said. “She will draw him as nothing else can.”

  Jaron opened his eyes to them as they watched the scene play out among the sons and daughters of angels below them.

  The Irin. Children of the Forgiven, their power glowing not with the wild raw fury of Fallen children but the low, controlled burn of a well-tended fire. Their magic had been honed. Trained. Tested. Their blood farther from the angels, they had used the knowledge the Forgiven had given them to become more powerful than those they fought. Male and female. They were a balanced race.

  The Grigori. Raw fury and terrible hunger. Slaves to the Fallen. Abandoned to ignorance, their children raged against the human world with the fury of a child denied. Their sons, predators. Their daughters, a secret.

  Born in fear. Terrible with untrained power. Forgotten. Disposed of. They called themselves kareshta. The silent ones.

  Their fathers called them nothing. Those who allowed their daughters to live usually abandoned them to the madness of the human world. After all, female offspring were rare.

  He’d never turned his mind to them, because for Jaron, there had only ever been sons.

  Until there hadn’t been.

  “I sing sometimes when you’re not here.”

  Broken.

  His only daughter was so terribly broken.

  “Your son, Barak,” Vasu said with dark amusement in his eyes. “Kostas would remake the world we have built. There is power in that one. Are you sure he thinks you are dead?”