Page 115 of The Seeker
Rhys was in the center aisle, a Grigori clutched by the hair, his dagger flashing down as golden dust rose around him in the flickering light.
She saw a movement to her right. It was the first Grigori she’d knocked over.
“Domem man!” The man froze.
Rhys ran to her, leaping over the pews and reaching for the man she’d shot. He was already beginning to rouse himself. Gunshots couldn’t kill Grigori unless they pierced the spine. Rhys grabbed the Grigori by the shoulder, flipped him over, and slammed his silver knife into the back of the man’s neck, releasing his soul for judgment.
“You all right?” he shouted.
“One more.” Meera didn’t have knives and she didn’t particularly want any. Violence, even necessary violence, made her ill. But she was profoundly glad when Rhys walked over and finished off the Grigori who’d almost shot her.
Rhys reached out and took the gun from her hand. “Are there wards around your house?”
Meera nodded.
“Then let’s go.” He hooked an arm around her neck and kissed her forehead. “Let’s go before more come. We need to call Roch. This is far worse than we thought.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“He hides on the river where the water bends to—”
The Grigori had died seconds before he could reveal anything important. Rhys wondered if that was the exact reason two of the soldiers had hung back. Did Bozidar know what Meera could do? It was an unnerving thought.
Vasu knew.
Suspicion licked at Rhys’s mind, but he didn’t want to accuse the angel. Not unless he was sure.
He knew Meera was always going to be a target, but he felt wholly unprepared to guard her on his own, even in her cozy house with all the wards refreshed. He’d called the New Orleans scribes and asked them to patrol the neighborhood for the night, though he’d avoided telling them exactly where Meera’s house was.
He was becoming nearly as paranoid as Damien and Gabriel. He trusted no one but his brothers. He wished he could spirit Meera away to Istanbul or pack her off back to Udaipur.
Something very big and very bad was coming, and it wasn’t paranoia if they were really after you.
“Rhys.” Meera slid a hand along his shoulders. “Calm down. No one is going to get through mine and my father’s wards. I don’t even feel anyone close.”
What about Vasu?
“It was too close in the church,” he said quietly.
She sat across from him at the small kitchen table while a pot of soup simmered on the stove. “Don’t do this.”
He wiped a hand across his forehead. “Then tell me how I’m supposed to react.”
“You’re supposed to have confidence that I can defend myself.” Her voice was low and steady. “You’re supposed to remember I’m a very powerful singer with defensive spells I’m well practiced with. That I was born of and trained by two warriors and have good situational awareness.”
“He almost shot you. I didn’t even sense them.”
“That’s partly a consequence of the spell I was using, and I should have warned you about that,” Meera said, rising to check the soup. “It’s geared toward Grigori, but it can have a muddling effect on Irin as well. You’ll be more aware next time.”
“Next time?”
She turned to him with a grave expression. “You won’t lock me in that fortress. I won’t allow it.”
Twin instincts battled in his heart. He wanted to protect her desperately. For the first time he truly understood scribes who had wanted to lock their mates up in retreats before the Rending.
If she was guarded.
If she was away from danger.
