The Secret

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “That’s a relief. I’ve been feeling like I’m missing a limb without being able to carry my camera around.” Though she could carry it around Vienna, it wasn’t allowed in the places she most wanted to capture like the Library or the ritual bathhouse. She knew why, but it still irked her that the only camera she had there was the one in her mind.

  “Soon,” he said, and she could hear the heaviness in his voice again. “Whatever is coming, I think it will be soon.”

  “Because of my dream with Jaron?” She’d told him about it when she woke, and he’d agreed the vision of the two eagles was disturbing. Something teased the back of her mind. There was something she’d been meaning to tell him…

  “Partly your dream with Jaron,” he said, “and partly the activity we’re seeing in the city. There are definitely Grigori attacks. Kostas’s men have volunteered to start patrolling.”

  “Grigori fighting their own kind,” she said. “What has the world come to?”

  “A turning point, hopefully.”

  “Yes.”

  The next day, the elder singers would take their desks in the Library. Some in Vienna thought the rumors were only rumors. But as more and more singers flowed into the city, even the most stubborn scribes had been forced to acknowledge that something was in the air. Ava had seen singers in Irin-friendly coffeehouses. Seen more and more of them on the street as she ran her daily errands. Faces from all over the world, women with the distinctive thrum of power were starting to move in Vienna.

  The air was so electric she had a hard time wondering how the human population didn’t notice.

  Ava looked at Malachi. “Are Kostas and Sirius ready?”

  “They’ve decided only Kostas will go the Library with us in the morning. Sirius will stay with his men.”

  “How are you going to get him past the guards?” she asked. “He doesn’t have a single talesm. Won’t he stand out?”

  “Damien has a plan to get Kostas in and gain access to Mikhael’s armory.”

  “Is that illegal?”

  “Highly. Those weapons are passed out at the will of the council because they’re so dangerous. You saw what that weapon did to Leo in Istanbul. Any wound from an angelic weapon can be deadly to a scribe or a singer. But if we’re going to be fighting angels, we need them. We don’t have the angel of Death on our side, waiting to gather their souls.”

  The angel of death.

  Oh shit.

  Now she remembered what she needed to tell her mate. What she’d needed to tell him for days.

  “Malachi?”

  “Yes?”

  She paused, not certain how to proceed.

  He squeezed her hips. “What is it?”

  “Did I tell you I’ve had other dreams?”

  “What do you mean? Our dreams?”

  “No, they’re… different. I’m not sure if they’re dreams or not. I think they’re more like visions.”

  “From Jaron?”

  “No.”

  Not visions, someone whispered. Visits.

  “Visits,” she murmured. “I’ve seen Death. As in, the angel of.”

  Malachi frowned. “I know, reshon. You told me. In Norway—”

  “Not in Norway. Here. I’ve seen him here. He… visited me.”

  She felt him tense beneath her hands. “What?”

  “In dreams. But they weren’t dreams. Or not exactly dreams. And I wasn’t scared. He showed me things,” she said quietly. “I thought it was just to reassure me. They didn’t seem important. There was something about my grandmother. We talked a little about you—”

  “Ava.” His voice was frigid. “You were seeing Death in your dreams, and you didn’t tell me?”

  What could she say?

  “It was only twice. And there was so much going on. We were traveling everywhere. Besides, I didn’t know if you’d believe me,” she muttered. “It hardly seemed real.”

  “What on earth would make you think that?” His voice creeped past irritation and rose toward anger. “When have I ever not believed you?”

  “I don’t know. Stop yelling at me.”

  “I’m not yelling!”

  Ava gave him an arched brow, and he set her to the side and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. She could see his temper in the set of his shoulders.

  “I’m allowed to be angry that you hid this from me.”

  “I didn’t hide it. They just didn’t… come up. Two dreams. In the weeks we’ve been traveling and plotting and fighting Grigori and discovering mind-blowing revelations. So much was happening that it didn’t seem important when it was just about my grandmother.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to know about your grandmother?”

  “But it’s not…” She sighed. “I wasn’t scared of him.”

  “You’re making excuses.”

  She was making excuses. Mostly she was embarrassed that she hadn’t told him before. She really had forgotten, and it made her feel like an idiot.

  “These dreams, they were only about your grandmother? About me?”

  She bit her lip, felt her heart race in her chest. Now she was the one whose memory was fuzzy. She had a new respect how Malachi had felt for months while he recovered.

  “No. Not just…”

  He took a deep breath. “What it is?”

  “There was more in the dreams. But I can’t remember.”

  Malachi frowned. “What more? Did you see Jaron again?”

  “Not Jaron. I think I might have seen Volund.”

  Malachi swore and rose to his feet as he began to pace across the room. “Were you in danger? How could you not have told me, Ava?”

  “I didn’t remember Volund until now!”

  He spun. “How could you not remember that?”

  Why didn’t she remember? Ava knew she wouldn’t have kept something important from her mate. That was past forgetfulness and into negligence, so why…

  “Will I remember?”

  When you need to.

