The Secret: Irin Chronicles Book Three (9 page)

It was a voice that had come to mean everything to her.

And then it was gone.
 

Silence.
 

And for the first time, silence had made her scream.

For a time after he’d come back, Ava worried she wouldn’t be able to hear Malachi as she had before.
 

She thought she’d lost him forever. Lost that connection forever.
 

Bit by bit, she was taking down the wall she erected around her heart
and
her mind. His voice slipped through more and more often.

In that moment, his voice hummed with concern. With love. But there was a dark thread that kept coming back over and over again.

Grigori
.

“Why are you thinking about the Grigori?”

“Hmm?”

“Your head keeps whispering it. Over and over.
Grigori
.”

“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. Have your shields grown weak?” He put a hand on her shoulder, drew something there, and she immediately felt the surge of energy.
 

“Don’t do that without warning me,” she said, blinking as her heart sped.

“Sorry.”

“They were a little weak, but—”

“Your father, Ava. I was thinking about your father. I don’t understand him.”

“I know. He’s not much of a dad, but I knew that already.”

“No, I mean, he’s something…”

She turned when he stopped speaking. “What?”

“Don’t pull away. I need to feel you.” He slid his hand over her forearm to clasp her fingers. “He’s other, Ava. He’s not human. Not one hundred percent, anyway.”

“But…” She frowned. “What do you mean? I mean, we figured he had some Irin blood, so why were you thinking Grigori? He’s not… you’re not thinking—”

“Your father is not Grigori. He doesn’t smell it. Doesn’t look it. But he’s not human either.”

She paused. “It’s hard to wrap my brain around that when he’s always just been Jasper.”

“There is nothing ‘just’ about Jasper.”

“Why do you say—”

“Think about it. He’s in remarkable health, despite his lifestyle. He looks extremely young for his age.”

“And he’s a musical genius,” she said. “Rhys said a lot of Grigori offspring are gifted in music. But he’s not Grigori. You said so.”

“No.” Malachi sighed. “Rhys suspected bipolar disorder, and I’m tempted to think the same thing.”

“And my mom would agree with you. To be fair, that might have nothing to do with Irin blood. A lot of artists have the same problems he does with depression and addiction. Hell, the whole world thought
I
was crazy for years.”

“And you’re Irina. So what does that make him?”

“Malachi, I don’t—”

“He’s not Irin,” Malachi said, turning her so that she faced him but still holding on to her arm. “He’s not… anything I’ve ever encountered. How long were he and your mother together?”

“Awhile. Not a long while, but long for him.” Ava searched her memory. “Months, I think. A few months.” Which fit with her pattern of relationships before she’d met Malachi. Her longest relationship had been in the three-month range.

“An Irin scribe could never be with a human for that long.”

“But he’s not human, either.” She thought about the odd flashes she’d had of him. The strange scent in the air. The gold in his eyes.

“There was something,” she said. “Something new. I’ve never noticed it before, but—”

“You never knew what you were before.”

She turned to him. “Do you think my dad has magic?”

“I think so, but it’s not obvious.” He frowned at the wall. “It’s… covered.”

“What?”

“It’s like his power was covered. That’s the way it felt to be near him. Sort of like you in your dreams.”

“The same as my dreams?” She sat up straight. “
Exactly
the same?”

Malachi narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Do you think Jaron is shielding me
and
my dad?”

Malachi paused in thought. She could hear his inner voice going crazy. Words tumbled through his mind in a rush.
 

“If that shielding is a mark of angelic protection,” he said, “then yes. Jaron or another one of the Fallen must be protecting your father.”

“Could it be one of the Forgiven?” Her hope lasted for a moment until Malachi squashed it.

“It’s not possible,
reshon
. The Forgiven are gone from this world.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Unless one has chosen to fall again, they cannot come back here. Jaron has already shown a connection to you. It’s possible he has one to your father as well. It is the most likely possibility.”

“But why?” Ava asked. “Why would Jaron do that? My father has never… he’s not involved in your world.”

She felt his arms tighten around her. “
Our
world, Ava.”

She nodded. “Our world. And he’s not involved.”

“How do we know that?” He turned her so he could look in her eyes. “Ava, he knows you’re different. The way he talked about that house he bought for you. The
quiet
. The seclusion. If his mother was Irina—”

“How could she be Irina and have a child with a human?”

“I don’t know. It might be possible. So many went into hiding after the Rending, Ava. If your grandmother was Irina and had a child with a human, it would be the first to my knowledge.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well I discovered at Sarihöfn that there’s a lot the Irin don’t know about the Irina anymore.”

“You may be correct. It could be possible—even likely—considering you exist.”

“Would a quarter Irin blood be enough to let me touch you?”

He ran a hand up her arm. “I think that answers itself. It has to be.”

She settled back against him. The sun had reached its zenith in the sky, and Ava felt drowsy. The room was warm and her mate stretched out on the couch, cushioning her body with his own. As upset as she’d been with her father, his refusal wasn’t a surprise. It was easy to deal with disappointment when that was all he’d ever given her.

“What are you thinking,
reshon
?”

“I’m thinking… I like the thought of us getting married. It’ll be easier to explain you to my mother if we marry.”

“You know, you will not grow older now. With our magic combined, there will come a time—”

“Shhh.” She pressed a finger to his lips. “I know. Someday, we’ll have to disappear. For now, let me be happy.”

