The Scribe

She gasped as the brush moved over the base of her spine. She said, “That would be a yes.”

Ava’s scent bloomed and Malachi had to pause, breathing deeply as his forehead rested on her shoulder. “Reshon. Ava…”

“Keep going,” she said, desire lacing her voice. “Don’t stop.”

Minutes turned to hours. She turned when he told her, baring the front of her body when her back and neck where covered with spells.

The spells for longevity were next, arching along her fine collarbone. Malachi groaned when he saw the golden flush across her throat. Her breasts. Her belly. The brush dipped and traced over and over, the ink darkening and drying as the magic glowed beneath it. She appeared lit from within. He bent his head and let his mouth suckle her breast, giving in to the arousal that had become almost unbearable.

She moaned and leaned back. “Malachi?”

“Almost done.”

Spells for increased strength along her arms. Speed on her thighs. Spells for healing across her breasts and belly. He felt the magic leave him, knew he was giving almost dangerously of his own power, but he couldn’t stop.

Her energy spilled over, and he felt the hum begin to build in the air.

“Soon?” She panted.

“Soon.”

The last spells were over her heart, circling around as he pledged himself to her. He dipped in the dye again, then the brush met her skin as Malachi marked her as his mate. The balance of his soul. The bearer of his young. No other would mark her like this. No one but him. The possessive instinct swamped him as he finished the last stroke of the mating ritual. He braced himself over her, allowing the ink to dry as he drank from her lips. Over and over, she met him, as hungry for him as he was for her.

Patience.

Malachi was aroused to the point of pain. His breath came in rasps as her kisses drugged him, making his head spin. He clenched his hands in the loose sheets, allowing the magic to build and grow until her body was covered in a gold glow answered by his own talesm, which shone with a low silver light in the darkness. His magic swelled in recognition of its twin, even without the songs the Irina usually sang. Though untrained, Ava’s magic was powerful. It called to him as their mouths met in aching hunger.

“Do you hear that?” she said, tearing her lips from his, bracing her hands on his shoulders.

“What?”

“That note. I…” Tears touched her eyes, but she smiled. “It’s beautiful. Perfect. It’s… us.”

Complete.

Silver met gold when he tackled her to the bed.

Finally.

His body sang in recognition. Here was desire. Here was beauty. Here was completion. He reached down to test her, but Ava was as ready as he was, her body primed from hours of waiting.

“Yes!” She gripped his arms. “Now, please.”

He entered her with one thrust, halting when he was seated to the hilt, his forehead pressed to hers as they groaned in unison.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Like this. Always like this.”

He took her mouth again, leisurely tasting as he began a slow rhythm. She embraced him, arms wrapped around his chest, legs around his hips. The urgency was there, but Malachi didn’t want to rush.

“Faster,” she said.

He smiled. “No.”

She dug her nails in his shoulders, and he bit back a moan. Then he reached down, gripping her hip and changing the angle until her head fell back and her body bowed. He took his time, ignoring her pleas to rush, delighting in her response as he tested their new connection. Her pleasure was his own. Her desire fed his. He held back—barely—when she came the first time. Then his body picked up a faster rhythm as the world narrowed to her.

“Again,” he whispered.

“Can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He could feel it. Feel her body around him. The slow tightening. The catch in her breath. The pressure built as he flipped them over, letting her arch back over him as he watched her skin luminesce gold, alive with the ancient magic of their race.

This.

There was no greater beauty in heaven or earth.

“Again.”

“Yes!”

Ava cried out as she came and Malachi’s mind flew, her body pulling the long-awaited climax from him as he came in a roar of heat and light, his hands gripping her hips as his own back arched. His talesm shone bright silver in the darkness, then his mate fell forward, panting against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes.

This is why the angels fell.

He woke slowly; the sun shining through the blacked-out windows cast eerie shadows in the room. Ava was still draped over his torso, exhausted by their lovemaking. Most of the dye had rubbed off during the night, leaving the red-brown henna patterns that mirrored his tattoos. His immediate reaction was to wake her and claim her body again, but he knew she needed sleep. He covered her with a light blanket and wrapped a towel around his body before he walked downstairs.

“Any change?” he asked Rhys, who still sat by Leo’s bedside, drowsy in the brighter light of the second-story room.

“He’s cooler. The wound is healing. He started getting some real sleep after you two quieted down.”

“We weren’t that loud.”

“It wasn’t the sound, it was the energy, for heaven’s sake. You forget how young he is. If his body had let him, he would have gone charging into the night, desperate to find a woman.”

“Sorry.” Malachi pulled up a chair opposite his friend.