The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “It’s not enough.” The old singer leaned forward. “Stop being so stubborn! Let her protect you too. That is what the mating bond was intended it to be.”

  “I lost everything when I returned to earth. Ava was all I had. She says I help her remain sane against the voices? Her voice is the only reason I didn’t lose my mind when I lost my memories.” He felt Ava’s hand curl into his, and he squeezed it tight. “Do you truly not understand why I don’t want to take a chance?”

  “You are holding her back if you don’t. And holding yourself back as well.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth again. “Just think about it. Don’t hold your mate back because you allow your fear to rule you. Now is not the time for defense, but offense.”

  Orsala’s words were a mirror of his own. Only she was challenging Malachi personally, not the Irin race as a whole.

  And Malachi had no defense.

  Damn.

  “YOU already know that my grandmother is Jaron’s child.” Ava started the story after Orsala had called for coffee. “But… she is also Volund’s mate.”

  Orsala sat back and her mouth fell open. “Heaven above.”

  Malachi kept his arm around Ava’s shoulders.

  “It was not by choice,” she said. “Volund took her from Jaron’s protection. He raped her.”

  “And he marked her?” Orsala said.

  Ava nodded. “He wanted to know if it was possible.”

  “It is.” Orsala blinked. “But there would have been no need for it to be violent. Volund is an archangel. He could have seduced—”

  “He didn’t,” Malachi said. “I didn’t see the vision she sent Ava until afterward when she shared it with me, but it was not a seduction. Volund wanted to terrorize her, and he did.”

  “I suppose…” Orsala’s face was bleak. “I’ll admit I suspected something of that nature, though I never imagined rape.”

  “What do you mean?” Ava asked.

  “Your blood.” She shook her head. “It never made sense for you to have so much magic with so little of your blood angelic. The Grigori sire children with human women, and they are not magical. Geniuses, yes. Great artists who are often unstable. Not like you. But you’re not a normal Grigori—or Grigora in this case—child. You don’t have one angel in your line, but two. Your great-grandfather and your grandfather. And both are archangels. It changes things.”

  “How?” Malachi asked.

  Orsala looked at Malachi. “Do you remember when I had Rhys get the copy of Gabriel’s Old Tales for me?”

  “Back in Istanbul. Yes.”

  “The fairy tales?” Ava asked.

  “They’re not fairy tales in the human sense,” Orsala said. “These are more like… legends. Folk tales, I suppose.”

  The story popped into his mind immediately, coming from the childhood memories he’d already recovered. “Of course,” Malachi said. “‘Adelina’s Son.’”

  “Who’s Adelina?” Ava’s eyes darted between them.

  “‘Adelina’s Son’ is a cautionary tale,” Orsala said. “In Gabriel’s Old Tales, Adelina is a beautiful and gifted singer—the most treasured daughter of her village and a notable healer of Rafael’s line. She appears in many of the tales and is always a very powerful character. But Adelina is also so beautiful that one of the Fallen—some translations imply Bozidar, others imply a lesser angel—fell in love with her and mated with her.”

  Ava asked, “And that can’t happen?”

  Malachi shook his head. “Not love. You heard Jaron. The angels are not truly capable of love. Emotion comes from our human blood, not the angelic.”

  “But it is a story, of course,” Orsala said. “Not reality. The story says that Adelina was seduced by this angel and fell in love with him. They lay together and she became pregnant. At first, she was very happy. She sang that her child would be blessed above all others and would be a gift to the world. A child of heaven who would finally reconcile the Irin and the Fallen so we could live in peace.”

  “This is fiction, right?”

  “Is it?” Malachi asked. “In the story, Adelina gives birth to a monster who consumes her as soon as it’s born; his father has to kill it before it goes on to terrorize the world.”

