The Singer
Page 100
“Shouldn’t we help—?”
A choked gasp cut off Ava’s words as Damien plunged a knife into the back of a Grigori soldier. Almost immediately, Sari kicked another to her mate’s feet, and he killed that one, too. Gold dust rose around them, filling the air as Damien claimed Sari’s lips in a ferocious kiss before they plunged back into the dark room they’d come from.
Malachi looked down at Ava. “I think they’re fine.”
“Up,” she said. “He’s up. I think.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Too many!” She was already becoming overwhelmed by the clamor and resisted using the spells that would close the door, still hoping to be able to track Brage.
They started up the stairs but had to stop on the second landing when three Grigori burst out of a doorway, knives bared. Malachi pushed Ava behind him and attacked. Ava pulled out the knife he’d given her and looked for a target, but the crowded landing made positioning herself difficult.
The three Grigori had come from above and they had the advantage. Malachi was just as fast as he’d always been, but she noticed he didn’t heal as quickly. The cuts they gave him were open and bleeding. Blood splattered from the throat of one soldier as Malachi sliced his throat, then used him as a shield to attack the others.
The scent of urine, sweat, and blood surrounded her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a hand shoot out as a Grigori ran from below and reached for her. Ava grabbed his arm on instinct and pulled, jabbing the knife into the cord of muscle on his bare skin. When the knife pierced his flesh, a shot of pure adrenaline lanced through her system. Her heart sped. Her vision cleared. The thrum of voices dropped to the back of her mind, and Ava could hear him again.
“Yes…”
A low laugh cut off by Malachi shouting her name.
“Ava!”
A strangled curse and shout. She was shoved back into the banister as Malachi pulled the Grigori closer and plunged a silver knife into his spine. The dust rose, clouding her vision. Then Malachi was there and pulling her with him.
“Come.”
“He’s upstairs,” she choked out, blinking the dust from her eyes. “I can hear him again.”
“This is a madhouse.”
“We’re killing more of them than they are of us.”
He didn’t ask how she knew.
They climbed the stairs. One flight. Two. Three.
“He’s above us,” she said. His voice was no longer whispering, but a thin thread of his presence lingered.
“There has to be a roof,” Malachi said, sweeping his eyes from one hallway to the other.
The majority of fighting was going on below them. Ava could hear Renata shouting for Max. Then she screamed and a man roared in anger.
Ava ran toward the stairs, searching for her friends.
“Ignore them!” Malachi shouted. “We need to find Brage.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her down one hallway, but there was no exit. They went back the way they came. At the end of the other hallway, there was an exterior stairwell and a pocket of frigid air. The door had recently been open. Malachi ran through it and Ava followed. He held knives in both his hands, loose and ready at his sides. Ava watched him with pride. Possession.
Her mate.
Broken. Lost. And still every bit the warrior that he had been. With his talesm glowing in the dark and a shot of her own magic running through him, Malachi did not hesitate.
Snow dusted the rooftop. It swirled in fat flakes as salty wind blew off the fjord and twisted around them. It was a rooftop garden, bedded down for winter. Heavy furniture lay covered with thick canvas, tied off against the weather. A few evergreen trees sat in pots, their branches a festive white.
Oblivious to the cold, Brage lounged in one of the chairs, its canvas cover thrown off. He was impeccable in a pure white shirt and black slacks, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he balanced a dark metal blade on the back of his hand.
“It’s about time you arrived.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? So perfectly balanced,” the Grigori said as they approached. “But of course, it was forged in heaven. Or hell. I’m honestly not sure what I believe at this point.”
Malachi said nothing, trying to place the blade. He knew he should know what it was. There was something…
“Don’t recognize it? I’ll admit, it was dark in that shit hole of a cistern,” Brage said, flipping the blade from the back of his hand to rest in his palm. “Maybe you couldn’t see it clearly.”
The knife pulsed with power. Its metal was dull, almost black. There was no decoration on it. No leather wrapped the hilt. Nothing to detract from the purpose of such a grim weapon.
Death.
“Your silence intrigues me,” Brage said.
Malachi realized that the Grigori wasn’t speaking to him. He was speaking to Ava. And Ava couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“You killed him with that,” she said softly, the air fogging as it left her lips.
“Yes, I did. Apparently it didn’t take.” Brage glanced at Malachi, then back to Ava. “My father wants you.”
“He can’t have her,” Malachi said.
“Was I talking to you, scribe?” Brage continued to stare at Ava, flipping the knife in his fingers. Handle. Tip. Handle. Tip. He didn’t fumble once. “Will you come with me? Or will I have to take you?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, you creepy asshole.”
