Ava had a hard time sleeping. Part of her wanted to find her grandmother, but another part wanted to be back in Bulgaria. Only Kyra’s urging had allowed her to leave. “Go. Find your grandmother. You know who and what she is now. You can help her.” Ava had wanted to start lessons immediately. She’d wanted to find the old monastery Kyra had spoken of where thirty Grigori women hid from the world and the madness that lurked on the edges of their lives. Kostas and Malachi had refused. Kostas, out of distrust; Malachi, out of concern. It was too soon, her mate said. They needed to think. Needed to plan. How could they risk putting Irin knowledge into Grigori hands? Ava knew Max and Renata agreed, even though they clearly trusted Kostas and Kyra more than Malachi did. Her brain knew he was right, but her heart had other ideas. For Ava, meeting Kyra had been like looking in a mirror. It wasn’t her looks, because the woman’s angelic beauty was nothing like her own. In fact, Ava was almost resentful she’d gotten all the mental anguish of Grigori blood without the excellent skin tone.
