Truly.

“Thanks. I guess… thank you.”

You’re welcome. I’d forgotten how entertaining humans can be. I’ll see you again, Ava.

She said nothing more to Vasu. Ava pulled Malachi to his feet and led him up to their apartment. When they got inside, she removed his clothes. He was wearing jeans; someone had thrown a jacket over him and pushed boots on his feet. The shirt under it was stained with blood.

Ava tore it off, searching for wounds.

“Not my blood,” he said quietly. “It’s not my blood.”

She broke.

Pressing her face into his chest, she sobbed. Great, wracking, painful cries of relief and agony over the lives lost. For what she had done. For what he had been forced to do. He put tentative hands on her shoulders, but he did not embrace her.

“Ava.” His voice sounded more fragile than she’d ever heard before. “I need to get clean.”

She led him to the bathroom and stripped the clothes off them both. She would throw them away in the morning. Maybe she would burn them. Ava stood with Malachi under blistering hot water until it ran cold. She washed his hair for him and cleaned the dust from every inch of his skin. Then she led him to bed and crawled under the covers.

Neither one of them slept, but they held each other until dawn. And when the night had passed and Rhys had called to check on them both, Ava returned to him. Sometime after she heard the humans rouse in the streets below, she slept.

“I’M sorry,” he whispered, clutching her in the forest as night birds sang overhead. “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her neck as she held him.

The forest was darker than it had ever been, though the oppressive fog around them had lifted. No moon shone in the sky above. The earth they rested on was bleak and cold.

“It’s so dark,” he said, his powerful body curled into her, shivering. “Why is it so dark?”

“It won’t always be dark,” she told him, running her fingers through his hair and down his neck, feeling the strength of him more powerfully for the way he bared himself to her. “I promise. The moon will come out again.”

He said nothing, but allowed her to hold him.

“It’s okay,” she said, over and over again. “It will be okay.”

She held him in the night, comforting him when she felt his shoulders shaking.

“You found me once,” she said. “Do you remember? I was broken. You picked me up and you carried me.”

“Yes.”

“And you told me you would never leave me again.”

“I’m tired, reshon.”

“Rest then. I’ll hold you.”

He relaxed into her arms.

“Remember,” she whispered, “it’s only when the night is darkest that you can see the light of the stars.”

He stretched her out and there was a soft blanket beneath them. The forest became a refuge, and she saw some of the sorrow leave his eyes.

“Sing to me,” he asked her.

So she did.

VII.

“THERE YOU ARE.”

Svarog turned when he heard Vasu’s voice. The house in Wieden was empty. Had been empty for years, though Vasu had heard that the angel had kept a home and a mistress in the city at one time. He’d enjoyed tweaking the noses of the Irin Council—even if the council hadn’t known it—only a few blocks from the famous Naschmarkt of Vienna.

Vasu wore his most comfortable human guise, a lean form native to the Indian subcontinent he called home. He was ready, so ready, to return to the warm climes of his home in Chittorgarh. He was ready to come out of hiding.

“And there you are, old friend,” Svarog said. He’d taken on the appearance of an urban gentleman. His suit cut was immaculate. But then, Svarog had always liked his luxuries. “I knew rumors of your death must be exaggerated.”

“Aren’t they always?”

“It appears so. Both you and Barak were a surprise.” His voice dropped when they spoke of the fallen archangel. “Jaron kept his allies close.”

Vasu smiled. “Volund could have learned a lesson from him.”

“Volund,” Svarog growled, “was too proud to learn from anyone.”

Vasu leaned against the banister in the spacious entryway. “And where are your children, my friend? I did not see Svarog’s sons in the midst of battle.”

The angel turned. “Where were Volund’s?”

“Dead in Oslo.”

Svarog raised a steel-grey eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Vasu was delighted by the angel’s trickery. Svarog wasn’t an archangel. Like Vasu, he’d been quite young when he fell. And unlike many of his brethren, he still enjoyed the pleasures of human women. His progeny were widespread among Central and Eastern Europe.

“You double-crossed him. I’m delighted.”

“I knew Jaron would kill Volund,” Svarog said, looking out the window. “I never doubted that. And when he did, I was not going to lie among his sacrifices. My sons herded Barak’s heretic children here. Then they returned to their homes. I would not waste my men for Volund’s mad quest.”

“And”—Vasu crept to Svarog’s back, leaning his chin on the other angel’s shoulder—“now that he is gone, it does leave such a delicious vacuum of power.”

Svarog stared out the window into the cold grey Viennese morning. “So it does.”

“And what will you do with it?”

“Nothing.” Svarog paused. “For now… nothing.”

Vasu stepped back and smiled as he shifted away.

“Liar.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

AVA AND MALACHI SAT in Damien’s study three days later with Damien and Sari. Renata, Max, Rhys, Leo, and Gabriel were also there. Orsala and Mala were still on the way from Prague.

Kostas was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” Rhys asked.

Max said, “He’s taken his sisters and the women who were in Prague. They disappeared the night after the battle. I don’t know where they went. He left Sirius and some of his other men here in the city to try to round up as many of the Grigori children as they could.”

“They just left?” Leo asked.

Malachi wondered if Leo was more concerned with Kostas or his lovely sister.

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Trust does not come overnight.”

“And what does the council say,” Damien asked, “about the battle of Vienna?”

“We won one battle, but some act as if we won the war.”

Malachi shook his head but said nothing. He shouldn’t have expected miracles, even when they’d appeared in the sky over a major European city.

“And the kareshta?” Ava asked.

“They are drafting a mandate,” Gabriel said. “It’s still being debated, but it looks as though the scribe houses will be joining the hunt to find as many kareshta as they can. The elder scribes are not all in agreement, but the elder singers are unanimous. By next week, the daughters of the Fallen will be under the protection of the Irin race.”

At least there was that. Malachi knew that ambitious watchers could use that mandate to go after the Fallen, interpreting the “protection of the kareshta” to mean freedom from the tyranny of their sires. He exchanged a quick glance with Damien and knew his watcher was thinking the same thing.

“And the free Grigori?” Max asked.

Gabriel’s mouth firmed. “Like I said. Trust takes time.”

“And us?” Sari asked, reaching for Damien’s hand.

Gabriel smiled. “You know politicians. I expect any resolution will be months—if not years—away now that the Irina have their voice in the Library. Until then, our sisters will do as they want.”