The Secret (44 page)

Then he was at Volund’s back, a heaven-forged blade pressed to the angel’s throat. “I have no love for Jaron’s blood. And your very soul would split in two if your mate died, wouldn’t it? What a brilliant idea.” He kissed the angel’s cheek. “I think I’ll go pay her a visit.”

Volund grabbed Vasu’s arm and swung him overhead. The younger angel grimaced. His eyes swam and his body made a sickening crack into the building. The ground shook below them as Volund began to bring the blade down.

Vasu only smiled and disappeared.
 

“WHAT is that crashing sound?” Ava asked.

“I don’t know, but I want you to listen to me.” Malachi pulled Ava away from Damien and the others, who were shouting orders to the scribes who had joined them. The whole group had run out of the Hofburg and behind the riding school, taking the smaller side streets as they made their way toward St. Stephen’s Cathedral, drawing attention away from the Library and toward a position they would be able to secure.
 

“Narrow streets and tall buildings,” Malachi said as they jogged, “are not your friends. The plaza will be better. At least we’ll be able to see them coming.”

As they ran, Ava saw nothing but a few flickering shadows that quickly disappeared. More and more scribes joined them until their number included at least fifty. Also among their number was a collection of singers, most in groups of two or three. They whispered spells to surround the company, short staffs in hand, while the scribes surrounded them instinctively.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. “There are hundreds of Irin scribes in Vienna you told me. Where are they?”

“Politicians and financiers,” Malachi said. “Most of these scribes have forgotten how to fight. Or they simply don’t have the stomach for it.”

When they reached the plaza, Malachi pulled her over to an isolated corner in the window of a pharmacy.

“When Leo arrives,” he said. “I’m sending you and Kyra with him.”

“What?” Her jaw dropped. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“You are. You and Kyra are too important. And you’re not strong enough for this fight. I can’t protect you and face this at the same time.”

“Malachi, no.”

“Listen—”

“Vasu gave the words to me. Spells I can use against the angels and the Grigori. I can protect—”

“Ava, we’re not only facing soldiers.” Malachi’s voice dropped.
 

He turned them to face across the plaza and toward the Graben where the violent crashes and skittering footsteps had grown progressively louder. It was only then she saw them.
 

“I know you can kill Grigori,” he said. “But can you kill
all
of them?”

Ava turned and saw Grimold’s secret.

Slipping between shadows and jumping from balcony to balcony, the sons of the Fallen trickled into the square from streets and alleys and even from above. No longer distracted by the presence of humans, they focused on the scribes. There were hundreds of them, blending into the shadows and curling from the darkest corners of the street. They didn’t come as an army but as thieves, their shadowed eyes watching the gathering of scribes in utter silence. They crouched in small groups or slipped from side streets as the Irin gathered at the foot of St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

Especially the children.

Round-cheeked and slim. Fair-haired and dark. They crept like cats along the corners, trailing after their older kin with vicious smiles and hungry eyes.
 

“No.”

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Grimold is a monster. But so are these children.”

“They’re babies, Malachi.”

“Babies”—his voice broke—“who would feed on you until you died. Babies you would have to kill to survive. Please, Ava. I do not want you here.”

She could hear the agony in his voice, and she knew her mate had no love for this battle. Not when defeating their enemy meant the deaths of children. The Fallen’s secret weapon was effective. She looked over the clutch of singers with Sari in the middle, holding Kyra close to her as the women around them chanted louder and louder. The barren, agonized expression on the singer’s face and the terror in Kyra’s eyes made her decision.

“I’ll go with Leo,” she whispered, then she threw her arms around his neck. “Please come back to me.”

“I will.”

Ava blinked away tears. “I won’t be far. I want to be close enough that I can use my magic if I need to.”

“I can live with that. Leo will find some place secure and out of the way of the worst of it.”

A child watched them embrace, head cocked as a dog watches something curious. His feral gaze fixed on Ava, and she knew that Malachi was telling the truth. Though he wore the face of a child, Grimold’s son was a monster.

“Where are Kostas’s men?”

“They are hunting Grimold with Barak. If Kostas and his men can kill Grimold, his children—”

“Some of the youngest could be saved.”

Malachi nodded. “That’s what he’s hoping.”

Ava watched the street as more and more Grigori gathered. “Why aren’t they attacking?”

“The Irina are holding them off. But we can’t attack them in the middle of their protection, and the minute we leave the circle of their magic…”

She pulled away and pressed her forehead into his chest, kissing over his heart where her vow to him lay.

“Are you strong?” she whispered.

“Stronger than I have ever been,
canım
.” He cupped her face, bringing her lips to his in a kiss that broke her heart. “I have your power in me,” he whispered. “Your magic along with my own. Nothing will defeat me.”

Ava saw Leo from the corner of her eye, so she squeezed them shut and gave Malachi one more kiss.
 

“I’m counting on it,” she whispered. “Leo’s here.”

Malachi left her and walked to Leo, speaking low into the tall man’s ear. Leo looked for Kyra, still frozen in the center of the singers’ circle, obviously terrified. He nodded solemnly, then narrowed his eyes. She saw him shake his head once, but Malachi kept talking, putting his hand on Leo’s shoulder, obviously trying to convince him. Ava was guessing Leo didn’t want to miss the action any more than she did.

Though the singers’ magic held, Ava saw the numbers of Grigori growing. If she and Kyra were going to hide, they needed to leave when their enemies were distracted. She saw Malachi walking over as Leo went to speak with Sari.

“When we break through, they will be confused,” Malachi said. “Stay with Leo and use your magic to help him clear a path for Kyra. She has no defenses, Ava. You must help Leo get her away.”

