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.
“Wait.” Ava put a hand on his lower back. “I think…”
He turned and put a finger to his lips. “Wait here,” he mouthed, tracing his talesm prim. He felt the wash of magic over his skin. His eyes grew sharper. His ears keener.
“But I think—”
In one movement, Malachi shoved the door open and rolled in, staying low as his eyes swept the room. Leo was on the floor in the corner, a woman straddling him with a staff across his neck. The big man was trying to throw her off, but she only pressed down harder, the muscles rippling in her lean brown arms. Leo scissored his legs in an attempt to flip her, but the woman pushed into it, angling the staff even harder against his throat.
Malachi heard his brother choking. He charged the woman, ignoring his mate’s shouts from the doorway. With a bent shoulder, he tackled her to the ground, only to have her twist away before he could put her in a choke hold. Her staff came up and struck his temple, but he shook his head and brought up his dagger to attack.
“No!” Leo jumped between Malachi and the woman. “Malachi! Don’t you remember Mala?”
Mala?
A faint memory from Oslo. Mala was one of Sari’s Irina. A fierce warrior who’d lost her mate during the Rending and almost lost her own life in a battle near Lagos.
He shook his head. “Mala?”
“We were only sparring.” Leo was panting. But grinning too. “She’s amazing. Such skill with the short staff! I’ve never fought an Irina before. Are they all like this?”