The Secret
Page 37
He wanted it to.
Vasu, the most terrestrial of them, crouched down, clearly intrigued by the scene that Jaron showed them.
“I have never understood the fear of them.”
“That is because you have never raised your daughters,” Barak said.
Vasu shrugged. “If they run to the humans, the humans may have them.”
“The humans consider them mad.”
“What is madness but a form of wisdom?” Vasu murmured, his eyes still locked on the warehouse. “Once they were called seers. Holy women. They were revered in my territory. But Volund fears them. Hates them. Galal butchers them in the name of progress. Why?”
“They are of us,” Jaron said, “but unlike us.”
Barak said, “When the first Fallen daughters were born, they were killed immediately. Considered defective human offspring.”
“Many still view them as such,” Jaron said.
He remembered when Barak had stopped killing his female children. It was when the first pair of twins had been born. The two children grew to be some of his most powerful, though the daughter was always kept hidden from any he did not trust absolutely. Jaron was the only angel who knew Barak no longer killed or abandoned his daughters. Not that many didn’t escape his control. Those, he left to the human world. Or he had, before betrayal had rent their world. Barak had also ceased siring children sixty years ago, for many of the same reasons Jaron had.
Yet Vasu knew nothing. He still stared at the warehouse, watching the scene as if it were performed on a human stage.
“Vasu,” Jaron said.
Gold eyes looked up. Vasu’s dark skin was colorless in the night, but his gold and black hair whipped in the wind. The gold reflecting the starlight, the black swallowing the darkness.
“What do you want of me?” he asked. “I do not want the same thing you do. I have decided.”
“You will remain here?”
“Yes.”
Barak stepped forward. “Are you certain?”
“Are you?”
Barak’s eyes narrowed. “I am. If you remain, you will be alone.”
“If we succeed, I will not be. There will be no more reason to hide, and my people will return to me.”
Jaron said, “Killing Volund will not erase all your enemies, brother.”
“It will erase enough of them,” Vasu said. “Galal will be nothing without Volund’s support. You have your vengeance, and I have mine.”
“Enough,” Jaron said quietly. “We are decided.”
“We are decided,” the three Fallen said, turning their eyes back to the cold warehouse on the edge of the mountains where the earthly realm had changed in the space of a single word.
Chapter Nine
SISTER.
Malachi’s mind rebelled.
No.
It wasn’t possible.
They would have known.
They had to have known.
How could they not have known?
He reached for Ava’s hand, but she was already walking toward the woman called Kyra. Renata was at her side.
“Ava, don’t!”
The Grigori around them had been calm, almost eerily so. But at his protest, they turned furious eyes toward Malachi, as if they were enraged at the interference. Max put a hand on his arm and he calmed.
“Renata is with her. She’ll be fine. Kostas would never attack Ava, especially not in front of his sister.”
Sister.
A sister.
“How—”
“They are Barak’s children. Twins. Both their sire and mother are dead.” Max lowered his voice. “Malachi, surely you can see.”
He knew Max was telling the truth. It was the eyes. The woman’s gold eyes were exactly like his mate’s. She had luminous skin. Ethereal beauty. She was Grigori in female form.
Not Grigori.
Grigora.
“Max, it’s not…”
“It is.”
“But we would have known,” he said. “There was never any—”
“Why would you have known, Scribe?” Kostas’s eyes pierced him from across the room. “When does your kind stop to ask questions?”
Malachi ignored the Grigori and watched Ava. She was holding Renata’s hand but reaching for Kyra. She looked over her shoulder, searching for him.
“Malachi?”
“I’m here.”
“I…” Ava looked between Malachi and Kyra. Kyra and Kostas. “This is real?” she whispered, her eyes revealing her deepest fear.
He forgot the angry Grigori and walked over to her, bending to whisper in her ear. “This is real, canm. You’re not dreaming. Does this feel like a dream or a vision?”
“No.”
He squeezed her hand. “See?”
“Interesting,” Kostas mused. “I wondered what she could do.”
Malachi’s head whipped around. He left Ava with Renata and Kyra as he stalked toward Kostas. “My mate is none of your concern.”
Kostas looked amused, but Malachi said nothing else. He had no wish to confirm or deny anything about Ava until he knew more about whatever was going on. He glanced over his shoulder, but the women were locked in intense conversation in the corner of the room. The males around them had withdrawn, keeping watch but not interfering.
Malachi drew Max to the side. “How did you discover this?”
“I’ve known Kostas for years,” he said. “We’ve traded information. Favors, at times. I knew there were others like him—Grigori free of their sires—but they’re very secretive.”