  “Hey.” Ava punched his arm. “My father is three-quarters angelic, and he’s not violent or scary. Irresponsible and unstable, yes. But he’s never hurt anyone but himself. And did they seriously read shit like that to you when you were kids?” She looked horrified. “I mean, that’s just wrong.”

  Orsala patted Ava’s hand. “It is a story. It’s intended to frighten. And I think in this case it’s intended to frighten young Irina away from ever being seduced by one of the Fallen. It’s a taboo in our race for a reason.”

  “And no Irina has ever mated with a Fallen?” Ava asked.

  Malachi and Orsala both shuddered.

  “No,” he said. “I can’t even imagine the most rebellious Irina doing something so dangerous. We are taught to run screaming from the Fallen from the time we can walk.”

  “With stories about monster-babies, I’m not surprised. According to Jaron, it’s never happened to one of the kareshta either. Just my grandmother.”

  “The Fallen are possessive of their offspring. Not loving, of course. But proprietary. For one of them to violate Jaron’s child would be considered an aggressive act in any case. I’m guessing that for Volund to not only violate Jaron’s daughter but then mark her as his own would be an act of war. He essentially stole her and tied her to himself.”

  “She dream-walks with him.”

  Orsala was at a loss for words for a moment. “That is… a torture I cannot imagine. And Jaron can do nothing to shield her?”

  “When he’s physically present with her, she’s safe. Other than that? Volund can touch her mind any time she sleeps.”

  “Can Volund reach you?”

  “Yes,” Malachi said, “but not when Jaron is shielding her. And as far as we know, he’s never lifted his protection.”

  “No…” Orsala’s eyes went blurry. “He won’t, of course. Not until he’s ready.”

  “Orsala?”

  She blinked and her eyes widened. “Jaron wants Volund.”

  “Of course.” Malachi and Ava exchanged looks. “We’ve already told you—”

  “Jaron wants Volund,” she said again, rising to her feet and starting to pace. “He doesn’t care about our war with the Fallen. He is at war with Volund. But Jaron’s forces are depleted. According to rumors, his children are few. Jaron may be more powerful than Volund personally, but his army is not.”

  Ava frowned. “Yes, but what—”

  “Malachi,” Orsala said, spinning around. “In a battle, what is the most important step you can take to ensure victory before the fighting even starts?”

  “Claim your ground,” he answered immediately. “The combatant with a greater position can defeat an enemy more powerful than himself if he picks the right location.” Malachi stood when the realization hit. “He’s using Ava as bait.”

  “Jaron has picked his location,” Orsala said, staring at Ava. “His and Volund’s only blood tie is mated to an Irin scribe and currently residing in the most Irin-powerful city in the world. She’s part of us now. A Grigori female mated within our race. Jaron knows we will fight for her.”

  The soldier in Malachi saw the brilliance of Jaron’s move immediately.

  “He’s shielding Ava as he gathers his allies. And when he’s ready…”

  Ava’s face was pale. “He’s using me as bait to draw Volund here so the Irin will be forced to protect me and kill his enemy.”

  He could see the wheels begin to turn in her head.

  Malachi said, “Don’t even think about it.”

  She looked away from him.

  “You’re not leaving,” he said. “That’s not even an option, Ava.”

  Ava glared at him. “I’m putting an entire city at risk. It’s stupid for me to stay.”

 
; “Where would you go that Volund and Jaron could not find you?” Orsala asked. “At least here we can protect you.”

  “And risk a battle in the middle of a major metropolitan area?”

  Orsala frowned. “He will have thought of that. The Fallen have no desire to attract attention. In any case, Jaron’s goals align with our own. Volund needs to die. He masterminded the Rending. He raped your grandmother. He has targeted females of both races for centuries. This is a battle we must fight.”

  “I agree, but I don’t think the entire city of Vienna needs to be part of the carnage.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Malachi asked. “Run away?”

  “Why should I stick around to be a pawn in their game?”

