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.

All Jaron had was knives.

“I will kill you,” Volund said. “I will kill you and your children. Take what is mine and—”

“She was never yours!” Jaron flew at him, felt Volund’s blade pierce his shoulder, but he did not stop. “She is my child. She was never yours, thief.” He and Volund rolled across the bright roof of the cathedral, then Jaron pushed back until the sword left his body, knowing he would not heal from the wound.

“I claimed her,” Volund said, panting. “And she is mine. And when you are dead, I will find her and she will torment me no more!”

“If you want her,” Jaron said, “then follow me.”

He pushed off the building and launched his angelic form into the air, knowing that Volund would follow.

Ava watched from a window across from the Stephansdom, the great gothic spire of the cathedral knifing into the grey sky as the Irin and Grigori battled beneath it. Dark clouds hung over the normally bright roof, hiding it from human eyes. Thunder rumbled, though no lightning struck. And like a dark fog, the Grigori spread over the square, lurking as the shadows fell.

“There’s no end to them,” she whispered. Kyra was huddled in a corner, eyes closed, clearly in agony over the violence below. Ava had tried to enhance the woman’s shields, but panic was her enemy. The only relief Kyra seemed to find was clutching Leo’s hand with grim determination. Of course, when Leo had to let go…

“There is an end,” he said, stepping beside Ava to look down. “And Malachi will survive.”

His face was set, his eyes fixed on his brothers fighting below.

“You don’t know that.”

“Look.” He pointed to one small clearing. “There he is.”

Ava squinted. “Are you sure? How can you see?”

“I can’t see his face. I know how he fights, though…” Leo’s eyes shuttered. “The children are unexpected.”

Ava turned her eyes away. “Am I a coward?”

“No.” Leo placed a hand on her shoulder. “He needs you to be here, away from the blood. So that when he returns he’ll remember what it is to be clean. Some memories you carry until you die. There is no reason you need to carry them as well.”

“Leo—”

“I need you to stay with Kyra while I check this floor,” he said. “Can you do that, Ava?”

She nodded. “Find me something I can use as a staff.”

He grinned. “I’m sure there’s a janitor’s closet somewhere.”

Ava gave one last glance to the fighting below the building, then she turned back to Kyra, opening the door in her mind to listen and keep watch as thunder sounded over the city.

“THEY’RE attacking the Irina,” Damien said, running up to him. “Fall back and protect the singers or we will have no shield.”

Malachi looked over his shoulder, and he could see Sari and the others wielding their short staffs, batting back the children who had managed to sneak past their circle of magic. That must have been why Grimold had sent them. For some reason, the smallest of the Grigori seemed immune to the singers’ power.

Children. His watcher was ordering him to kill the children.

“Damien—”

“We must protect the Irina. The small ones are immune to their magic.”

Children.

He saw one holding two daggers, rushing at the legs of a singer who tried to kick him away. Blood bloomed above her knees, and Malachi ran toward them just as the child tried to plunge a blade into the Irina’s abdomen.

Sari’s staff lifted and struck, tossing the child away.

“Sari!”

Her tortured eyes met his. “We can’t hold them back. I have no spells that work on them.”

“Then defend yourself,” Damien said. “Míla, you know you have no choice.”

She nodded, even though tears filled her eyes.

There was no time to mourn. The Grigori children were unrelenting.

Damien glanced at the sky. “I do not see any sign of Volund.”

“I think Jaron might be taking care of that problem. Grimold is directing his sons. We just need to hold them off until Kostas and his men find him.”