She clammed up.
Sari huffed out a breath. “You have to use your magic.”
“I’m using it.”
“Not the way you need to be.”
She picked at the edge of the blanket in their bedroom. She could hear Malachi waiting in the hall, trying to give her privacy. She wished he would just come in.
“I have other stuff on my mind, Sari.”
“What is more important than learning how to harness your power?”
“I don’t know. Learning where it came from, maybe?”
The other woman was quiet, and Ava heard Malachi pacing. Frustrated, she sent out a tentative brush of power. It was hard to describe. A little like blowing air in his direction, but with her mind. A second later, she felt an answering brush of awareness, and he cracked the door open with a grin.
“You called me,” he whispered, smiling.
She shrugged one shoulder and said, “I need to go, Sari. Malachi is here.”
“How is he?”
“He’s a pain in the ass sometimes. Right now he’s very smug.” Her mate kept smiling and lay down on the bed, putting his head in her lap. “But he’s mine.”
“You sound content.”
She brushed a hand through his hair. “I am.”
Malachi let out a rumble of pleasure and turned his face to her belly, putting an arm around her waist.
“I’m going to send Orsala to you.”
Her fingers tightened in his hair. “What?”
“Ouch,” he said. “Ava, really… ow.”
“I just decided. This will be good! You were going to come here, but Vienna is unstable right now. I don’t know how you’d be received. Instead, Orsala can go to you. Mala is here and restless. I’ll send them both to you in Istanbul. Damien says Rhys is one scribe short for the house. Mala will more than make up for that.”
“And she’ll torture me.”
“You’re probably out of shape.”
“Sari!”
“Let go,” Malachi said with a grunt. “It’s not my fault she’s sending them.”
“Tell Malachi I heard that,” Sari said. “What are you doing to him?”
Ava was panicking. “Sari, I really don’t think—”
“Damien is nodding. He agrees with me. I’ll talk to her tonight, and we’ll let you know when they will arrive.”
Malachi untangled her frozen hand and sat up next to her.
“But I need to go find my—”
“Whatever it is, my grandmother can help. She needs something to do anyway, and that way she’ll be able to continue your lessons like she was going to after Oslo. This is an excellent plan. Damien agrees.”
“Sari!”
“I need to go. I’ll e-mail with details later.”
The phone was silent a second later, and Ava sat with her mouth hanging open. “I was ambushed.”
“I was injured,” he said, rubbing his scalp. “Sari’s wrong. I don’t think you’re out of shape at all.”
THE phone rang late that night. She was in Malachi’s arms, and she reached across his chest to grab it before he could wake, putting it on silent as she checked the number. She didn’t recognize it, so she answered cautiously.
“Hello?”
“Ava?”
“Max?”
“Your father is in Genoa. Well, a little town in that region. Not far from Portofino.”
“Portofino?”
“He has a house there. An old castle he’s renting.”
She blinked, trying to clear her mind. “You’ve seen him?”
“Renata found him. He’s not in good shape, sister.”
She was still only half awake when Malachi took the phone from her.
“Send us the details,” he said, rubbing her shoulders, which had gone stiff at Max’s tone. “We’ll leave tomorrow.”
Chapter Three
MALACHI OPENED HIS EYES, knowing he was no longer in Istanbul.
He dreamed, but Ava was not with him.
He was no longer in the forest of his mate’s walks, but a room that resembled the ritual room of a scribe house. Wax candles dripped on the center table where coals from the sacred fire forced tendrils of heat through the room. Etchings marked the walls, ancient spells protecting the children of the Forgiven from harm.
And the black presence that stalked his mate lurked at the edge of his dreaming.
An epicene figure rose in the corner of the room. “I cannot reach her, but I can reach you.”
Malachi turned, recognizing the voice that laughed in some shadowed corner of his lost memory. “Volund.”
“Yes.”
Malachi scanned the room, reassuring himself that Ava was nowhere near.
“She is not here,” the angel said. “I have tried. He has shielded her from my sight. He excels in such things.”
Malachi stepped closer. “Show yourself.”
The slim figure rose and grew, abandoning the sculptural facade he showed the human world. Here, Malachi realized—in dreams—he could see the angel’s true face. All traces of human flaw fled from Volund’s visage. Blue eyes bled to gold. His skin, pale before, grew luminous as the moon. His hair, a sandy brown that would blend with the human masses, became true amber, translucent in the glow of the candles flickering in the center of the room.
He was utterly beautiful. A god to human sight.
Malachi was transfixed.