“Well, you are in his bed.”
“I’m fairly sure we’re the ones renting it.”
“That reminds me, I need to get some money transferred to Rhys to pay him back.”
He frowned. “Or don’t, because the scribe house is covering it.”
“Or let me do it, since I’m not worried about my budget? The house resources are probably strapped with the reconstruction.”
“Ava, you don’t need to do that.”
She spun around in her seat. “Is this going to be a macho alpha-male problem for you?”
“Am I a macho alpha-male?”
“Yes. And I’m loaded. It makes more sense to let me—or let’s be honest, my asshole of a father—cover the bill for stuff like this. It’s a better use of resources. Besides, I’d probably be paying for a hotel and a guide—possibly a bodyguard—if I were traveling on my own.”
He propped up on his elbows, his lips twitching. “Are you saying I’m your bodyguard and guide?”
“No.” Her face reddened.
“Because I am very fond of your body. So guarding it isn’t a problem.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
Now he was grinning. “You don’t have to pay me though.”
“Shut up!”
Malachi scooted off the bed and got on his knees, shuffling over to her as she sat at the dressing table. The cat gave an irritated yowl and abandoned the room. The stool she sat on was low enough that Malachi was level with her when he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She could see him laughing in the mirror.
“Am I your kept man, canım?”
“If you are, I feel like a lot more breakfast in bed should be happening.”
“Mmmm.” His lips trailed along her neck. “Now I feel this pressure to earn my keep.”
“Coffee in bed, at least.”
It was getting harder and harder to concentrate. The traitor cat had completely abandoned her. She should probably be getting ready for… something.
But he was playing with her. Teasing her. More and more of his personality was coming back. His humor. His bravado.
Ava fell in love all over again every time she turned around.
“All right, you’ve convinced me. I will take the job as your kept man. So…” He lifted her in his arms and turned to the bed. “Now it is time for work.”
TWO very work-filled hours later, they met the others in the back room of a coffeehouse off Bäckerstraße. It was dark and smoky in the front room, the walls plastered with movie posters and flyers for avant-garde art exhibitions, but the small back room was bright and clean. The smell of coffee, beer, and sausages filled the midday air.
And Ava’s friends, both scribes and singers, filled the room.
Suddenly she was fighting back tears.
Orsala sat in quiet conversation with a nodding Rhys. Mala was signing to both Leo and Sari, who was holding Damien’s hand as he read from a tablet computer with a frown on his face. Max and Renata were there, even though both were pointedly ignoring the other by checking their phones.
Malachi unwrapped his scarf and hung it with the others tossed over a bench near the door.
“Ava, give me your coat and I’ll—what’s wrong?”
She turned, smiling. “Nothing is wrong. Sorry. Happy tears, babe.” Her hands went to his cheeks. He’d let his beard start to grow, and she was getting used to it. It suited him. “You’re coming back to me. And everyone is here. I feel like I’ve lived with this knot of fear in my stomach for months now, but I just… I know it’s going to be okay. Somehow, it’s all going to be okay if everyone is here.”
He held on to her wrists and squeezed them as she smiled.
“I love you,” he whispered, and Ava realized the whole room had gone silent.
She turned, and everyone was smiling at her.
“Hello, Ava.” Sari stood and opened her arms. “It’s good to see you, sister.”
Sister.
Ava would only admit it to herself, but part of her had wondered whether the Irina would treat her differently now that they knew her blood was from the Fallen. She should have known better. Orsala embraced her. Mala pinched her bicep in mock disapproval. And Ava knew without a doubt that Karen would still bake her too many cakes and Astrid would still share a self-deprecating joke to break the tension.
They were her sisters. For the first time, her heart was light enough to enjoy it.
Malachi had his hand on the small of her back, guiding her to a chair near Damien, who looked up, tension plastered over his brow. Sari squeezed his hand, and he lifted her knuckles to his mouth, the easy affection between them another wound healed over in Ava’s heart.
They looked like love to Ava. Tested. Broken. Mended. Faithful. Forgiven. She didn’t know everything they had lived through, but if Damien and Sari could recover from it, she was certain she and Malachi had a better-than-average chance.
“What’s wrong?” Sari asked.
“Anurak has rejected my request for a meeting.”
Sari looked shocked. “What? But he’s been vocal about the reformation of the Irina council.”
“I know. Perhaps he’s feeling pressure—”
“If Anurak is the same scribe I once knew,” Orsala said, “he’s grown tired of talk. He’s a taciturn man by nature, and I doubt he wants debate. I have a feeling he and many other older scribes simply want the Irina to step forward and claim their role in the Library.”