  She hadn’t forgotten. Not completely. Azril had hidden it from her.

  “Stupid, know-it-all angels!” Ava leapt to her feet. “He hid it, Malachi. Just like Jaron. Azril hid it for some reason. I don’t know why.”

  Ava heard laughter in the back of her mind and felt the memories push forward, timid creatures peeking from the corners where Azril had tucked them. The smell of incense. Muffled voices. Gold eyes and black energy.

  “What do you remember?” Malachi put his hands on her shoulders. “Anything, reshon. It could be important.”

  “They couldn’t see me. I saw… there were three of them. The three angels Damien was talking about. I don’t remember all their names.”

  “Svarog, Volund, and Grimold?”

  “I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “I think so? It’s not important.”

  “It is important. What did they say?”

  She murmured, “‘Eliminating threats. It’s still not that clear. Something about the monastery, maybe?” Her heart ached. “If I’d remembered, we might have been able to warn them.”

  “They could have been talking about any number of things. Maybe Azril wanted… He doesn’t have wants. Death only follows the command of the Creator. And if the monastery hadn’t been attacked, Kostas and Kyra would never have come to Vienna.”

  She blinked. “You think Azril wanted them to be here?”

  “Who knows what the angels want? Was there anything else?”

  Ava searched her memories, wading through a cascade of images and voices. “Svarog,” she said. “He and Volund don’t like each other.”

  “That’s not surprising.”

  “They really don’t like each other. They want to take Vienna.”

  “It is the center of the Irin race.”

  A headache lurked as Ava struggled to make sense of the new images. She closed her eyes and thought back to the last dream. An image came to her a moment before the door slammed shut in her mind.

  “They�
��re here,” she said with a gasp. “They’re already in Vienna. They were in the Library.”

  She felt Malachi shiver.

  “They were in the Library? Actually in it? What else? If there’s anything I can tell Damien—”

  “Something about the third one.”

  Yes.

  For a second, she thought she caught the reflection of Death smiling through the mirror in the entryway.

  “Is it Grimold? He is an ally of Volund’s,” Malachi said. “Though Volund is widely understood to be the more powerful.”

  “Yes. I think they called him Grimold. And there was something about his children, but…”

  “Max and Kostas believe Grimold’s children are the ones already in the city.”

  “But there’s more. ‘All of them,’” he said. There’s something about Grimold’s children we don’t know. Something we’re not expecting.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  MALACHI TRIED TO CALM HIMSELF and sift through the new information Ava had given him.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t understand how information could get lost in the chaos of travel and fighting. And really, the revelations Azril had given her were not much more than what they knew already. Mostly, he was irritated she’d concealed it. And he was worried by Death’s fascination with her.

  Ava rubbed circles over her temple. He wondered if a headache was building. She still looked confused, and Malachi was angry for her. To have your mind violated was a terrible thing. He’d never felt as helpless as he had when he’d lost his memories.

  Convicted by the guilt in his mate’s face, Malachi knew he had to confess his own omission, even though he’d been pushing it to the back of his mind for weeks.

  “I’m so sorry, Malachi. I don’t… I don’t know how I forgot. It’s just, my dreams are never clear and there’s been so much—”

  “Ava.”

  “What?”

  He took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “I may have seen Volund in dreams. I didn’t know what to think. Part of me thought they were only nightmares. But now I don’t think they were.”

  Her mouth dropped. “What? How long?”

  Malachi shook his head. “Weeks. I haven’t seen him since Italy. He told me he couldn’t get to you but he could get to me.”

  He could see her irritation spike.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, unable to hide the anger in her voice. “You’re angry at me, while you—”

  “I didn’t know if it was real or imagined. Not for sure. Why would I worry you if I wasn’t certain? You were dreaming about Death and didn’t tell me.”

  “His name is Azril.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re friends now. He’s the angel of death, Ava. And I’m not going to apologize for trying to protect you.”

  “So typical! You try to shield me from worry as if I can’t handle it. As if I’m still the grieving widow you found in Oslo—”

  “I had no way of knowing they weren’t just nightmares.”

  “You still should have told me. Even if you did think they were nightmares.”

  “Why, so you could worry too?”

  “You really don’t get this whole ‘sharing the burdens’ thing, do you?”

  “Am I supposed to ignore my instinct to protect you?”

  “No, but you’re not supposed to protect me from you!”

  It stopped him short, because it was exactly what he was doing. Malachi was protecting Ava from his own terror. His own fear. Because he didn’t want her to know he felt weak.

  “I’m sorry.” He went to her and enclosed her in his arms. “I’m sorry, Ava. I didn’t think—didn’t realize. You’re right.”

  She didn’t offer any smart remarks, but she didn’t return the hug, either.

  “Forgive me?” he asked. “For doubting you.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and she hugged him back. “Only if you forgive me for being forgetful.”

  He huffed out a breath. “Why are we fighting about this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then enough. I suspect Volund was trying to torment me since he couldn’t get to you. But he wasn’t able to hurt me in any way.”

  “And I don’t know what Azril wants, but I’m pretty sure he’s on our side.”