“I will.”

She saw them walking over and knew she only had a few more seconds alone with her mate.

“I love you,” she said. “At the end of the day, no matter what happens, I will never be sorry I was given the time to love you.”

Malachi lifted her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She felt the rapid beat of his heart as his body prepared for battle. Felt the pulse of magic over his skin as he kissed the breath from her lungs. His hand gripped the back of her head, holding her with painful possession for one precious moment before he made himself break away. Then he met her eyes and Ava saw the battle lust begin to rise.

“I love you,” he said. “Stay safe.”

Leo came, holding Kyra’s hand and watching her. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. “Do what you have to do,” Ava said. “Then come back to me.”

He smiled and drew his knives. “Always.”

Chapter Twenty-six

MALACHI WATCHED LEO LEAD the two women to the edge of the Irin defenses. The attack would begin soon, but it was too dangerous for the females to run far. They’d be targeted immediately. Malachi and Leo’s plan was to make a quick run to one of the nearby buildings in the initial rush of confusion. If they could hide in one of the upper floors, it would be the safest place. The majority of the Grigori were focused with preternatural concentration on the circle of singers in the middle of the plaza. Between Ava and Leo, Malachi hoped they’d be able to fend off any random attackers in the right position.
 

There were few scribes he trusted as much as Leo. Despite the man’s affable demeanor, he was a fierce protector and a skilled warrior. His soft heart never blinded him to the realities of a fight.

But he was young. If Malachi could keep the man from the necessity of slaughtering children, he would.

He watched the small ones with dread in his heart, their perverse excitement more visible than their elders’. Grimold’s children jumped and shouted, eager for the fight.

“A monster,” Damien said as he came to stand with Malachi. “Not even Volund sends children to fight his wars.”

“No.”

“Be strong, brother. We’ll try to disable as many as we can in hopes that Kostas’s men will find Grimold in time, but do not let their faces fool you.”

“I know,” Malachi said. “Some will die.”

It was inevitable.
 

Malachi saw Leo, Ava, and Kyra reach the edge of the Irin lines. With only a little push, the scribes in front of them would be the first into the battle. He saw some of the Oslo scribes there, along with others from Sofia and Berlin. The warriors had come to Vienna, and just in time.

Rhys, Max, and Gabriel were part of the core of scribes circling the Irina, guarding the women who sang out a circle of magic. Malachi could feel it move through the air around him but knew they must move out of it to kill their enemy.
 

“It’s coming,” Damien said. “They’re pushing out and then we must go.”

Malachi nodded.

“Do you have your blade ready?”

“Yes, Watcher.”

“Be strong,” Damien said. “And return to your mate.”

Malachi touched his
talesm prim
, felt the power of his magic grow and swell, covering his body like armor. His marks glowed silver and his skin heated with excitement and power.

Sari let loose a loud cry, shouting a command into the sky, and Malachi felt the circle of magic pulse up and out. Grigori cowered before it, some falling from their perches on balconies and others covering their ears as they let out a wail.
 

Malachi charged.

He rushed past Leo and the women, throwing his knives at two Grigori who had spotted what they thought was easy prey. They fell down with knives in their throats as Malachi ran and threw an elbow in the face of another.

He felt the first knife slash across his arm, but his skin healed within seconds. With a loud grunt, he head-butted the soldier who had attacked him, sending him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leo and Ava making their way toward a red-fronted building with Kyra between them, soldiers falling and writhing around them as he saw his mate’s lips move. For a second, he saw the knife headed toward her throat, then Leo batted it away, pulling the arm of the Grigori who wielded it in one smooth motion, grabbing his head and twisting his neck until it snapped. The Grigori dropped to the ground and the three kept running.

Malachi lost sight of them in the fighting.

He let the power flow through him as he moved in instinctive rhythm. Punch, slash, kick, slash. His knife pierced the spine of so many Grigori soldiers he felt their dust coat his skin.

The crowd thinned, then thickened again, becoming more erratic. A knife pierced his groin, digging into the inside of his thigh as it reached for the artery there. He tugged the tiny attacker away. It was a child, no more than seven or eight, who wielded the silver knife that had struck him. The boy bit his arm and screamed, trying to scramble away, but Malachi shook him once, and he fell still. Then he clocked the child on the side of the head, sending him to the ground unconscious before he laid him on the side of the street, hoping he would not rise before Grimold was dead. Already too many small bodies had fallen, their diminutive outlines of dust staining the wet cobblestones in the shadow of Stephansdom.

And still they came, pouring down the streets and over the buildings. Hundreds of Grimold’s children battled to take the city the Irin claimed as the scribes and a remnant of singers protected their home.

“YOU!” Volund stalked across the brilliantly tiled roof of the Stephansdom, headed toward Jaron. “Where is she?”

Jaron watched him coming, leaning against the base of one spire. “I don’t know who you mean. My child? Your granddaughter? Which female do you fear today, brother?”

“But you would give her to Vasu?”

Jaron had long suspected that Vasu knew about Ava and Volund, but clearly the thought of another having access to his mate had pushed Volund into madness. His eyes were wide and raging. His form had lost all semblance of humanity.
 

He had to die, and Jaron had to kill him before his rage passed and he remembered his granddaughter.

Volund had already drawn the flaming sword from his body, so Jaron knew he would be weakened. Still, it was no easy thing to kill an angel of Volund’s age. Jaron was depleted from shifting so many humans in the city. He was the only one of his brothers able to hold a dream for so long, and he had no weapon to match a guardian’s sword. Only a consecrated blade would work.