The Scribe

“You are welcome, sister.” Damien’s voice held a slight waver. “You honor us with your voice.”

Aware that there was some meaning she didn’t quite grasp, Ava only said, “Thank you.”

Maxim was next. His vivid blue eyes held a devious glint, but his smile was warm. “Welcome, sister.” He leaned down and also kissed her cheeks in greeting.

“Thank you.”

Leo was the last to say hello, but Ava was grateful to see his familiar, playful expression. “Welcome home, Ava. I’m so happy you’re back.”

She was almost ready to burst into tears when his lips touched her cheek. She felt Malachi’s hand at her back a moment before he pulled her back and into his chest.

“Rhys?” he asked as she tried to recover her composure. She had never felt so welcomed in her life. A small, abandoned corner of her heart sighed and whispered, Home.

“He arrived a few hours ago. Still sleeping.”

“Is our room ready? We both need sleep.”

“Of course,” Damien said. “Leo?”

The smiling man stepped forward. “We moved you to the second floor. The east room has the most space, and it’s coolest in the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Malachi said.

“Wait.” She put a hand on his arm. “They moved your room?”

“Our room,” he said softly, leading her toward the stairs. “Thank you, Leo. We’ll see you later.”

“Rest well.” Without a whisper, he disappeared, along with every other man who’d been there a minute ago. Ava blinked back the blurriness in her eyes and followed Malachi.

“Wait… so, what? They moved me in?”

“I believe Maxim collected your things from your hotel after we left Istanbul. They simply moved them to a new room along with my things.”

“Isn’t that—” She couldn’t stop the yawn. “—a little premature? I mean, we’ve been… whatever-we-are for—”

“They don’t think like that,” he said with a smile. “They see the truth.”

“Oh?” She yawned again, walking through the door he held open for her. She entered a dim room surrounded by bookcases on three walls. There was a window shielded by wooden blinds and a beautiful mural painted around it. But all Ava saw was the bed. Low, covered with pillows, with the bedspread turned down. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She collapsed face-first onto the pillows, barely registering Malachi’s quiet chuckle.

“A little tired?”

“You haven’t let me get much sleep the past week, you insatiable man.”

“I think you’ve worn me out, too,” he said as he tugged off her shoes and jeans. Then he rolled her over and eased off the button-down shirt she’d worn, leaving her in a lightweight tank and her panties. The cotton sheets were a cool kiss against her skin, and Ava burrowed into the pillows as he pulled the bedspread up to her chin. “Sleep, my love.”

“You, too. Come to bed.” She pulled at his hand, rolling toward him with her eyes closed when she felt the other side of the bed dip. Then his arm was around her, and his skin pressed against her own. Leg to leg. Chest to back. His arms encircled her as oblivion descended.

“Malachi?”

“Hmm?”

“Your brothers… what do you mean, ‘they see the truth’?”

“About you and me.”

“And?”

“We belong to each other,” he murmured, his voice growing dim. “The Irin know how precious love is. How quickly it can be taken from us.”

“Still, so fast…”

“Perhaps… we have learned not to wait.”

Reshon, reshon, reshon.

She didn’t know whether the whispers were coming from his mind or her own. And for the first time, Ava didn’t care.

She woke slowly, the knowledge of who reaching her before the where. Malachi was with her, arm still wrapped securely around her waist. As her eyes blinked open, she realized they were back in Istanbul, in the wooden house with the green door, where she’d been greeted like family before falling asleep with the man she loved.

Loved to distraction.

She turned carefully, wanting to watch him as he slept. His face was covered with dark stubble, and his hair fell across his forehead, a frown on his face as he dreamed. His full lips pursed in disapproval at whatever visions he saw, and long lashes curled on his cheeks. He really did have the most beautiful eyes; his lashes would be the envy of women everywhere.

“Angels would weep,” she whispered, only realizing after she’d said it how truly ironic it was. Angels probably had wept.

The Forgiven. The angelic ancestors of the Irin. In the story Rhys told her, the Forgiven had been the ones who left. Leaving behind their women and children to return to heaven when they were called. And in return, their descendants had been blessed with knowledge and magic in exchange for their sacrifice. Ava traced the stern line of Malachi’s lip.

“I think I’d pull down heaven,” she said, “if that’s what it took to keep you here with me.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “And I’d abandon it if you weren’t there.” His eyes flickered open. “Good morning.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s afternoon.”

“Oh well.” He rolled over, dragging her with him so she lay over his chest. “Let’s go back to sleep and forget them all.”