“Good.”

They were silent on the long walk back, the cars and scooters honking as they darted across the main road. Ava had the distinct feeling that Malachi could have stopped them with a single glare if any got too close. They walked up the hill and toward the small, nondescript house they’d been sharing the past four days. It was nothing fancy, but at the end of a dead-end road, it was private and the beds were more comfortable than the ones in Cappadocia.

They didn’t make it to the bed.

As soon as Malachi shut the door, he spun her around, desire and anger lighting up his eyes. Before a word could leave her, he had captured her lips, pulling her to his chest as she grasped the nape of his neck, digging in her nails when she heard him groan.

“Not. Leaving. You,” he muttered between biting kisses, backing her toward a gathering of low couches and pillows in one corner.

“Okay.” She could barely keep up, overwhelmed by his fierce possession. She held on to his neck, her teeth nipping at the softer skin there as she tore at the buttons on his shirt until he lifted it and pulled it off with an irritated scowl, as if the fabric itself was offensive. He carefully took off the twin daggers strapped to his torso, then he glared at her own clothes and knelt to strip them off.

“Do you understand me?” He pulled off her skirt, her blouse, finally slowing when he reached the fevered flesh beneath. Malachi bent down to the low couch, kneeling before her and pressing his face to the soft skin of her abdomen, his arms wrapping around her hips. Her whole body shuddered in awareness of the power at her feet. “I will not abandon you. I will not leave you. Ever.”

She wanted to believe him. Wanted to be worthy of the devotion he offered. She reached a tentative hand out and brushed at the hair falling over his forehead, her pale fingers threading through the thick locks that teased her skin. His breath was hot against her belly when she tilted his chin up to meet her eyes. She traced the tip of one finger around the sculpted beauty of his mouth before she pressed it between his lips, and his tongue darted out to taste her.

“Show me.”

Hours later, Ava decided the fight had been worth it. Lying against Malachi’s chest in the lone extravagance of the house, the marble-clad bathroom, she looked over his shoulder.

“I think I like fighting with you.”

He pinched her ass under the water.

“Hey!”

“I do not like fighting with you. Don’t start fights.”

“Some fights are going to happen.”

He closed his eyes and shrugged, the water lapping against his chest. “Don’t start unnecessary fights.”

After a few silent minutes, she said, “I know you don’t see humans as inferior.”

“So what were you really worried about? The Grigori?”

She knew she should be. The shadowed hunters were still stalking her, as far as anyone would tell her. Damien, Leo, and Maxim were still tracking them in Istanbul. Rhys said Dr. Sadik was still suspicious and out of contact. They would have to return to the city at some point, and she really had no idea what she’d be walking into.

“Hmm?” He touched her face, tilting it toward him.

“I’m worried… about lots of things.”

“The Grigori?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Sadik?”

“Yes.”

He paused for a moment. “Me?”

“I can’t help it,” she said, her shoulders stiff. “Nothing is this… There’s a reason I’ve been alone my whole life, Malachi.”

He lifted his hands to her shoulders and Ava knew he was letting his magic soothe her. She’d only suspected it before, but there was a tingling kind of hum that she felt when he used magic.

“Don’t use—”

“Shhh.” His head dipped down and his lips teased behind her ear. “Just to relax your muscles. I won’t touch your emotions, canım. Just let me help you.”

Giving in, she leaned back and felt his arousal pressed against her, but he continued massaging her shoulders and arms. Her neck. The base of her skull.

“You’re really good at that.” He grabbed a silk washcloth from the side of the bath and rubbed some soap on it. The smell of orange blossom and fig filled the steaming room. “The bathroom here is amazing.”

Though the house may have been modest, the bath was not. Clad floor to ceiling in grey marble, it was a picture of indulgence. A deep soaking tub filled one corner, and a rain-shower was in the other. There were steam vents and heated floors. Fragrant soaps and oils to condition the skin. Ava decided she might not ever leave as long as Malachi would keep her company.

“We Turks like our baths,” he said as he brought the soap to her skin, the bubbles coating her shoulders before he began massaging her again.

“I can tell.”

“And for Irin, too, touch is very important. Especially between… lovers.”

Reshon. The word whispered in his mind.

Ava cleared her throat and said, “That makes sense.”

“We’re a very affectionate people,” he said, lifting one arm and repeating the massage. Soap. Slick skin. Deep, soothing strokes. He brought her arm up to lie over his shoulder, and she twisted her fingers in his hair as he covered her with the rich scent. “When we are young, we are coddled. Children are so rare, they are fussed over. I was cuddled and played with constantly as a child. I could barely get any time alone.” His voice held no resentment, only a hint of laughter.