Vasu, the most terrestrial of them, crouched down, clearly intrigued by the scene that Jaron showed them.
“I have never understood the fear of them.”
“That is because you have never raised your daughters,” Barak said.
Vasu shrugged. “If they run to the humans, the humans may have them.”
“The humans consider them mad.”
“What is madness but a form of wisdom?” Vasu murmured, his eyes still locked on the warehouse. “Once they were called seers. Holy women. They were revered in my territory. But Volund fears them. Hates them. Galal butchers them in the name of progress. Why?”
“They are of us,” Jaron said, “but unlike us.”
Barak said, “When the first Fallen daughters were born, they were killed immediately. Considered defective human offspring.”
“Many still view them as such,” Jaron said.
He remembered when Barak had stopped killing his female children. It was when the first pair of twins had been born. The two children grew to be some of his most powerful, though the daughter was always kept hidden from any he did not trust absolutely. Jaron was the only angel who knew Barak no longer killed or abandoned his daughters. Not that many didn’t escape his control. Those, he left to the human world. Or he had, before betrayal had rent their world. Barak had also ceased siring children sixty years ago, for many of the same reasons Jaron had.
Yet Vasu knew nothing. He still stared at the warehouse, watching the scene as if it were performed on a human stage.
“Vasu,” Jaron said.
Gold eyes looked up. Vasu’s dark skin was colorless in the night, but his gold and black hair whipped in the wind. The gold reflecting the starlight, the black swallowing the darkness.
“What do you want of me?” he asked. “I do not want the same thing you do. I have decided.”
“You will remain here?”
“Yes.”
Barak stepped forward. “Are you certain?”
“Are you?”
Barak’s eyes narrowed. “I am. If you remain, you will be alone.”
“If we succeed, I will not be. There will be no more reason to hide, and my people will return to me.”
Jaron said, “Killing Volund will not erase all your enemies, brother.”
“It will erase enough of them,” Vasu said. “Galal will be nothing without Volund’s support. You have your vengeance, and I have mine.”
“Enough,” Jaron said quietly. “We are decided.”
“We are decided,” the three Fallen said, turning their eyes back to the cold warehouse on the edge of the mountains where the earthly realm had changed in the space of a single word.
Chapter Nine
SISTER.
Malachi’s mind rebelled.
No.
It wasn’t possible.
They would have known.
They had to have known.
How could they not have known?
He reached for Ava’s hand, but she was already walking toward the woman called Kyra. Renata was at her side.
“Ava, don’t!”
The Grigori around them had been calm, almost eerily so. But at his protest, they turned furious eyes toward Malachi, as if they were enraged at the interference. Max put a hand on his arm and he calmed.
“Renata is with her. She’ll be fine. Kostas would never attack Ava, especially not in front of his sister.”
Sister.
A sister.
“How—”
“They are Barak’s children. Twins. Both their sire and mother are dead.” Max lowered his voice. “Malachi, surely you can see.”
He knew Max was telling the truth. It was the eyes. The woman’s gold eyes were exactly like his mate’s. She had luminous skin. Ethereal beauty. She was Grigori in female form.
Not Grigori.
Grigora.
“Max, it’s not…”
“It is.”
“But we would have known,” he said. “There was never any—”
“Why would you have known, Scribe?” Kostas’s eyes pierced him from across the room. “When does your kind stop to ask questions?”
Malachi ignored the Grigori and watched Ava. She was holding Renata’s hand but reaching for Kyra. She looked over her shoulder, searching for him.
“Malachi?”
“I’m here.”
“I…” Ava looked between Malachi and Kyra. Kyra and Kostas. “This is real?” she whispered, her eyes revealing her deepest fear.
He forgot the angry Grigori and walked over to her, bending to whisper in her ear. “This is real, canm. You’re not dreaming. Does this feel like a dream or a vision?”
“No.”
He squeezed her hand. “See?”
“Interesting,” Kostas mused. “I wondered what she could do.”
Malachi’s head whipped around. He left Ava with Renata and Kyra as he stalked toward Kostas. “My mate is none of your concern.”
Kostas looked amused, but Malachi said nothing else. He had no wish to confirm or deny anything about Ava until he knew more about whatever was going on. He glanced over his shoulder, but the women were locked in intense conversation in the corner of the room. The males around them had withdrawn, keeping watch but not interfering.
Malachi drew Max to the side. “How did you discover this?”
“I’ve known Kostas for years,” he said. “We’ve traded information. Favors, at times. I knew there were others like him—Grigori free of their sires—but they’re very secretive.”
