“Your shields,” he said and felt the immediate tension in her fingers where they lay on his calf.

“Why are we talking about this?”

“Because we need to. I know you’re still shielding yourself from the voices, but—”

“I thought you said that I could go at my own pace.”

“You can. But I need to know what’s happening in your dreams.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

So it wasn’t something she was doing. He hadn’t thought so, but he wanted to be sure.

He glanced around again, then turned his eyes back to her. He’d suspected Ava had protection, but Volund’s words confirmed it.

“During our dreams,” Malachi said. “Do you sense it?”

“What?”

“The layer he’s placed over you.”

“Who? Jaron?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “I’ve sensed… something. But it’s not something I’ve thought about much.”

“He’s shielding you,” Malachi said. “I’m sure of it.”

“From you?”

“No.” From another, darker threat. “He’s an angel. Jaron would probably be able to shove me out of your dreams completely if he wanted to. Or maybe not. I don’t really know. As far as I’ve read, the Fallen do not enter our dreams. I don’t know why Jaron can walk in yours, but I’m fairly sure he’s shielding you.”

He wished she would share what had happened on the rooftop in Oslo. There had been a break in time for him. Looking back, he knew that Ava and Jaron had some exchange, but he didn’t know what had passed between them. As much as Ava shared with him, there were fears she hid. Malachi didn’t even know if Ava realized she was hiding.

“If Jaron is shielding me from something, I don’t know what it is,” she finally admitted. “He’s as confusing to me as he is to everyone.”

I cannot reach her, but I can reach you.

Was he right to conceal Volund’s intentions toward her? Malachi didn’t know, but he didn’t want to bring it up. It was one more problem for which he had no solution to offer.

Malachi shrugged. “The Fallen have never shown any interest in protecting humans as far as I can remember. I have no idea why Jaron is doing it.”

“Not even their human lovers?”

“Humans are disposable to them. All humans.”

“But he protects me.” She frowned. “Maybe there’s more to the angels than what you’ve been taught.”

“I doubt it, Ava.”

“But…” She frowned. “The Fallen and the Forgiven? They’re all angels, right?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s the difference? Why were the Forgiven capable of compassion and not the Fallen?”

“I don’t think you could call the Forgiven compassionate. They were just…”

“What?”

He shook his head. Some lessons were still crystal clear, even if he couldn’t remember when or where he’d learned them. “The Forgiven gave up their place on earth—their offspring, their human lovers—but it was because they were cut off from heaven. They wanted to go back. It was for our sakes, but more for their own.”

“So they were selfish to leave? Not sacrificing?”

“It was both. There had to be an element of sacrifice, because they were allowed to gift their children with magic. The Fallen were not.”

“Don’t the Grigori have magic?”

“Only the natural magic that comes from angelic blood. Which shouldn’t be underestimated. But they don’t know the Old Language as we do. So their magic is limited. It is our main advantage.”

She was still frowning. “I don’t get it, though.”

“What?”

“Why don’t the Fallen teach the Grigori the same magic? Wouldn’t it make them more powerful?”

“I don’t know if the Fallen want their children to be that powerful. Or even if they are able to teach it to them. They might not be able.”

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head. “They’re Grigori. We don’t engage them in conversation. We kill them.”

Ava snorted. “For a race you’ve been at war with for millennia, you guys don’t know much about your enemy, do you?”

“They’re a predatory race. We know enough.”

“Do you?”

He sat up straighter and lowered his leg. “What does that mean?”

She was looking out the window. “You know I’m no fan of the Grigori. But part of me wonders if the Irin don’t choose to be ignorant about them. About their world. It’s easier to dehumanize something you don’t understand. Easier to kill someone you don’t see as a person.”

“There’s a problem with your reasoning, Ava.”

“Oh?”

“The Grigori are not human.”

“No?” Her eyes swung back to his. “Think about it, Malachi. They’re half human. Half angel. The Grigori are as human as you.”

MALACHI stewed silently for the rest of the trip.

The Grigori as human as he was?

Hardly.

The monsters who had tracked Ava like an animal? Seduced and killed countless human women? Taken his own life? Flashes of memory haunted him, flipping through his mind in a litany of accusation.

Knives and blood. Knives were the only way to kill them and release their souls for judgment. And knives were messy, bloody weapons for fighting. Slices across his arms. His chest. He’d almost lost an ear once.

Knives and blood and dead, lifeless eyes. Not the Grigori. No, their bodies dissolved like so much dust, leaving the remains of their prey for others to find. Dead eyes, often open in surprise or rolled back in ecstasy. The Grigori were beings who made a mockery of love, the human women they hunted never suspecting that the glorious creature who touched them was actually sucking the life out of them.

A small, inconvenient voice in the back of his mind whispered, You would too.

His touch would be deadly too.

So the Irin didn’t touch any but their own.

That was the point. It was what made them different. Made them the protectors, not the hunters. They were nothing like the Grigori.

He could hear Ava’s voice. But…

The Grigori had no fathers or mothers as they did. Had no families. No training in magic. They had no Irina.

They had no Irina.

So what hope did they have?

And what monsters would the Irin have become with no hope?

He was silent when they arrived at the hotel. Silent when they made their way to their room. Silent even as Ava stoically put their things away, unpacking from the single bag they had brought, carefully arranging the room with the long practice of years living in hotel after hotel.

“I know you’re mad at me,” she said as he walked up behind her. She was standing at a small dresser, arranging their clothes. “It wasn’t my intention, I’m just saying—”

“Shh.” He bent down, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. “Ava.”

“What?”

Her shoulders had been tense, but she relaxed as he held her and kissed her cheek. Her neck. They had few fights because they were still uneasy around each other. Both of them often retreated into polite silence, and he knew it wasn’t right.

“I love you,” he said, drawing her away from the bureau and into his chest. His hands traveled up her torso, slipping underneath the thin sweater she wore. He hungered for her skin. “You are my hope.”

“Malachi—”

“You are. It is easy to forget”—he kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder—“what I would be without you. There was a time when I was as hopeless as they were. I don’t think the Irin are like the Grigori, but I will think about what you said.”

“I’m not saying I want to be friends with them,” she said, turning in his arms. “I just think there are things we could learn. Me, mostly. But maybe you too.”

“You’re right.”

A teasing light came to her eyes. “You’re so sexy when you agree with me.”

“Am I?” He bit her lower lip as his hands ran back down to cup her bottom. “How about now?” he murmured against her lips.

“Say it again.”

“You’re right.”

“Oooooh,” she said. “Even sexier.”