The Secret: Irin Chronicles Book Three (6 page)

He was utterly beautiful. A god to human sight.

Malachi was transfixed.
 

The angel’s eyes glowed with barely restrained power, like the sun hiding behind a morning fog.

“Do you love me?” Volund stared into Malachi’s eyes.

“No,” Malachi said. “You do not want to be loved.”

Volund smiled with closed lips. “No, I do not.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to be feared. Worshipped.”

“You were not meant to be worshipped.”

Volund laughed, the cynical smirk marring the angel’s handsome face, which melted back into a more human appearance. Stunning, but less otherworldly. And yet it was as if his power had simply condensed. Black energy licked along Malachi’s skin.

This is a dream.

“If you think I have no power over your dreams,” Volund said, “you are mistaken, Scribe.”

“I am protected.”

“By whom? Jaron guards your mate, though you know not his reasons.” Volund’s blue eyes danced. “You are nothing.”

Malachi took a deep breath and closed his eyes, breaking the connection with the monster who taunted him and willing himself to return to waking.

“You are nothing.” The voice was different.
 

Malachi opened his eyes, and the angel had departed. Left in his place, the phantom of the Grigori soldier he’d killed on the rooftop in Oslo.

Brage’s expression held nothing of the arrogance he’d exhibited in life. His blue eyes were blank and hollow. His face was as beautiful as the day Malachi had slain him.

“We are nothing,” Brage said. “Nothing.”

“You are an illusion.”

Then the corner of the Grigori’s mouth turned up, and Malachi saw the wicked edge.

“Since when have dreams ever been illusion for those of our kind?”

“I am nothing like you.”

Brage only laughed.

Volund appeared over his shoulder, his human face now a mirror of his son’s. He embraced his child, stroking the hair back from his forehead and closing his eyes in sensual pleasure.

“I can be patient,” he whispered. “Now that I have found you, I will find you again.”

“Go away,” Malachi said, stepping closer to the sacred fire.

“For now.”

A spark of recognition showed terror on Brage’s face, as if illusion had passed from his mind and stark reality intruded. The Grigori’s eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened in a scream.

Volund pulled his child into the darkness and was gone.

Malachi bolted up in bed, a harsh gasp ripping from his lungs. He looked around the room, but there was nothing. No trace remained of the ritual room or the angel’s darkness. He looked down.

Ava slept beside him, and she did not wake.

HE didn’t tell Ava about his dream. Malachi didn’t know if it was a nightmare or a vision, and his mate had too many other things on her mind.

The train that took them along the coast of Liguria chugged steadily, stopping at the small towns along the route, exchanging a mix of humans for other humans varied in age and shape. Grandmothers going for a visit. Tourists with cameras. Hikers with backpacks. They came and went, and Malachi wished that he and Ava had reserved a private car. If that was even possible. She was firm in her belief that their best concealment was the routine of the mundane, so he indulged her.

Currently, he could not fault her reasoning. She managed to fit in with the humans with ease. She was the native, the tourist, the anonymous traveler with a small satchel and a camera. Unless he had the preternatural senses to feel her power, he never would have noticed her.

“Hmm,” he mused, watching her as she snapped pictures out the window.

“What are you thinking?”

He was thinking about Volund’s unexpected ability to invade his unconscious, but he didn’t want to bring it up. Luckily, his mind could turn to pleasant things very quickly when he was with her.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

It was true. Ava wasn’t a woman who felt the need to fill the air with chatter. He wondered if years of traveling alone had trained it out of her or if the constant voices that had once plagued her were company enough.

“I am thinking… you’re very beautiful.”

He loved the slight flush she gave him when he complimented her. It made the offer of his praise all the more satisfying.

“You’re the only one who’s ever said that.”

He was surprised, but not overly. Humans could be very superficial, and Ava’s physical features were not the most astonishing thing about her. Pretty, but not uncommonly so. Clear skin. Dark hair. Her eyes were the most arresting part of her face, but only other Irin would recognize the unusual shade of gold as anything more than light brown or amber.
 

No, it wasn’t her physical features that were remarkable. And Malachi loved that only he saw the secret of his mate.

Her beauty lay in her mind and her heart. Quiet strength and resilient humor were not things valued enough by the world.

“Hmm.”

She gave him a quiet smile. “You always did that,” she said. “Before. ‘Hmm.’ You’d be thinking something you didn’t want to say, but I knew it was about me when you would say ‘Hmm.’”

“I often think about you.”

“That’s probably a good thing.”

They were sitting across from each other in the compartment. He put his foot on the edge of the bench beside her, enclosing them. Doing his best to block out the world. Ava set down her camera and slid a hand up his pant leg, her fingers playing along his skin.

“I think about you too,” she said. “Some would say I’m obsessed.”

“And you take pictures of me when I sleep. I hear the clicking in my dreams. It’s borderline stalker behavior, really.”

“It’s settled then. We’re both certifiable.” She smiled and closed her eyes, sliding down in her seat and tilting her face toward the sun as it shone through the window. The weather was cool, but it was still sunny.

“So beautiful,” he whispered.

“So handsome.”

“Hmm.” He nudged her hip with his foot when she laughed. “You just like my tattoos.”

He’d seen a few humans on the train eyeing his arms when they sat down. He’d shoved up his sleeves because the compartment was warm, and his
talesm
were visible. It was a relief, living in a time when body modification was not as unusual as it had once been. Humans did all sorts of things to mark themselves now, so the intricate lettering on his arms was noticed but rarely remarked upon.

