The Secret
Page 105
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“When we break through, they will be confused,” Malachi said. “Stay with Leo and use your magic to help him clear a path for Kyra. She has no defenses, Ava. You must help Leo get her away.”
“I will.”
She saw them walking over and knew she only had a few more seconds alone with her mate.
“I love you,” she said. “At the end of the day, no matter what happens, I will never be sorry I was given the time to love you.”
Malachi lifted her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She felt the rapid beat of his heart as his body prepared for battle. Felt the pulse of magic over his skin as he kissed the breath from her lungs. His hand gripped the back of her head, holding her with painful possession for one precious moment before he made himself break away. Then he met her eyes and Ava saw the battle lust begin to rise.
“I love you,” he said. “Stay safe.”
Leo came, holding Kyra’s hand and watching her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Do what you have to do,” Ava said. “Then come back to me.”
He smiled and drew his knives. “Always.”
Chapter Twenty-six
MALACHI WATCHED LEO LEAD the two women to the edge of the Irin defenses. The attack would begin soon, but it was too dangerous for the females to run far. They’d be targeted immediately. Malachi and Leo’s plan was to make a quick run to one of the nearby buildings in the initial rush of confusion. If they could hide in one of the upper floors, it would be the safest place. The majority of the Grigori were focused with preternatural concentration on the circle of singers in the middle of the plaza. Between Ava and Leo, Malachi hoped they’d be able to fend off any random attackers in the right position.
There were few scribes he trusted as much as Leo. Despite the man’s affable demeanor, he was a fierce protector and a skilled warrior. His soft heart never blinded him to the realities of a fight.
But he was young. If Malachi could keep the man from the necessity of slaughtering children, he would.
He watched the small ones with dread in his heart, their perverse excitement more visible than their elders’. Grimold’s children jumped and shouted, eager for the fight.
“A monster,” Damien said as he came to stand with Malachi. “Not even Volund sends children to fight his wars.”
“No.”
“Be strong, brother. We’ll try to disable as many as we can in hopes that Kostas’s men will find Grimold in time, but do not let their faces fool you.”
“I know,” Malachi said. “Some will die.”
It was inevitable.
Malachi saw Leo, Ava, and Kyra reach the edge of the Irin lines. With only a little push, the scribes in front of them would be the first into the battle. He saw some of the Oslo scribes there, along with others from Sofia and Berlin. The warriors had come to Vienna, and just in time.
Rhys, Max, and Gabriel were part of the core of scribes circling the Irina, guarding the women who sang out a circle of magic. Malachi could feel it move through the air around him but knew they must move out of it to kill their enemy.
“It’s coming,” Damien said. “They’re pushing out and then we must go.”
Malachi nodded.
“Do you have your blade ready?”
“Yes, Watcher.”
“Be strong,” Damien said. “And return to your mate.”
Malachi touched his talesm prim, felt the power of his magic grow and swell, covering his body like armor. His marks glowed silver and his skin heated with excitement and power.
Sari let loose a loud cry, shouting a command into the sky, and Malachi felt the circle of magic pulse up and out. Grigori cowered before it, some falling from their perches on balconies and others covering their ears as they let out a wail.
Malachi charged.
He rushed past Leo and the women, throwing his knives at two Grigori who had spotted what they thought was easy prey. They fell down with knives in their throats as Malachi ran and threw an elbow in the face of another.
He felt the first knife slash across his arm, but his skin healed within seconds. With a loud grunt, he head-butted the soldier who had attacked him, sending him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leo and Ava making their way toward a red-fronted building with Kyra between them, soldiers falling and writhing around them as he saw his mate’s lips move. For a second, he saw the knife headed toward her throat, then Leo batted it away, pulling the arm of the Grigori who wielded it in one smooth motion, grabbing his head and twisting his neck until it snapped. The Grigori dropped to the ground and the three kept running.
Malachi lost sight of them in the fighting.
He let the power flow through him as he moved in instinctive rhythm. Punch, slash, kick, slash. His knife pierced the spine of so many Grigori soldiers he felt their dust coat his skin.
The crowd thinned, then thickened again, becoming more erratic. A knife pierced his groin, digging into the inside of his thigh as it reached for the artery there. He tugged the tiny attacker away. It was a child, no more than seven or eight, who wielded the silver knife that had struck him. The boy bit his arm and screamed, trying to scramble away, but Malachi shook him once, and he fell still. Then he clocked the child on the side of the head, sending him to the ground unconscious before he laid him on the side of the street, hoping he would not rise before Grimold was dead. Already too many small bodies had fallen, their diminutive outlines of dust staining the wet cobblestones in the shadow of Stephansdom.