A choked gasp cut off Ava’s words as Damien plunged a knife into the back of a Grigori soldier. Almost immediately, Sari kicked another to her mate’s feet, and he killed that one, too. Gold dust rose around them, filling the air as Damien claimed Sari’s lips in a ferocious kiss before they plunged back into the dark room they’d come from.
Malachi looked down at Ava. “I think they’re fine.”
“Up,” she said. “He’s up. I think.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Too many!” She was already becoming overwhelmed by the clamor and resisted using the spells that would close the door, still hoping to be able to track Brage.
They started up the stairs but had to stop on the second landing when three Grigori burst out of a doorway, knives bared. Malachi pushed Ava behind him and attacked. Ava pulled out the knife he’d given her and looked for a target, but the crowded landing made positioning herself difficult.
The three Grigori had come from above and they had the advantage. Malachi was just as fast as he’d always been, but she noticed he didn’t heal as quickly. The cuts they gave him were open and bleeding. Blood splattered from the throat of one soldier as Malachi sliced his throat, then used him as a shield to attack the others.
The scent of urine, sweat, and blood surrounded her. From the corner of her eye, she saw a hand shoot out as a Grigori ran from below and reached for her. Ava grabbed his arm on instinct and pulled, jabbing the knife into the cord of muscle on his bare skin. When the knife pierced his flesh, a shot of pure adrenaline lanced through her system. Her heart sped. Her vision cleared. The thrum of voices dropped to the back of her mind, and Ava could hear him again.
“Yes…”
A low laugh cut off by Malachi shouting her name.
“Ava!”
A strangled curse and shout. She was shoved back into the banister as Malachi pulled the Grigori closer and plunged a silver knife into his spine. The dust rose, clouding her vision. Then Malachi was there and pulling her with him.
“Come.”
“He’s upstairs,” she choked out, blinking the dust from her eyes. “I can hear him again.”
“This is a madhouse.”
“We’re killing more of them than they are of us.”
He didn’t ask how she knew.
They climbed the stairs. One flight. Two. Three.
“He’s above us,” she said. His voice was no longer whispering, but a thin thread of his presence lingered.
“There has to be a roof,” Malachi said, sweeping his eyes from one hallway to the other.
The majority of fighting was going on below them. Ava could hear Renata shouting for Max. Then she screamed and a man roared in anger.
Ava ran toward the stairs, searching for her friends.
“Ignore them!” Malachi shouted. “We need to find Brage.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her down one hallway, but there was no exit. They went back the way they came. At the end of the other hallway, there was an exterior stairwell and a pocket of frigid air. The door had recently been open. Malachi ran through it and Ava followed. He held knives in both his hands, loose and ready at his sides. Ava watched him with pride. Possession.
Her mate.
Broken. Lost. And still every bit the warrior that he had been. With his talesm glowing in the dark and a shot of her own magic running through him, Malachi did not hesitate.
Snow dusted the rooftop. It swirled in fat flakes as salty wind blew off the fjord and twisted around them. It was a rooftop garden, bedded down for winter. Heavy furniture lay covered with thick canvas, tied off against the weather. A few evergreen trees sat in pots, their branches a festive white.
Oblivious to the cold, Brage lounged in one of the chairs, its canvas cover thrown off. He was impeccable in a pure white shirt and black slacks, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he balanced a dark metal blade on the back of his hand.
“It’s about time you arrived.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“It’s amazing, isn’t it? So perfectly balanced,” the Grigori said as they approached. “But of course, it was forged in heaven. Or hell. I’m honestly not sure what I believe at this point.”
Malachi said nothing, trying to place the blade. He knew he should know what it was. There was something…
“Don’t recognize it? I’ll admit, it was dark in that shit hole of a cistern,” Brage said, flipping the blade from the back of his hand to rest in his palm. “Maybe you couldn’t see it clearly.”
The knife pulsed with power. Its metal was dull, almost black. There was no decoration on it. No leather wrapped the hilt. Nothing to detract from the purpose of such a grim weapon.
Death.
“Your silence intrigues me,” Brage said.
Malachi realized that the Grigori wasn’t speaking to him. He was speaking to Ava. And Ava couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“You killed him with that,” she said softly, the air fogging as it left her lips.
“Yes, I did. Apparently it didn’t take.” Brage glanced at Malachi, then back to Ava. “My father wants you.”
“He can’t have her,” Malachi said.
“Was I talking to you, scribe?” Brage continued to stare at Ava, flipping the knife in his fingers. Handle. Tip. Handle. Tip. He didn’t fumble once. “Will you come with me? Or will I have to take you?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you, you creepy asshole.”
