They were starting to attract attention, so they kept walking. Malachi fell in step beside her but didn’t try to touch her again.
“Would it help if I told you I’d decided on it before you threatened to leave?”
She nodded. “Oh, so you were just holding that one in reserve for a moment when you needed to get your way.”
“No. Not… exactly.”
“Got it.”
“I’d only just decided! Why are you trying to start a fight with me?”
“Nope. This isn’t starting a fight. This is fighting. This is the two of us fighting over you being a controlling asshole.”
It irritated her that she was walking as fast as she could, and yet he kept up with her effortlessly.
“Ava.” He sighed.
She reached the front door and opened it with the key, ignoring how his hand reached out to hold the door for her. How he stopped to make sure it closed securely behind them. How he brushed a drift of snow from her shoulder.
Ava started up the stairs. The black cat was waiting at the door. It slipped in when she opened it and ran to the window to watch the street. Malachi followed behind her.
“What do I do to fix this?”
She was angry. Frustrated. Mostly, she was hurt. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. It’s supposed to be special. I’ve been memorizing all the songs for weeks now, so worried that I wouldn’t be able to do things right. That I’d mess things up and embarrass myself. And you! And then… you don’t want it. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
Rejected.
She didn’t want to say it, because she knew he loved her. Knew he was proud to be her mate. But a lifetime of rejection from her father—from every man in her life—wouldn’t disappear just by Malachi loving her. She wished it would.
Ava stripped off her coat and scarf, turned up the thermostat, and went to start the kettle for tea. She’d drunk so much coffee in the past few days she thought her stomach lining might start a revolt.
She felt his hands on her shoulders. Felt the roughness of his beard against her neck. “I want it.”
“Maybe you’re right. It’s probably not a good idea. Not when Jaron is using me as bait. We don’t understand Volund’s connection with me. It might make you vulnerable too.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist. “Please don’t do this. It was stupid for me to say it then, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t sincere.”
“So you’ll go through the rest of the mating ritual with me, but only if I agree to stay in Vienna?”
“You’re not truly thinking of leaving, are you?”
She didn’t say anything. She was thinking about it. Orsala and Malachi could scheme all they wanted, but the fact of the matter was if Ava stayed in the city and people were killed in some massive angelic battle, she’d never be able to live with herself.
His arms tightened. “You can’t be serious.”
“If I leave, then who do they have to kill but each other? No Irin would be forced into battle—”
“And you’d be caught in the middle.” He stepped back.
She turned slowly. “I am one person. We’re talking about thousands—”
“We’re talking about you! My mate. Do you honestly think I’d leave you unprotected?”
Ava said nothing. If she left, Malachi would have a hard time finding her, even with Rhys’s help. She could go to her mother and Carl. If she asked Carl to make her disappear somewhere, he’d do it. He’d probably be grateful.
He put his hands on her cheeks. “Stop it.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re leaving me in your mind,” he whispered. “Don’t do it. Don’t you know I’d rather die than lose you?”
She shook her head. “I need to think.”
“Enough!” He cut his hand through the air. “You’re not going anywhere. I forbid it.”
“Oh really?” She balled up the power welling in her chest and said, “Ya fasham.”
Malachi’s eyes widened in shock as the unbalancing spell hit him full force. He reeled to the side and fell over. Ava stepped to the door and grabbed her coat and scarf. Then she threw another spell at him that Sari had taught her, and Ava knew Malachi’s legs were going to be immobilized long enough for her to leave.
“Ava!”
Okay, his mouth could move.
“I’m going out for a walk.”
“What did you do?”
“You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The cat had come to sit on his chest.
“Ava!”
She ran down the stairs and flagged down the first taxi she could find.
“Zentralfriedhof,” she told the driver. “Gate two.”
AVA didn’t know why she was so attracted to cemeteries. Maybe it was the quiet. For as long as she’d been alive, she’d found them soothing. She could walk among others, never feeling alone, but not plagued by the voices of the living. No matter what city she visited, she sought them out, content to linger among the dead while the living only tormented her.
The Central Cemetery in Vienna was one of the largest in Europe, containing the graves of many of Austria’s most famous composers. Knowing what she did now about Irin history there and the Irina tie to music, the city’s musical history made even more sense.
She walked the barren pathways toward the church, surrounded by grey headstones and the rare passing tourist. Some spaces were overgrown, but most on the central walkway were trimmed and many had freshly cut flowers, even in the dead of winter. It was one of her favorite cemeteries, a veritable city of the dead. Carefully tended, trimmed with lush gardens and populated by the marble figures of angels, poets, and mourners.
And Ava was freezing.
She tucked her scarf closer around her neck and wondered just how mad Malachi was going to be. Probably pretty mad.
It was the “I forbid it” that had been the last straw.
No. Just no.
He might have been hundreds of years older than her, but she wasn’t a child to order around.
She turned left past the graves of famous composers, leaving Strauss, Beethoven, and Schubert behind as she searched for the gravestone that had become her first magazine cover.
It was a darkly sensual embrace emerging from stone. The male figure’s hands possessive. Commanding. An odd sculpture to find on the grave of an obscure nineteenth-century writer. But it had spoken to her, the woman’s face tilted up to her lover in surrender.
Ava remembered how she’d felt when she photographed it.
Longing. For possession. To belong to another utterly. To be precious. Needed.
She heard a hoarse chirp by her leg. She looked down to see the black cat from her apartment building sitting by her leg.
“What the—”
Before her eyes, the cat grew, stretching in the shadows of the evergreen trees that surrounded the old graves. He became a man with gold eyes, his dark hair streaked with amber. His lips were lush, the angles of his face and eyes speaking Eastern heat. Silk and spices. Hooded eyes lined with black stared down at her.
“Your lover holds you that way.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed out.
“No, Vasu.”
“Who are you?”
He cocked his head, as if it should have been obvious. “Vasu.”
Ava blinked. “Okay then, Vasu. What are you?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Awe turned to irritation. “First Jaron, then Death, now you—”
“Azril? Has he visited you?” Vasu cocked his head. “How interesting.”
“I’m really just wondering if I should run screaming at this point, or if you’re a friend of Jaron’s.”