“I will.”
She saw them walking over and knew she only had a few more seconds alone with her mate.
“I love you,” she said. “At the end of the day, no matter what happens, I will never be sorry I was given the time to love you.”
Malachi lifted her in his arms, crushing her to his chest. She felt the rapid beat of his heart as his body prepared for battle. Felt the pulse of magic over his skin as he kissed the breath from her lungs. His hand gripped the back of her head, holding her with painful possession for one precious moment before he made himself break away. Then he met her eyes and Ava saw the battle lust begin to rise.
“I love you,” he said. “Stay safe.”
Leo came, holding Kyra’s hand and watching her. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Do what you have to do,” Ava said. “Then come back to me.”
He smiled and drew his knives. “Always.”
Chapter Twenty-six
MALACHI WATCHED LEO LEAD the two women to the edge of the Irin defenses. The attack would begin soon, but it was too dangerous for the females to run far. They’d be targeted immediately. Malachi and Leo’s plan was to make a quick run to one of the nearby buildings in the initial rush of confusion. If they could hide in one of the upper floors, it would be the safest place. The majority of the Grigori were focused with preternatural concentration on the circle of singers in the middle of the plaza. Between Ava and Leo, Malachi hoped they’d be able to fend off any random attackers in the right position.
There were few scribes he trusted as much as Leo. Despite the man’s affable demeanor, he was a fierce protector and a skilled warrior. His soft heart never blinded him to the realities of a fight.
But he was young. If Malachi could keep the man from the necessity of slaughtering children, he would.
He watched the small ones with dread in his heart, their perverse excitement more visible than their elders’. Grimold’s children jumped and shouted, eager for the fight.
“A monster,” Damien said as he came to stand with Malachi. “Not even Volund sends children to fight his wars.”
“No.”
“Be strong, brother. We’ll try to disable as many as we can in hopes that Kostas’s men will find Grimold in time, but do not let their faces fool you.”
“I know,” Malachi said. “Some will die.”
It was inevitable.
Malachi saw Leo, Ava, and Kyra reach the edge of the Irin lines. With only a little push, the scribes in front of them would be the first into the battle. He saw some of the Oslo scribes there, along with others from Sofia and Berlin. The warriors had come to Vienna, and just in time.
Rhys, Max, and Gabriel were part of the core of scribes circling the Irina, guarding the women who sang out a circle of magic. Malachi could feel it move through the air around him but knew they must move out of it to kill their enemy.
“It’s coming,” Damien said. “They’re pushing out and then we must go.”
Malachi nodded.
“Do you have your blade ready?”
“Yes, Watcher.”
“Be strong,” Damien said. “And return to your mate.”
Malachi touched his talesm prim, felt the power of his magic grow and swell, covering his body like armor. His marks glowed silver and his skin heated with excitement and power.
Sari let loose a loud cry, shouting a command into the sky, and Malachi felt the circle of magic pulse up and out. Grigori cowered before it, some falling from their perches on balconies and others covering their ears as they let out a wail.
Malachi charged.
He rushed past Leo and the women, throwing his knives at two Grigori who had spotted what they thought was easy prey. They fell down with knives in their throats as Malachi ran and threw an elbow in the face of another.
He felt the first knife slash across his arm, but his skin healed within seconds. With a loud grunt, he head-butted the soldier who had attacked him, sending him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leo and Ava making their way toward a red-fronted building with Kyra between them, soldiers falling and writhing around them as he saw his mate’s lips move. For a second, he saw the knife headed toward her throat, then Leo batted it away, pulling the arm of the Grigori who wielded it in one smooth motion, grabbing his head and twisting his neck until it snapped. The Grigori dropped to the ground and the three kept running.
Malachi lost sight of them in the fighting.
He let the power flow through him as he moved in instinctive rhythm. Punch, slash, kick, slash. His knife pierced the spine of so many Grigori soldiers he felt their dust coat his skin.
The crowd thinned, then thickened again, becoming more erratic. A knife pierced his groin, digging into the inside of his thigh as it reached for the artery there. He tugged the tiny attacker away. It was a child, no more than seven or eight, who wielded the silver knife that had struck him. The boy bit his arm and screamed, trying to scramble away, but Malachi shook him once, and he fell still. Then he clocked the child on the side of the head, sending him to the ground unconscious before he laid him on the side of the street, hoping he would not rise before Grimold was dead. Already too many small bodies had fallen, their diminutive outlines of dust staining the wet cobblestones in the shadow of Stephansdom.
