Ava reached out and took his hand.
“Where are we?”
“When,” he said, taking a deep breath and pulling her to his side. The heady scent of the spice market teased his senses. “When are we? These are my memories, canım. This is Constantinople when I was young.”
Malachi heard the echo of horses clopping on the streets and vendors calling to bargain, but they were alone in the streets of the city he’d loved as a young man. The city where he’d met her.
“We’re dreaming,” Ava said, her face spreading into a smile. “We’re in your dream instead of mine.”
“I suppose so.”
“I like it.” She ran her fingers along the carvings of a wall as they passed, and Malachi could see the ancient words rise beneath her fingers like shadows reaching for long-dead eyes. “No, I love it. Your dreams are so much clearer than mine.”
“I don’t feel him here.”
“Jaron? No.” She turned and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “I like the privacy.”
“So do I.”
They walked for a while longer, enjoying the empty streets where the voices of long-dead residents clamored. He hadn’t known dreams could be like this. It felt lighter. Brighter. Like a pleasant memory they could enjoy together.
“When this is finished,” she said, “I want to come back here.”
“To Constantinople?”
“Istanbul, remember? They changed the name a while ago, old man.”
“So they did.” He pinched her side and felt her squirm as she laughed, her body as real to his hands as if they were awake on the plane heading to Vienna.
“Why do you think we’re in your dream and not mine?”
“Maybe because I’m remembering more.”
“Are you?” She pulled him to a park bench along the Hippodrome, and Malachi heard the echo of wings as pigeons took flight. She pushed him down, then straddled his lap and faced him.
“What do you have in mind, reshon?”
Her words came shyly. “I want to sing to you again.”
“Yes, please.”
He waited, eyes closed in the sunlight as his mate put her hands on his cheeks and began a tentative song. It was an old poem he remembered his mother singing when she wanted to center herself. A focusing ritual before more complicated magic was sung.
“Relax,” she whispered in English before she began the halting words.
Malachi resisted the impulse to correct her pronunciation as she sung the spell. He wouldn’t interfere until something became dangerous.
Before, Ava had commanded him, a heady, forceful magic intoxicating to the senses. This time she coaxed. The words were lighter, more playful. A sunny, teasing spell that made him want to smile. Even the burn of the talesm on his shoulder and collarbone felt more like a tickle than a knife.
“Ava.” He hummed her name when her lips tickled his ear. His hands smoothed over the curve of her hips, up her sides, and wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her body into his. Overhead, he heard the flap of bird wings again, but nothing in the sunny dream could distract him from the desire that coursed under his skin.
“Sir.”
“Don’t stop,” he whispered into Ava’s ear as her song died down.
“Sir, I’m afraid you have to stop.”
That wasn’t his mate’s voice.
He came awake with a start, the disapproving flight attendant staring down at him and trying to block the view of the other passengers.
“Really, sir, if I wasn’t sure you were sleeping…”
Malachi realized his hand was up Ava’s shirt, her body splayed over his as they reclined in the airplane seats. Ava was still asleep, her hand heading in a southern direction as his headed north under her sweater. Though they had a blanket thrown over them, he realized they must have been giving the other passengers quite a show.
Slowly, he drew his hand away and nudged Ava over into her seat, ignoring her sleepy protests.
“I do apologize,” he muttered.
The flight attendant took an impatient breath and opened her mouth—no doubt to offer some other warning—when her eyes widened in alarm. “Are you well?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Your chest. What happened?” She pointed down and Malachi caught the edge of blood welling up through the fabric of his collared shirt. “Do you need a doctor?”
“I’m fine.” He reached for the scarf he’d shoved in Ava’s purse. “I apologize. It is an old cut that must have opened as I moved. I’m quite all right.”
“Malachi?” Ava blinked her eyes open. “Where are—” She saw the bleeding. “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
She sat up, and then Malachi had to deal with two females fussing over him.
“I’m fine,” he protested. “It’s nothing.”
Luckily, the bleeding from his reformed talesm distracted the formerly annoyed attendant. She rushed away to retrieve some first aid supplies while Malachi tried to calm his body’s natural reaction to the rush of magic and endorphins his mate had produced.
Ava must have caught the tent in his pants, because he saw her hiding a smile.
“You are in so much trouble when we land,” he muttered.
“I’d apologize, but—”
“Don’t.” His command was hoarse. “Never apologize for that.”
Her smile was wicked. “You may come to regret telling me that.”
“Just as long as I come.”
Her eyes widened. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Malachi growled and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her in for a brief kiss. “I want to disappear somewhere with you, not go to Vienna.”
Her smile fell. “Me too.”
“If we go back to sleep, do you think we can avoid the whole mess?”
“Probably not. And we might get in trouble with the flight attendant.”
“Damn.”
THEY landed in the early evening; the sun had already set. Luckily, taxis weren’t difficult to find. Rhys had e-mailed Ava an address near Judenplatz, within the Innere Stadt, the oldest part of the city. They would be within walking distance of the Library that served as the council chambers, but far enough away to afford privacy. They’d also be near St. Rupert’s Church, one of the few places in Vienna Malachi felt didn’t drip with ostentation.
“Has Damien told anyone about me yet?” she asked as they waited in the taxi queue. “Or about us?”
Malachi shook his head. “He’s been trying to meet with different elders every day but isn’t having much success. While Sari’s presence in the city has caused some speculation, the Irina question is still being debated. The council is still treating the battle in Oslo as an isolated incident. And since so many of Volund’s Grigori were killed, they consider it a victory.”
Ava’s mouth dropped open, but a car was pulling up. Malachi grabbed her hand and walked toward it.
He helped her into the taxi and loaded their luggage in back, happy that his mate packed with the economy of a seasoned traveler.
She’d already given the driver the address by the time he closed the door and settled into the cab.
“Volund wasn’t even in Oslo,” she whispered, well aware that most taxi drivers in the city would speak English.
“I know that,” he said just as quietly. “But Brage was. And he was taken out. As Volund’s oldest and most feared child, the council considers that a victory. Remember, they don’t target the Fallen. In all my time as a soldier, I only remember hunting one angel. Grigori? Hundreds. But the Fallen are out of our reach. Of course, I don’t remember everything, so don’t take that as a complete picture.”