“How do we know they’re not free Grigori?” Meera asked. “Just trying to live their lives quietly? You said they were living in the swamp. Do we know that they’re hunting?”

Roch glanced over his shoulder as he drove. “This scribe isn’t the kind to start shit for the sake of starting shit. He’s a quiet guy. If he says they’re a problem, they’re a problem.”

“So we’re possibly killing a group of Grigori on the word of a single person?”

“Yeah, Meera, we are.”

She stared at the passing green blur of the darkening bayou. “I don’t agree with this.”

Roch’s voice was low. “This isn’t something you have a say over.”

I should. Meera pressed her mouth shut and tried to rein in the quiet rage that simmered in her chest. She knew Roch was correct. She knew that in matters of Grigori, not even elders were consulted in the field. Warriors had to make quick decisions to save lives. She even agreed with that philosophy. To a point. The Elder Council laid down protocols. The scribe houses followed them. It was the only way to retain any kind of order in their world.

Meera didn’t deny that the Irin were at war, she just questioned the lack of any power other than a warrior’s hand.

Rhys turned around and looked at her. “What would you do?”

“Roch is correct. I don’t have a say.”

“You do to me. What would you do?” He glanced at Roch. “Do you have a… method for talking to the Grigori that we should know about?”

It was clear from Rhys’s expression that he hadn’t forgotten what happened to the Grigori at Meera’s house or the conversation they’d had after.

Does Roch know? his expression asked.

Meera shook her head. No.

“I would talk to them,” she said. “Find out who they are. Find out who their father is and why they’re living alone.”

“They’re living alone because it’s easier to make their victims disappear that way,” Roch said. “People go missing in the swamps. People aren’t found. You pick up someone that no one is going to miss, they won’t even leave a ripple in the water.”

Meera turned her head. Roch would ignore her. She cared for Roch, but he was like most scribes, convinced that violence was the only way to deal with Grigori.

“What would you do?” Rhys asked again. “After you talked to them. What if they weren’t free? What then? Would you kill them? You know the violence bound Grigori are capable of.”

“I know.”

“So…?”

Meera looked Rhys in the eye. “Keep Roch from killing them, and I’ll show you what I would do.”

He looked wary. “You expect me to let you get that close to these Grigori?”

“Yes.” She kept her eyes on Rhys. Would he challenge her abilities?

“Roch”—Rhys didn’t look away—“we’re going to let Meera try talking to them.”

“What?” Roch did not sound pleased. “You can’t be serious. These aren’t children or untried soldiers. The scribe who called me—”

“We’ll be with her, and I’ve experienced a touch of her offensive magic,” Rhys said, finally turning back to face the front. “I have confidence that she’ll be able to deter them with us protecting her.”

Roch’s voice was a growl. “Someone put you in charge and I didn’t hear about it?”

“Two votes against one,” Meera said. “Give me a chance, Roch.”

The scribe was silent. She could feel his ire radiating when she lowered her mental shields, though the smooth timbre of Rhys’s soul voice mitigated the effect on her senses.

They turned off the paved road and rolled onto a smaller track. Roch touched his talesm prim and cut the lights in the car. The spells he’d scribed for night vision would be enough for him to navigate through the rougher terrain.

“How far?” Meera asked quietly.

“A few miles.”

She could make them come to her. That would be better.

“Find an easily defensible position,” she said, “and stop there.”

Roch asked, “Why—?”

“Do it,” Rhys said. “Trust me.”

A few more turns and there was a wide spot in the road next to a clearing. The trees had been hacked back, and an old shack was crumbling to pieces on the edge of the woods.

Meera got out of the truck as soon as Roch stopped. A slow-moving creek flowed behind the shack, and the moon reflected off the water. She could hear night birds calling with the high screech of insects a constant cacophony in the darkness.

Where are you?

Meera opened her senses and tried to ignore the voices of the two men with her as they took veiled positions, Roch near the road and Rhys in the trees behind her. She could smell the bite of both their magic in the air. One by one, the birds left. The insects fell silent.

Predators were hunting in the forest.

With her shields down, Meera felt a tug in the pit of her belly. Where are you?

Coming closer.

She sat on a fallen log in the middle of the clearing and tucked her trouser legs into her socks to keep bugs and brambles away from her skin. The Grigori would be there shortly.

How many?

She held up a hand with three fingers when she caught a hint of their voices. She heard three. Four? No, just three. They were confused. Drawn to her. They were always drawn to her.

Anamitra told her it was the weight of memory that drew them. Grigori were empty creatures, children who had killed their own mothers with their birth. They were used or discarded by their Fallen fathers. They were empty inside, though not soulless. They were soul hungry.

And Meera carried the weight of a thousand generations.

“They will always be drawn to you; that is why the Tomir were bound to the heir of heaven’s wisdom so many centuries ago. The Grigori hunger for the souls of everything they have been denied. We are everything they need and yet cannot have.”

The Grigori could not have her. Or they could not have all of her. But perhaps just a little of heaven’s light could be granted to them. Could make them see reason. After all, they were no different from the Irin. If Forgiven children were abandoned for a millennia, what would they become?