  “Jaron is a powerful ally,” Orsala said. “We’ve never worked with one of the Fallen before. Nor have they attempted to work with us. And yet it appears he wishes to do so. We should not dismiss him. Whatever plan he has will work to our advantage. If you leave, that could complicate things.”

  “And might possibly save thousands of lives,” Ava said. “I should be in the middle of nowhere, where no one else can get hurt.”

  Malachi blurted out, “If you stay without arguing, I’ll let you complete the mating ritual.”

  Ava’s jaw dropped. “Unbelievable.”

  Without another word, she turned and left the room.

  Malachi turned to Orsala. She was shaking her head. Her eyes pressed closed. His mother’s mental voice had started to lecture him again.

  “I can’t help you with that one,” Orsala said.

  “Bad timing?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “AVA, WAIT!”

  She heard his voice, but she didn’t stop. She’d grown comfortable on the streets here. There was no scent of Grigori in the air, and she’d learned to find her way around. She headed back to the apartment and didn’t turn, even when she heard him getting closer.

  “Ava, stop!”

  He caught up with her a few blocks from the apartment.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, clutching her shoulders. “Canım, I—”

  She shook him off. “And you accused me of being manipulative?”

  “I know.”

  “No.” She walked away, burying her hands in the pockets of her coat. “You really, really don’t.”

  They were starting to attract attention, so they kept walking. Malachi fell in step beside her but didn’t try to touch her again.

  “Would it help if I told you I’d decided on it before you threatened to leave?”

  She nodded. “Oh, so you were just holding that one in reserve for a moment when you needed to get your way.”

  “No. Not… exactly.”

  “Got it.”

  “I’d only just decided! Why are you trying to start a fight with me?”

  “Nope. This isn’t starting a fight. This is fighting. This is the two of us fighting over you being a controlling asshole.”

  It irritated her that she was walking as fast as she could, and yet he kept up with her effortlessly.

  “Ava.” He sighed.

  She reached the front door and opened it with the key, ignoring how his hand reached out to hold the door for her. How he stopped to make sure it closed securely behind them. How he brushed a drift of snow from her shoulder.

  Ava started up the stairs. The black cat was waiting at the door. It slipped in when she opened it and ran to the window to watch the street. Malachi followed behind her.

  “What do I do to fix this?”

  She was angry. Frustrated. Mostly, she was hurt. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. It’s supposed to be special. I’ve been memorizing all the songs for weeks now, so worried that I wouldn’t be able to do things right. That I’d mess things up and embarrass myself. And you! And then… you don’t want it. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

  Rejected.

  She didn’t want to say it, because she knew he loved her. Knew he was proud to be her mate. But a lifetime of rejection from her father—from every man in her life—wouldn’t disappear just by Malachi loving her. She wished it would.

  Ava stripped off her coat and scarf, turned up the thermostat, and went to start the kettle for tea. She’d drunk so much coffee in the past few days she thought her stomach lining might start a revolt.

  She felt his hands on her shoulders. Felt the roughness of his beard against her neck. “I want it.”

  “Maybe you’re right. It’s probably not a good idea. Not when Jaron is using me as bait. We don’t understand Volund’s connection with me. It might make you vulnerable too.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Please don’t do this. It was stupid for me to say it then, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t sincere.”

  “So you’ll go through the rest of the mating ritual with me, but only if I agree to stay in Vienna?”

  “You’re not truly thinking of leaving, are you?”

  She didn’t say anything. She was thinking about it. Orsala and Malachi could scheme all they wanted, but the fact of the matter was if Ava stayed in the city and people were killed in some massive angelic battle, she’d never be able to live with herself.

  His arms tightened. “You can’t be serious.”

  “If I leave, then who do they have to kill but each other? No Irin would be forced into battle—”

  “And you’d be caught in the middle.” He stepped back.

  She turned slowly. “I am one person. We’re talking about thousands—”

  “We’re talking about you! My mate. Do you honestly think I’d leave you unprotected?”