  Malachi’s mouth opened, then closed. He finally said, “I’m honestly not sure what to do with that.”

  “Me either.” She took a deep breath and stepped back. “Should we tell Damien?”

  “Yes. About both of us.” He walked toward the kitchen, bracing himself in the doorway. “He might be furious we’re just telling him now.”

  “He’s not the boss of me.”

  Malachi gave her a wry smile over his shoulder. “Well, he is of me. Nevertheless, with the schedule we’ve been keeping, he can hardly blame us for not remembering every dream we have.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ava wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek to his back. “I would never keep something from you if I thought it could help.”

  He put his hands over hers. “I know. And I have to remember, you’re a woman who is accustomed to keeping her own secrets. I can’t expect you to change that overnight just because you’re mated to me. I’ve been part of a team for centuries. And Azril tampered with your mind. If anyone should have sympathy for that, it’s me.”

  She squeezed his waist. “You’re right. You’re being such a jerk right now.”

  The laugh burst out of him. He pulled her around to the front and hugged her. “We’re still new at this, aren’t we?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t worry.” He kissed the top of her head before he released her and walked to the phone. “We have hundreds of years to get it right.”

  Hundreds of years. He had to believe it. The Creator wouldn’t have brought them together again just to rip them back apart.

  Would He?

  MALACHI lingered in bed the next morning as long as he could, knowing that it might be days before he would have Ava to himself again. They made love quietly. Deliberately. He memorized her face in the morning light and whispered promises that he would see her soon.

  “Soon,” she whispered back.

  Then she hid under the covers while Malachi slipped out the door, and he pretended he hadn’t seen her tears.

  Today was the day he would break all the rules.

  He was bringing a Grigori into the sacred house, sneaking him into the halls of knowledge, and stealing ancient weapons from Mikhael’s armory.

  If his mother were alive, she would kill him. Or congratulate him. He wasn’t sure which.

  A year and a half ago, Malachi knew who the enemy was. He was his father’s son. A scribe of Mikhael’s line. Taking vengeance on the sons of the Fallen. He walked alone, with no mate and no family.

  And then…

  One moment in the market. One glance from a golden eye. Like a small rudder charting the path of a massive ship, the course of his life had turned with a single touch.

  Ava.

  He had died. He had lived. He held a mate in his arms and in his heart. Everything he knew about his race’s history he now questioned. Everything he’d trusted could be a lie. He was fighting alongside his enemies to protect the one person he could no longer live without. He would play the pawn in Jaron’s games and play the comrade to a villain, all so he could be a hero for the one woman who called him home.

  There was no reason to feel peace as he walked through the snow-dusted streets of Vienna, but he did.

  Damien, Rhys, Kostas, and an unknown scribe met him outside the town house.

  “Are you ready?” his watcher asked.

  “Are you?”

  Damien gave him half a smile. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s time.”

  THE house the stranger took them to was hidden behind a block of new construction on the other side of the river. They walked in silence, the empty scent of Kostas a void to Malachi’s senses.

  “You
’ve told your brothers?” Damien asked the unknown scribe quietly.

  A nod was his only answer.

  “Do they know what he is?”

  The strange scribe held up a single gloved finger. One.

  “We thank you both for your help.”

  Malachi and Kostas exchanged a look, but he could see the Grigori was as lost as he was. Rhys walked behind them, texting with someone as they walked. When they reached the house, he remained waiting outside.

  “Waiting for a call,” was his only explanation.

  They entered the warm house and stomped their feet, taking off their boots and coats before the stranger motioned them down a narrow hallway.

  He was a big man, dark of hair and face, with features that spoke of the Eastern Mediterranean. Malachi realized that while he’d removed his gloves and overcoat, his hands remained wrapped and his neck was covered in what looked like linen strips. He walked in a shroud, silently motioning them into a room at the end of the hallway.

  It was a ritual room, carved wooden panels bearing the spells of hundreds of scribes. Malachi narrowed his eyes and stepped closer.

  “Of course,” he said when he finally interpreted the passage over the door. “They’re Rafaene scribes.”

  Kostas whispered, “What?”

  Damien nodded. “Our guide is our friend Evren’s son. He took vows in Spain last year, and his father intervened for us. I believe only he and his watcher know we are here.”

  “And they agreed to help us?” Malachi asked. “Rafaenes are removed from politics.”

  “But their mission commands shelter and protection of those in need.”

  Kostas asked, “What is a Rafaene scribe?”

  “You need to take off your clothes,” Damien said. “All of them. Every stitch. I’ll explain as we wrap you, but the process takes some time and we don’t have much of it.”

  The stranger motioned to Malachi and he went to him, taking bundle after bundle of fine linen clothes that looked like bandages and stacking them in a basket as Damien spoke to Kostas.

  “All Irin males have the same schooling beginning at the age of thirteen. We are trained as both warriors and scholars, though after some time, it becomes evident where our particular gifts lie. Scholars tend to retreat to libraries or work in the business world. Warriors go to scribe houses to protect humans and hunt Grigori.”