Closer. They were almost to the clearing. She couldn’t feel Roch or Rhys in the trees, but she could hear them. Especially Rhys. The sound of his voice…

I could become addicted to him. Even the thought of never hearing it again made her stomach hurt. But he would leave eventually. His life wasn’t with her. Even if he was interested in Meera as a lover, no one wanted the weight of responsibility that followed her position. Heaven knew she would never have chosen if for herself.

“I want you far more than is comfortable or well-mannered.”

He didn’t even know why he felt that way. Only an Irina knew when she found her reshon. There was no way for a scribe to know unless she told him. Rhys would never know what Meera heard from his soul unless she chose to reveal it.

The first Grigori entered the clearing from the shadowed alley of the road between the trees. He was young and beautiful, his dark brown skin glowing near blue in the full moon. He walked to Meera in a trance, but she didn’t move from her spot on the fallen log.

“Who are you?” He fell to his knees a few yards from her. “You’re Irina, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Not like the others. You’re more.”

Meera’s heart fell. “When have you met other Irina?”

“Our father caught one for us,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on her face. “She fed three of us before she died.”

Meera was sick to her stomach, but she didn’t move. Didn’t react.

Two identical Grigori entered from the road. They were the opposite in looks to their brother—their pale blond hair shone like silver—but their smell and energy was the same. They were three brothers, though they’d come from different human mothers.

Meera could feel Rhys and Roch’s magic stirring the air, but the Grigori didn’t notice. They were fixed on her. She drew them closer until all three were staring wordlessly at her.

She closed her eyes and reached into the well of power within her. “Vashah ya.”

The Grigori surrendered their will to her. She could ask them to dance and they would dance. She could ask them to drown themselves in the river and they would do it. As long as their Fallen father remained at a distance, they belonged to her. Most Irina could only command this magic with skin contact.

Meera could control a crowd.

“Who is your father?” she asked them.

“Bozidar,” they said in unison.

Sons of the most powerful Fallen in North America were hiding in a swamp in Louisiana?

“Why are you here?”

“He told us to come,” one of the blond Grigori said. “We came.”

“Why here?”

“There will be more.” The other pale Grigori sat next to his brother. “He said there will be many more.”

“More what?”

“Irina,” they said in unison.

They’re going after the havens. There was no way Rhys and Roch were letting these three Grigori leave the forest that night. She wouldn’t have let them leave either. As much as she hated to admit defeat, she wasn’t going to be able to turn any of these Grigori against their father. Their energy was ravenous, and she felt no light in them. The darkness enveloped them completely.

Meera’s stomach twisted as she asked the next question. “How have you been feeding?”

“We find prostitutes,” one of them said. “They come with us willingly.”

Not to die. Not to disappear. Meera’s heart ached, and she felt the tears on her cheeks. The shields she had lowered threatened to rise instinctually, but she forced them down even as the rasping soul voices of the men in front of her grew louder and louder.

“Don’t cry,” one of the Grigori said. “No one misses them.”

“I do.”

“Did we make you sad?” The first Grigori cocked his head. “I don’t like that feeling.”

“I know you don’t.”

“Make it stop.”

Their voices were calm on the outside, but their interior voices grew louder every minute that passed. Meera pressed her fingers to her temples, raised her voice, and asked, “Is there anything else you want to know?”

Rhys stepped out from the trees. The Grigori didn’t look at him. They were completely fixed on Meera. “Is Bozidar coming to New Orleans?”

“Is your father coming to you?” she asked.

Their eyes all lit up at once. “Is he?”

“They don’t know,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

“How many Fallen children are there in the swamp?” Roch asked as he walked from behind the tumbledown house. “How many others?”

Rhys and Roch moved closer, Rhys coming to stand behind her. Despite their proximity, the Grigori never looked at them and didn’t seem to react at all.

Meera asked, “How many of your brothers are nearby?”

“There were seven of us, but the wolves came in the night and killed the others.”

“The wolves?”

“She travels with wolves,” the Grigori whispered. “There was no sound. None at all. Then they were dead.”

The Wolf. Rhys’s hand fell on her shoulder.

Roch asked, “How did they escape?”

Meera repeated the question.

“Water,” one said. “We fell in the water and we couldn’t hear what happened.”

“Interesting,” Rhys murmured.

Meera felt sick inside. She turned her head and pressed her cheek to Rhys’s wrist. The growing cacophony in her head quieted instantly. She pressed her eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Are you done?” she asked.

“I’m done,” Roch said. “I don’t think they know anything more.”

“We’ll finish them,” Rhys said. “Meera, go back to the truck.”

“No.” She opened her eyes and locked eyes with the first Grigori who had knelt at her feet. “Do it.”

The silver stilettos came out. The knives slid into the back of the Grigori’s necks, piercing their spines. Meera kept her eyes on the Fallen child locked under her control. She felt the tug of his surprise when the knife touched his neck. His eyes widened. His mouth fell open. The silver pierced him.

The Grigori crumbled to the ground and began to dissolve before her eyes.

