The stated policy of the Irin Council had not changed.
Protect humans from the Grigori, but do not engage further.
Do not provoke the attention of the Fallen.
Defense, not offense.
But though the Irin Council remained silent, formerly hidden Irina around the world had been roused by the attack on Sarihöfn.
Irina who had hidden themselves since the Rending were making their way to scribe houses around the world.
And the Irina weren’t interested in defense.
SHE watched him as he ate, marveling at even his simplest gestures. The way his full lips closed around the tines of a fork. The movement of his throat when he swallowed. The shadow of stubble that grew every day, only to disappear each morning when he shaved. It would rasp against her lips when she kissed him at night, an edge of coarseness against the soft strength of his mouth.
He looked at her, the corner of his lips turning up. “What are you thinking?”
She smiled back and took another bite of the stew he’d made. Ava was pleased to discover that Malachi was a very good cook. He’d never cooked for her in the scribe house in Istanbul. The quiet routine they’d fallen into when they came to the sea was nothing like what they’d ever had before. There had been the tumult and the ecstasy of their time in Turkey. The agony of their separation. The uncertainty of their reunion in Oslo.
They had never just been.
“You know what I’m thinking,” she said. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we should finish dinner and clear the table.”
“We could leave the dishes until later.”
“We could, but I have other plans for the table.” He patted a hand on the edge of the sturdy table where he’d eaten as a boy.
Ava smiled. “Your grandmother would be scandalized.”
He laughed, and the rich sound of it filled one of the cracks that still riddled the tentative foundation they were building.
“If you knew her and my grandfather,” he said, “you’d know how false that is.”
“What were they like? Do you remember much?”
He nodded. “I’ve remembered a lot since we’ve been here. Stepping through the door. Hearing the ocean… I remember much more about my childhood with the anchors here.”
Malachi never said it, but she knew he wanted to go back to Turkey. Wanted to try to jog his memory where they had first met.
According to Leo, it was safe. He and Rhys had been put in charge of rebuilding the Istanbul scribe house, and with so many of Volund’s Grigori dead from the attack in Norway, there was little supernatural activity in the city.
It was quiet, but Ava sensed it was the stillness before a violent storm. Jaron’s visits had not lessened, and the darkness she sensed around the edges of her dreams only grew deeper.
“Tell me,” she said. “About your grandparents. What were they like? They were married—mated?”
“Yes, but not as we are.”
“How?”
He took a sip of red wine and refilled her glass from the bottle on the table. “They were mated, but they were not reshon.”
“What?”
He smiled. “I told you not every Irin couple has that connection. They met when they were both young. They fell in love and took mating marks, even though they knew they might meet their soul mate later.”
“What would happen if they did?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. They were bonded. They had shared their magic. They loved each other very deeply and were committed for life.”
Ava blinked. “Did they dream-walk?”
“I imagine so. That’s a consequence of mating, not because a scribe and a singer are reshon.”
“But…”
Malachi hooked his ankle around her leg. “What?”
“I guess I can’t imagine it. To not have that connection… You make everything weird about me make sense.”
“I’m glad.” His eyes warmed. “Even though I don’t think you’re all that weird.”
“I am. You just don’t remember.”
He smiled, even as his eyes drifted to the fire they’d started earlier. It crackled and popped in the cold air. “Are we more than soul mates, Ava?” His voice was pensive. “I wonder sometimes. If you are here—with me—from only that obligation.”
“I’m not with you out of obligation.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” She blinked the tears away. She was done crying, and he deserved more than her doubt. He deserved his life back. His memories. His mate. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. “Come here.”
Ava stood and slid into his lap as he pushed away from the dinner table. His arms came around her, and she laid her head on his shoulder, pressing her cheek to his neck. Skin to skin. The comfort was instant. The voices swirling at the edges of her mind were silent. The terrible energy that crawled under her skin calmed.
“Do you want to go back to Istanbul?” she asked.
“I want to be where you feel safe. And happy.”
She opened her mouth but paused before she gave him an automatic answer.
He deserved honesty too.
“Happy may still be a ways off. But… I’m content with you. I feel complete.”
“You’re still frightened.”
“Yes. But being with you makes me feel safer. It’s going to take time.”