THE next morning, they were lying in bed and Malachi was dozing in the grey dawn. The flat Rhys had let for them was small and tucked into a quiet corner of the neighborhood, away from the more lively restaurants and bars. He’d heard the crowds when he helped Ava to bed the night before, but the noise died down quickly. That morning, the only sounds that met his ears were the street sweepers and dog walkers below. The smell of coffee and bread drifted on the air, and his mate was curled safely into his side.

He was as content as he could be. Malachi had no idea whether Ava had traveled to Vienna before. She seemed to speak of more rural locations than urban, which would make sense with her previous inability to avoid the voices of the humans around her. As he lay there, smelling the bread and roasting beans from the kaffeehaus down the street, a few pleasant childhood memories intruded.

The first visit with his father to the Library where the elders met, the gallery above crowded as scribes clustered to observe the quiet work of their elders below. A tour of the archives that held the wealth of Irin history within its plain walls. Hearing his mother sing a story at the house of a friend, the walls echoing with laughter.

His mother had loved Vienna.

Perhaps they would have a few days to explore before Damien and Sari drew them into political maneuverings.

Probably not.

“Malachi?” Ava whispered.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you awake?”

“A little.”

Ava’s body didn’t know what time it was. She’d woken after midnight, greedy for him. They’d made love with quiet intensity. She’d muffled her cries of pleasure in his shoulder, then fallen quickly back to sleep with his scent on her skin.

“I was thinking.”

Malachi twisted a strand of hair around his finger. “Tell me, canım.”

“I can’t stop thinking about my grandmother.”

It was the first time she’d mentioned it since France. Malachi had tried not to bring it up. He’d come to learn she needed her silence. She’d speak to him when she was ready.

“What are you thinking about?”

She took a deep breath. “Seeing her was like a vision of all my worst fears made real.”

Her power still frightened her. Ava had spent the majority of her life fearing her own mind, constantly questioning her perceptions. If she was ever to fully access her power, she would have to accept it, but accepting it meant not hiding from the darkness inherent in her nature.

Malachi had to remind himself how young she was. When he was her age, he was still in the middle of his training, the reality of battle years away. Ava had been picked up and thrown into a war that had been raging for centuries, and she’d lost the first battle when her mate had been killed. Both of them were still recovering.

“Your grandmother’s mind was broken by violence,” he said. “And by a continued violation she has no way of stopping.” He put a palm to her temple. “You never have to fear that. The only one allowed in your dreams is me.”

“Volund could get in.”

“I don’t think he could.”

She rolled toward him. “If Jaron wasn’t shielding me—”

“But he is.” He kissed her forehead and whispered, “We will find a way to free her, Ava. Volund is powerful, but so is Jaron. There must be a way. And we’ll find it.”

She blinked away the shine in her eyes. “But his evil is still in me. And it’ll never go away. I have his blood.”

He knew a lifetime of fear couldn’t be washed clean in a single year or with a single revelation. They were both works in progress.

“Do you remember our dream on the plane?”

“Of Istanbul?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

“That was your magic touching mine. Healing me. And there was nothing evil about that. That was beautiful.”

“But—”

“I’m not saying you’re all sweetness and light.” He smiled when she narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t want you to be. And you are Jaron’s granddaughter.”

He saw her shoulders tense, but he continued. “I do not fear it. Nor should you.”

“Why not?”

“You hold power. And soon, you’ll learn to claim it. Control it.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “This city has not seen your like before.”

A quiet knock came at the door.

Malachi brushed a hand along the talesm at his wrist and opened his senses. His ears recognized the familiar step. There was the scent of coffee and flour. And the irritated murmur when hot liquid spilled on skin.

“Get dressed. Rhys is here.”

“Bossy.” She rolled over and huddled under the covers. “I’m tired.”

“That’s because someone decided to be insatiable last night just when I was trying to get to sleep.” He winked at her.

She threw a pillow at him and he laughed.

“Go back to sleep if you wish. We can go out for breakfast.”

She peeked from under the covers. “You sure you don’t mind? I just… don’t feel like seeing anyone. Not yet.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled. “We won’t go far. Don’t leave the apartment.”

RHYS muttered the entire way to the coffeehouse a block away.

“Don’t know why I bothered bringing you an espresso—”

“Rhys, you brought me Starbucks.” Malachi shook his head disapprovingly. “What were you thinking?”