Meera ran to the edge of the trees and emptied her stomach over a palmetto. She was bent over, crying and sick, when the cool cloth landed on the back of her neck.

“Come here,” Rhys said. “We had to do it. You know we did. They would have continued to hunt. We don’t even have a way to find the victims they’ve already killed.”

“I know.” It still makes me sick.

He enveloped her in his arms, his fingers holding the cool cloth to her flesh, but Meera needed his skin. She brought his hand up to her temple and leaned into his palm, letting the quiet of his touch soothe her. Rhys tried to tug his hand away, but she held on tight.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I need your skin. Just for a minute.”

Rhys fell completely still. “Why?”

Shit. Meera dropped his hand and moved away, instantly raising her shields.

Rhys followed her. “Meera, why did you need my skin?”

No no no no no.

She couldn’t deal with this. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She could see Roch from the corner of her eye. His eyes widened for a second before he walked to the truck and climbed inside, slamming the door behind him.

Rhys grabbed her hand and spun her around. “Stop.” He forced their palms together, though Meera refused to look at him. “Is this what you need?”

Heaven above, yes. She pressed her eyes closed, refusing to meet his penetrating stare.

“Is it?” He pressed her palm to his rough cheek. “Do the voices go silent? Can you hear my soul?”

She said nothing.

“Is it like a bell in the morning?” His voice was thick with emotion. “Is it, Meera?”

“Rhys, it’s not…” She opened her eyes and met his stare. She couldn’t bring herself to lie, but she couldn’t say the word.

“It’s not what?” he asked, his eyes wild. “Are you denying… You’re not denying it.”

She said nothing. It was too much. He was too much.

He is exactly what you need.

“Do you know?” he insisted. “Do you hear it?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not talking about this right now.”

His lips twisted and he dropped her hand. “You selfish, self-centered, arrogant woman. I’ve been nothing but honest with you from the beginning. I’ve hidden nothing. Nothing.”

Rhys turned and walked back to the car, leaving Meera in the forest with the dust of the Grigori hanging in the air around her.

* * *

They rode back to the hotel in silence, Meera sitting in the back seat, trying not to stare at the back of Rhys’s head while Roch tried to catch her eye in the rearview mirror.

Awkward did not begin to describe it.

They stopped at the hotel and Rhys jumped out of the truck, not even looking back as he walked to his room. He said nothing to either of them.

Meera leaned against the truck and stared up at the moon as Roch came to stand beside her.

“I can guess what that’s about, and I can’t say I envy him.”

“Thanks so much,” Meera said. “Your support as a friend is noted.”

“Hey,” he said. “If I’m guessing correctly what Rhys was hollering about, then I have no sympathy. Singers hold all the cards when you’re talking about finding your reshon.”

“But how do you know?” she asked under her breath. “For sure? How do you know?”

“Meera…” He gave her a little smile. “You know.”

She knew. After the sound of his voice in her most vulnerable state, she no longer had any doubt. But what did that change?

She said, “I have been told my whole life who and what I’m supposed to be. And now it feels like heaven above is conspiring to rob me of the one thing I’m supposed to be able to decide for myself.”

Roch gave a hard laugh. “Me, myself, and I. Do you even hear it?”

Meera blinked. “What?”

“Meera, I love you, girl. You’re a hell of a woman and a good friend. But you can be self-centered as shit sometimes. No one blames you. You carry an enormous burden, and your life has been prescribed down to the minute. But have you thought about his side? About what caring for you means for a scribe like Rhys? It’s not gonna be rainbows and dancing. All people come with baggage, honey, but you come with a whole damn luggage store.”

Meera was speechless.

“Maybe a luggage museum,” Roch mused.

“Thanks.”

“But he’s still around. He knows who and what you are, and from what I can see, he hasn’t backed off. That ought to tell you something right there. Now imagine, on top of all that, there’s this one thing every scribe dreams of, and it’s wrapped up in a person who is hell-bent on keeping her walls up, and she won’t even give you a straight answer so you know which way is up.”

Meera looked back up at the moon.

“He wants you for you,” Roch said. “Look past your own fears and know that, because I can see it clear as day. Don’t be a contrary little shit just because it’s not something you thought up yourself.”

She knew he was right, but Meera still bucked against the sense of inevitability. “It’s not that I object to him. I just…” She frowned. “I wanted to choose.”

“There’s nothing stopping you from that,” Roch said. “It’s always gonna be your choice.”

“It doesn’t feel like a choice. It feels like a surrender.”

“Oh, my girl.” Roch smiled. “There’s so much beauty in surrender when you have a fine place to fall.” He pushed away from the truck. “You better get some sleep. Don’t decide anything tonight. Your emotions are all torn up after whatever that was in the forest. Speaking of which”—he leveled a hard look at her—“we’re gonna talk about that tomorrow, and you can count on that. I don’t even know what was going on there, but I know that was some very big magic.”

“Roch—”

“Not tonight. Get some sleep. I’m all outta wisdom for the day, and I need to go call my woman.”

“Tell Sabine I said good night.”

Roch gave her a short salute, then turned to walk inside.