  Ava said nothing. If she left, Malachi would have a hard time finding her, even with Rhys’s help. She could go to her mother and Carl. If she asked Carl to make her disappear somewhere, he’d do it. He’d probably be grateful.

  He put his hands on her cheeks. “Stop it.”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “You’re leaving me in your mind,” he whispered. “Don’t do it. Don’t you know I’d rather die than lose you?”

  She shook her head. “I need to think.”

  “Enough!” He cut his hand through the air. “You’re not going anywhere. I forbid it.”

  “Oh really?” She balled up the power welling in her chest and said, “Ya fasham.”

  Malachi’s eyes widened in shock as the unbalancing spell hit him full force. He reeled to the side and fell over. Ava stepped to the door and grabbed her coat and scarf. Then she threw another spell at him that Sari had taught her, and Ava knew Malachi’s legs were going to be immobilized long enough for her to leave.

  “Ava!”

  Okay, his mouth could move.

  “I’m going out for a walk.”

  “What did you do?”

  “You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  The cat had come to sit on his chest.

  “Ava!”

  She ran down the stairs and flagged down the first taxi she could find.

  “Zentralfriedhof,” she told the driver. “Gate two.”

  AVA didn’t know why she was so attracted to cemeteries. Maybe it was the quiet. For as long as she’d been alive, she’d found them soothing. She could walk among others, never feeling alone, but not plagued by the voices of the living. No matter what city she visited, she sought them out, content to linger among the dead while the living only tormented her.

  The Central Cemetery in Vienna was one of the largest in Europe, containing the graves of many of Austria’s most famous composers. Knowing what she did now about Irin history there and the Irina tie to music, the city’s musical history made even more sense.

  She walked the barren pathways toward the church, surrounded by grey headstones and the rare passing tourist. Some spaces were overgrown, but most on the central walkway were trimmed and many had freshly cut flowers, even in the dead of winter. It was one of her favorite cemeteries, a veritable city of the dead. Carefully tended, trimmed with lush gardens and
populated by the marble figures of angels, poets, and mourners.

  And Ava was freezing.

  She tucked her scarf closer around her neck and wondered just how mad Malachi was going to be. Probably pretty mad.

  It was the “I forbid it” that had been the last straw.

  No. Just no.

  He might have been hundreds of years older than her, but she wasn’t a child to order around.

  She turned left past the graves of famous composers, leaving Strauss, Beethoven, and Schubert behind as she searched for the gravestone that had become her first magazine cover.

  It was a darkly sensual embrace emerging from stone. The male figure’s hands possessive. Commanding. An odd sculpture to find on the grave of an obscure nineteenth-century writer. But it had spoken to her, the woman’s face tilted up to her lover in surrender.

  Ava remembered how she’d felt when she photographed it.

  Longing. For possession. To belong to another utterly. To be precious. Needed.

  She heard a hoarse chirp by her leg. She looked down to see the black cat from her apartment building sitting by her leg.

  “What the—”

  Before her eyes, the cat grew, stretching in the shadows of the evergreen trees that surrounded the old graves. He became a man with gold eyes, his dark hair streaked with amber. His lips were lush, the angles of his face and eyes speaking Eastern heat. Silk and spices. Hooded eyes lined with black stared down at her.

  “Your lover holds you that way.”

  “Holy shit,” she breathed out.

  “No, Vasu.”

  “Who are you?”

  He cocked his head, as if it should have been obvious. “Vasu.”

  Ava blinked. “Okay then, Vasu. What are you?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Awe turned to irritation. “First Jaron, then Death, now you—”

  “Azril? Has he visited you?” Vasu cocked his head. “How interesting.”

  “I’m really just wondering if I should run screaming at this point, or if you’re a friend of Jaron’s.”

  “I would not call your sire a friend, but he is my brother. And screaming would do you no good. If I wanted to kill you, I would have already.”