The Scribe

“What are you smiling about?” Ava teased him, snuggling into his chest. “You look like the cat who ate the cream.”

His laugh was low and satisfied. “I’m quite sure that I did. More than once.”

Malachi laughed again when she elbowed his side, then he pulled her close and said, “Sleep, Ava. Rest with me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhausted.”

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I will see you in your dreams.”

When he dreamed, it was of her. A shadow he chased through a dark wood. She eluded him for a time, but eventually a faint outline walked to him out of a fog. He could not see her face, but when her lips touched his, he knew her. And she was his.

He blinked awake. Ava was still sleeping next to him, boneless in her exhaustion. Malachi slipped out of the narrow bed, wishing he had someplace more private to take her. The newly awakened magic did not want to share its mate. And though his room in the scribe house was one of the most isolated, it still lacked the privacy he craved.

He threw on some clothes and left the room, needing some water. Ava, too, would be hungry when she woke. Her metabolism, which was typically fast, would probably wake her with hunger before long. Though expending energy during sex was one of the most effective ways to calm her, it was also draining. They couldn’t stay in his room forever.

Not that the idea wasn’t appealing.

He ran into Rhys halfway to the kitchens. The other man backed away for a moment, then seeing Malachi’s expression, relaxed.

“I was wondering whether you were going to hit me or not,” he said. “But you’ve obviously found another way of marking your territory.”

Malachi grunted and crossed his arms. “If she’d been more complimentary about you, I’d be more offended.”

“I’m letting that pass since you’re in a postcoital haze.”

“Ava is my reshon.”

Rhys was speechless for a few moments, instinctive rebellion evident in his eyes. But finally he said, “Of course she is. I probably knew that before you did, you idiot. Does she know what it means?”

“Not completely. She’s smart. She’ll figure it out.”

Rhys fell silent again. “She’s not had an easy time of things, brother. Her relationships, from what I can tell, have been… difficult. She may fight it.”

Malachi’s lips curled. “She won’t win.”

“If you expect me to bet against fate, you’re wrong.” A shadow of sorrow passed over Rhys’s face. Then the expression cleared and his acerbic wit resurfaced. “Heaven, you’re going to be more insufferable than Damien when Sari agrees to see him. I swear, you even look taller.”

“I feel taller.”

For the first time, Malachi understood why mated Irin were on the front lines in all battles and held the highest positions. Union with his mate had given him the kind of energy even magic couldn’t accomplish. He felt stronger. Sharper. The afterglow of Ava’s touch made him feel as if he could take on a hundred Grigori and win without a scratch.

“Mated Irin,” Rhys muttered. “You’re an insufferable lot.” He started back in the direction of the library. “I’ll see you later. Next month, maybe.”

“I want to take her away from here. The research, all the questions… It’s been tiring.”

“Don’t make excuses,” Rhys called back. “You’re being selfish with the pretty girl.” A hint of wicked humor came back. “Besides, these beds… I can only imagine the frustration.”

“Don’t imagine.” He glared. “Even though you’re right.”

His friend laughed. “Take her to Kuşadası. No one is using the house there. It’s not fancy, but it’s private. You can blend in with the tourists. She might like the beach.”

Malachi frowned, thinking of the crowded tourist port where the Irin kept a small safe house. “It’s too busy.”

“Not as busy as Istanbul. And she’ll be with you. The voices will be more controllable for her now, but other senses will waken. It might be a good idea to ease her into things before you go back to Istanbul. Otherwise, it’ll affect both of you now.”

“Maybe.” He finally conceded, “Yes, that is a good idea.”

“I have lots of them. Now go find some food for the woman. She’s going to be starving.”

With that, the scribe turned and left. Malachi watched him go, a spear of sorrow piercing through his own joy. He wanted his friend to find the same happiness. Wanted it for his people. They had lived in isolation for too long.

Gathering up some water, bread, and apricots, Malachi returned to his room to find Ava sitting up in bed, a thin blanket wrapped around her. Her eyes were still sleepy, but they brightened when she saw him walk in.

“Hey.”

“Hello.” He smiled. “How do you feel?”

“Amazingly rested. Oooh.” Her eyes settled on the bottle of water. “For me?”

“Yes.” He opened it and handed it to her, then set the basket of fruit on the small table beside his bed. He sat on the edge while she emptied half the bottle in one gulp. “Make sure you eat, too. Your body will be recharging for some time.”

“Mmmm.” She smiled. “I’m not going to complain about your workouts.”

“I’m glad.” He leaned over and kissed her lips, taking lazy pleasure in drawing a satisfied sigh from his mate.