He fell silent again and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Be happy,” he whispered. “Despite everything happening around us, I am.”

She watched the sun track across the room, dozing every now and then as she rested against him.

“I don’t think she’s dead.” Her eyes felt heavy. “My grandmother. There was something about the way he spoke about her.”

“If she’s alive,
canım
, we will find her. I promise.”

I promise.

Ava realized as she drifted off to sleep that to Malachi, those words meant something.

I.

JARON WATCHED FROM ACROSS the crowded street. He had taken the face of an old man and was holding a newspaper and watching the humans pass in front of him as they strolled the ocean promenade with family and friends. The winter wind gusted on the Italian coast, but it did not bother the angel, only flapped the threadbare overcoat that covered his narrow shoulders.

Another old man came to sit beside him, holding a bag of warm chestnuts.

“Does she know yet?”

“She’s intelligent. She’ll find the answers soon enough. And the scribe is keener than I expected.”

Barak lifted the steaming bag of chestnuts to his nose and inhaled but did not reach for one. “Mikhael’s offspring are often underestimated,” he said. “Seen more for their physical prowess than their strategy. This is a mistake.”

Jaron nodded. “Mikhael is a great strategist. His prowess rivals Yun’s.”

“Only when Yun is not working with you.” Barak tugged on the grey beard that covered his face. “I prefer the human eras that favor facial hair.”

Jaron lifted an eyebrow at his friend. “Do you? I detest them.”

“You detest every human era anymore.”

“Why do you think I’m doing all this?”

The corner of the old man’s mouth lifted behind his beard. “Why, indeed?”

“Have you heard what your son is doing?”

“I hear everything.” Barak’s face wore a look of annoyance. “Which one?”

“You know of whom I speak. Have you traveled to Sofia lately?”

“No. Kostas is my brightest child in centuries. There is a chance he would sense me if I came close. I have others watching him.”

“And do you approve of what he is doing, my friend?” Jaron was amused. “He would remake the world here, even as we seek to remake the heavens.”

Barak watched a clutch of giggling female children pass by. They shouted and shoved each other, bumping into the knees of the two old men and shouting embarrassed apologies before they ran off.

Both of the Fallen watched them.

“Balance,” Barak finally said. “In our arrogance, we have forgotten how the universe loves it. No world can exist for so long without balance.”

“You’re saying change is inevitable.”

“Is that not what you’re striving for as well?”

Jaron shrugged and the old coat slipped off one thin shoulder. “My goals are for myself. And my friends, if they desire it.”

The other angel sat back, lifting the bag of cooling chestnuts again. “I have not yet decided.”

“Decide soon, brother.”

“Vasu will go his own way.”

“I have seen it.”

“And me? What have you seen for me?”

“I see nothing, because there is nothing yet to see.”

“Hmm.” The bearded man stood and reached over the bench, tossing the untouched bag of chestnuts in a bin.

Jaron caught Barak’s hand, closing the wrinkled palm in his own. “This time, my old friend, we do not have millennia.”

“I know this.”

“You must decide soon.”

“I know this as well.” Barak squeezed Jaron’s hand and blinked out of sight as the humans rushed by with unseeing eyes.

It was the way of things. Human sight was so very limited.

Though Barak had shifted away, Jaron’s eyes were trained on the balcony where Ava and her scribe sat, drinking wine and watching the street musician who played below them. The musician was… not good. But Ava seemed to enjoy the performance anyway.

The scribe’s eyes watched her but more often swept up and down the street, surveying the crowd, watching for threats. Jaron could tell the scribe did not care for his mate being out on the balcony, exposed to possible danger.

The angel approved of this. Perhaps Ava’s unexpected call to heaven had manifested a boon for him. He still didn’t fully understand why the Creator had allowed the scribe’s body and soul to return, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t take advantage. More than his own eyes would be trained on the woman if he weren’t protecting her.

It wasn’t time. There were still pieces to move into place.

Soon, time would run out.

Chapter Five

THEIR RETURN TO ISTANBUL was easier the second time. Ava seemed less cautious and more relieved to be heading back to Turkey. They caught a morning flight and were driving to the scribe house by lunch time. To Malachi, it almost seemed as if she’d left her melancholy in Italy with Jasper. She was lighter. Smiling more.

“You’re happy to be back,” he said.

“Yeah.” She smiled. “It feels like… coming home. With you. I missed it.” She rolled down the window and took a deep breath of the air, only to wrinkle her nose at the smell of fish as they crossed the bridge. “Okay, I didn’t miss that.”

Malachi laughed and reached over her to roll the window up. “So no fish for lunch?”

“No,” she said. “I want lamb and salad. Maybe some of those fried potatoes you make.”

“Now
I’m
hungry.” But happy. He enjoyed cooking for her, and her mood was infectious.

They reached Beyoğlu just a few minutes later, and when they walked into the house, Malachi heard fighting.

Immediately on alert, he held up a hand and put a finger to his lips. Ava dropped her bags and went to the closet, searching for the cache of weapons Leo and Rhys kept ready.

“Who?” she whispered.

He shook his head and held out his hand, catching the sheathed dagger she tossed him. Ava stuffed a throwing knife in her waistband and grabbed a short staff, falling in step behind him.

Malachi crept down the hallway, past the living room, and toward the closed door. The sounds were coming from the practice room, but there were none of the usual shouts and cheerful taunts of his brothers. Strained breathing and grunts. The clash of wood and bodies hitting the floor.