The Scribe

Her foot just kept tapping…

Hot tea spilled on his pants.

“Oops!” Ava laughed. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” He picked up a napkin, dabbing at the tea as he watched her from the corner of his eye.

She was jiggling her foot, tapping it to the rhythm of the street musician playing on the corner. The woman burst with life, more than any human woman he’d ever met. When Malachi looked at her sometimes, he wondered how her skin could even contain her personality. Her eyes might have held pain and exhaustion at times, but her body was in constant motion.

For a moment, he reveled in the fantasy that she had enough energy even for his touch.

Fingers linked. Arms wrapping around her slight frame. Drawing her to his chest as his mouth descended to her skin. Laying his rough cheek to the satin of hers. Pressing his lips to her neck. The curve of her jaw. Her lips. Feeling the pulse of life seep into his skin. Her fingers digging into his neck. Gripping his hair at the nape. The touch of her mouth to his.

The touch…

He banished the rebellious thoughts, disgusted with himself. He was no better than a Grigori.

“Hey,” she whispered, her own cheeks flushed as if she shared his thoughts. “Malachi, where did you just go?”

He blinked and looked up. Nothing had distracted him in two hundred years.

Who was he kidding?

He swiped a quick hand over his face and shook his head to clear it. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well last night.”

“And then I dragged you out.”

“It’s fine, Ava.” He grabbed an orange from a dish on the table, letting the bitter spray from the peel wake him. “I’m just a little tired.”

“We could head back,” she said. “And don’t you have some kind of backup? I mean, not that I don’t prefer your company, but surely you have someone who can… fill in for you, or something. If you’re sick?”

It was the perfect opportunity. Leo was scheduled to take over for him tonight. Damien was confident Ava wouldn’t even notice the younger scribe watching her, but Malachi wasn’t convinced. After all, the woman had spotted a Grigori stalking her through a crowded market; he doubted a six-foot behemoth with a mane of blond hair would be hard to pluck out of the crowd. “I… uh… I do have someone, as a matter of fact. His name is Leo. He’s very reliable. Maybe I’ll call him.”

She reached out to pat his hand, but Malachi tensed before she paused and drew back. “That’s a good idea. I’m wearing you out.”

“You’re fine, Ava. I don’t mind.”

“No, I do it to everyone.” Her face had fallen back into its polite mask. He could practically feel her withdrawing. “It’s… fine. You should call your friend. Take a break from me.”

He didn’t want to take a break from her. Leaving her with Leo seemed like an even worse idea than it had only a minute before. Her mask was an open wound to him. The confident, energetic woman was gone, replaced by a cool, carefully contained stranger.

“Ava.” He waited until she finally looked at him again. “I enjoy spending time with you. It’s no chore. You’re intelligent. Funny. I like that you’re so curious about everything. And it’s my privilege to show you around Istanbul.” He allowed himself to smile. “Besides, it makes my job easier when I can keep you within grabbing distance.”

Not that I could actually grab you without hurting you.

The sadness behind her eyes still didn’t flee, but her mouth turned up at the corner. “You, too. Well, not the grabbing-distance thing. You probably don’t want that.”

You have no idea.

He cleared his throat. “Better keep it professional, Ms. Matheson.”

She took another bite of bread. “Absolutely… Mal.”

The narrow street stunk of urine and rotten meat. Malachi and Rhys stalked the edges of the city where the Grigori preyed. Here, a missing girl would go unnoticed. Her family might worry, or they might not. But either way, these were the people the authorities ignored. Missing girls from this neighborhood were quickly forgotten. Girls who appeared mysteriously pregnant were hidden or sent away, even killed by family members convinced the girl had brought dishonor on herself. Foolish humans.

The Grigori didn’t care.

Damien had heard police reports of girls going missing in this neighborhood. It was possible the monsters had found a new hunting ground.

Malachi saw Rhys’s shoulders angle toward a dark alley.

“Hmm?” They spoke as little as possible on patrol.

A nod was his only answer. Malachi saw Rhys trace the characters along his wrist, calling on his magic. Malachi copied the action. Within seconds, he felt the power creep up his arm, crawl over his shoulders, then down his back. In the time it took him to draw a silver dagger, his vision sharpened; the black became grey. His arms flexed with new strength. His skin pulsed with a web of incantations that made him impervious to human weapons.

Malachi followed Rhys into the alley, alert to his surroundings as his brother focused on a point in the darkness. He heard the scribe utter a soft oath in the Old Language, then he ran and fell to his knees, pulling on gloves before he lifted the broken figure on the ground, making sure his skin didn’t brush hers for fear of further harm.

“Too late,” Rhys muttered as he stood and started walking. “It’s Grigori, and from her condition, he hasn’t been gone long. Do you sense anything?”