The Scribe

But not for you…, a small voice whispered. It would weaken him, because Ava couldn’t lend her own magic.

Thousands of you, Scribe. One of her.

She turned to him, lifting her face for a kiss. He met her mouth with eager lips, delving in to taste and tease. She responded by pulling him closer, melding her body to his in the small bed as his skin sang where she touched it. More. He had to have more of her. Malachi pulled off his shirt and hers until their bodies were pressed together. He’d never felt more whole. More alive.

Reshon.

He pulled away with a gasp. Protecting Ava was imperative. He knew she was the key. And as her mate, Malachi was the only one who could offer her the strength.

“Malachi?” She sat up, her hair spilling over her shoulders in the low light.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He whispered a kiss across her mouth before he stood and walked downstairs, all the way to the old rug shop. He walked past the showroom, looking into the back room where they stored the new pieces for shipment and also the tools to do repairs.

There, on the workbench, he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the dye and then looked for a brush but couldn’t find one. Just then, he spied a child’s painting in the corner, sitting on top of a small wooden box. Opening it, he saw a mess of watercolor paints and… He smiled. A brush. Not the best quality to touch his mate’s skin, but it would have to do. Someday, they would complete the ritual, then he would brush her skin with sable and decorate her from head to toe. The mental image was unspeakably arousing, so he grabbed the vegetable dye and the child’s brush before he headed back upstairs.

When he entered their small room, Ava was sitting in bed with a frown on her face.

“Where did you go?”

He placed the brush and dye on the side table and knelt beside her. “I wish we were not here. I wish we were someplace beautiful where I could stand with you before my mother and father and speak the old vows declaring you mine.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t look sad. “Malachi—”

“I can’t do that, Ava. But I want you to know, I would. I will, someday. And before another hour passes, I want to say the words I can. Words that will mark you as my mate.” He ran the tips of his fingers up her bare spine. “Write on your skin the spells that will bind us together.” His fingers reached the nape of her neck as he bowed his face and kissed over her heart. “Will you let me, reshon? Will you take me, wholly and completely?”

“Tonight?”

“Right now.”

“Your… mate?” She still hesitated at the word, but Malachi smiled.

“Yes.”

“Forever?”

He looked up. “Forever. No turning away until death parts us.”

A tentative smile crossed her lips. “I thought you guys were immortal.”

He kissed her. “We’re all immortal, Ava, as long as our stories are told.” A small frown creased between her eyebrows, so he kissed her again. “Say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?” He smiled.

“Yes, reshon.” She placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking them despite the rasp of stubble. “You’re mine. I knew it weeks ago. So yes.”

Desire roared to life, but Malachi clamped down on it and said, “Take off your clothes. All of them.”

“Every stitch?” The teasing light came back.

“Every. Single. Stitch.” He pulled back the cover and reached for the jar of dye.

“What is that?” she asked as she pulled off her underthings.

“Henna dye. It’s actually what we’ve always used, but I apologize for the brush.” He shook up the dye and then uncapped it, dipping the rough brush into the jar before he looked up. “It should be much nicer than this.”

“What do I do?” she asked, her voice tentative in the silence.

“Turn around,” Malachi said. “Hold still. And let me mark you.”

Ava pulled up her legs and turned her back to him. Malachi sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. He’d dreamed of this moment for hundreds of years. Granted, the surroundings were usually a little more luxurious, but the sight before him…

Ava’s smooth back, pale and glowing in the lamplight. The fine bones of her spine guiding him from the base of her skull to the swell of her buttocks. She was more than he’d dreamt. More than he deserved.

Malachi leaned forward, whispering the ancient vows against her skin, and his breath cast a golden glow as the magic took hold. He lifted the brush and began.

He wrote the spells across her body, the dye taking hold as the magic did. And though the henna would fade with time, the magic would remain, imbued in her skin. Protecting her. Strengthening her. For the rest of her life, his words would mark her. He took care as he wrote, hundreds of years of practice suddenly making sense. Countless hours of instruction. No mistakes were allowed in this; it was the most important talesm he would ever scribe.

Protective spells formed down her back. Whispered aloud as he felt the magic leave his body and enter hers. His lips trailed after his brush, kissing along her backbone as her heart raced beneath his mouth.

“Is it…” She arched her back when she felt the brush trail low. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”

He couldn’t stop the smile of satisfaction. “This is the ritual performed on the mating night. Does it please you?”