The Scribe
Page 71He thought his heart would beat out of his chest with joy. “I love you, Ava.” He squeezed her tighter. Reshon.
She tensed for a moment, then relaxed, and Malachi suspected she’d heard his soul speak the word. She’d probably been hearing it for days. Weeks? And despite that, she’d stayed with him. He’d been a fool to doubt her.
“But if these are my people,” she started, “then this is my struggle, too. My responsibility.”
“Don’t—”
“I want to meet with Dr. Sadik. With Jaron. Maybe he knows where I came from. Maybe he knows what this all means. Why those Grigori were after me. I know you always suspected him, but looking back, I never felt unsafe. I could hear his voice, Malachi.” She turned her face up to his. “And I know he didn’t mean to harm me. So, why? If he was only a predator, why?”
“I don’t know.”
“I want to find out. And I also want to know if he was telling the truth about there being others like me.”
Malachi sat up. “What do you mean, others?”
“He’d said he’d helped others with my same symptoms. Maybe he was lying, but maybe he was telling the truth. I didn’t hear any dishonesty in him. And if there are others out there, other women like me…”
“There could be more Irina,” he said softly.
“But would he tell us?”
“He might not.” Ava shrugged, and a glint of excitement lit her eyes. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
The waiting room looked like any other waiting room of any other office in the city. Bright. Modern. Framed art on the walls and an efficient secretary quietly making calls.
Malachi thought nothing had seemed as menacing. He abhorred masks. And that, no matter what Ava thought, was what this office was. A few minutes later, a cheerful nurse poked her head in.
“Ava?”
“Hello,” she said, rising with Malachi’s hand grasped in her own. “Good to see you again.”
“So happy to see you back. How did you like Cappadocia?”
The two women chatted as they walked down the hall and were ushered into a comfortable office. Malachi’s daggers burned against his skin. He would be able to reach them in seconds, even though they would do nothing against a fallen angel. His brothers surrounded the office building, watching from all angles while Malachi and Ava were inside.
A few minutes later, a seemingly harmless middle-aged man entered the office. His green eyes flicked to Malachi for a moment before he greeted Ava.
“Yes, my… fiancé.” Ava glanced at him, but Malachi didn’t take his eyes off the doctor. The disguise was seamless. He could sense no extraordinary power from the creature. No flicker of otherworldly strength. No wonder they’d all been fooled.
The angel, pretending to be harmless, held out a hand. “So good to meet you, Mister…”
“My name is Malachi,” he said, ignoring the offered hand. “And you know what I am.”
A slight waver in the mask. “You’ll have to pardon me, but—”
“We also know who you are,” Ava said quietly. “So no more lies. No more disguises. Let’s speak plainly… Jaron.”
Green eyes widened for a heartbeat before the doctor stepped back. And Malachi watched, never letting Ava’s hand leave his own as Dr. Sadik stood behind his desk with a small smile flickering over his lips.
His eyes darkened to near black, then lightened to a glowing gold color as the mask dissolved. Jaron’s shoulders grew wide and thick. His frame lengthened before them until the being was at least a foot taller than he’d been before, almost seven feet. There was a faint gold shimmer that covered his skin as the mask of the harmless doctor fell away and the heavenly being emerged.
His hair grew longer until thick ebony strands brushed past his shoulders. His human clothes disappeared, and the angel stood before them in nothing but a pair of loose pants. The bronze skin of his torso glowed in the afternoon light and raised talesm rose like shimmering brands on his skin.
He was radiant.
Terrible.
The only other time Malachi had beheld an angel, the creature had been cloaked. Jaron was probably still cloaked, but he was letting Ava see him far closer to his true form, if Malachi had to guess. It was little wonder that early humans had thought the creatures were gods. No classical sculpture could compare with the utter perfection of the angel’s form.
And throughout the transformation, Jaron’s eyes never left Ava’s. He stared at her as if Malachi didn’t exist, his eyes glowing with a gold light as he watched Malachi’s mate. When he glanced over, he could sense Ava’s awe. She stood, her heart racing, clutching his hand, but her eyes never left Jaron’s.
“I am Jaron,” he said. The Fallen’s voice was low and resonant. Malachi could feel it pressing against his mind. It wrapped around his body, and he had to fight the urge to flee. “Now you see my true face. Hear my voice. Ava.”
“I…I didn’t know.” She stammered as tears came to her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
“Child, you should not have come back.”
Chapter Eighteen