“Only yours,” Ava said. “I was never a tattoo girl before I met you.”

“No?”

She shrugged. “I never thought much about them.”

“And you don’t have any yourself.”

“Only the ones you gave me.” Her eyes sparkled with humor. “And those aren’t for everyone’s eyes.”

Malachi supposed a more evolved scribe would try to suppress the surge of possessive satisfaction.

He wasn’t that evolved.
 

Forcing back a smile, he glanced around the compartment. Since no one was paying attention to them, he decided to broach a subject he knew she’d been avoiding.

“Your shields,” he said and felt the immediate tension in her fingers where they lay on his calf.

“Why are we talking about this?”

“Because we need to. I know you’re still shielding yourself from the voices, but—”

“I thought you said that I could go at my own pace.”

“You can. But I need to know what’s happening in your dreams.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

So it wasn’t something she was doing. He hadn’t thought so, but he wanted to be sure.

He glanced around again, then turned his eyes back to her. He’d suspected Ava had protection, but Volund’s words confirmed it.

“During our dreams,” Malachi said. “Do you sense it?”

“What?”

“The layer he’s placed over you.”

“Who? Jaron?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “I’ve sensed… something. But it’s not something I’ve thought about much.”

“He’s shielding you,” Malachi said. “I’m sure of it.”

“From you?”

“No.” From another, darker threat. “He’s an angel. Jaron would probably be able to shove me out of your dreams completely if he wanted to. Or maybe not. I don’t really know. As far as I’ve read, the Fallen do not enter our dreams. I don’t know why Jaron can walk in yours, but I’m fairly sure he’s shielding you.”

He wished she would share what had happened on the rooftop in Oslo. There had been a break in time for him. Looking back, he knew that Ava and Jaron had some exchange, but he didn’t know what had passed between them. As much as Ava shared with him, there were fears she hid. Malachi didn’t even know if Ava realized she was hiding.

“If Jaron is shielding me from something, I don’t know what it is,” she finally admitted. “He’s as confusing to me as he is to everyone.”

I cannot reach her, but I can reach you.

Was he right to conceal Volund’s intentions toward her? Malachi didn’t know, but he didn’t want to bring it up. It was one more problem for which he had no solution to offer.

Malachi shrugged. “The Fallen have never shown any interest in protecting humans as far as I can remember. I have no idea why Jaron is doing it.”

“Not even their human lovers?”

“Humans are disposable to them. All humans.”

“But he protects me.” She frowned. “Maybe there’s more to the angels than what you’ve been taught.”

“I doubt it, Ava.”

“But…” She frowned. “The Fallen and the Forgiven? They’re all angels, right?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the difference? Why were the Forgiven capable of compassion and not the Fallen?”

“I don’t think you could call the Forgiven compassionate. They were just…”
 

“What?”

He shook his head. Some lessons were still crystal clear, even if he couldn’t remember when or where he’d learned them. “The Forgiven gave up their place on earth—their offspring, their human lovers—but it was because they were cut off from heaven. They wanted to go back. It was for our sakes, but more for their own.”

“So they were selfish to leave? Not sacrificing?”

“It was both. There had to be an element of sacrifice, because they were allowed to gift their children with magic. The Fallen were not.”

“Don’t the Grigori have magic?”

“Only the natural magic that comes from angelic blood. Which shouldn’t be underestimated. But they don’t know the Old Language as we do. So their magic is limited. It is our main advantage.”

She was still frowning. “I don’t get it, though.”

“What?”

“Why don’t the Fallen teach the Grigori the same magic? Wouldn’t it make them more powerful?”

“I don’t know if the Fallen want their children to be that powerful. Or even if they are able to teach it to them. They might not be able.”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “They’re Grigori. We don’t engage them in conversation. We kill them.”

Ava snorted. “For a race you’ve been at war with for millennia, you guys don’t know much about your enemy, do you?”

“They’re a predatory race. We know enough.”

“Do you?”

He sat up straighter and lowered his leg. “What does that mean?”

She was looking out the window. “You know I’m no fan of the Grigori. But part of me wonders if the Irin don’t choose to be ignorant about them. About their world. It’s easier to dehumanize something you don’t understand. Easier to kill someone you don’t see as a person.”

“There’s a problem with your reasoning, Ava.”

“Oh?”

“The
Grigori
are not human.”

“No?” Her eyes swung back to his. “Think about it, Malachi. They’re half human. Half angel. The Grigori are as human as you.”

MALACHI stewed silently for the rest of the trip.

The Grigori as human as he was?

Hardly.

The monsters who had tracked Ava like an animal? Seduced and killed countless human women? Taken his own life? Flashes of memory haunted him, flipping through his mind in a litany of accusation.

Knives and blood. Knives were the only way to kill them and release their souls for judgment. And knives were messy, bloody weapons for fighting. Slices across his arms. His chest. He’d almost lost an ear once.

Knives and blood and dead, lifeless eyes. Not the Grigori. No, their bodies dissolved like so much dust, leaving the remains of their prey for others to find. Dead eyes, often open in surprise or rolled back in ecstasy. The Grigori were beings who made a mockery of love, the human women they hunted never suspecting that the glorious creature who touched them was actually sucking the life out of them.