The Singer

by Elizabeth Hunter

  The watcher was convinced that Irin exposure was imminent. He’d been on the phone with every contact he had in Vienna, trying to figure out what was going on, but he was getting nowhere. The lines of communication were only getting more tangled, and Sari and Damien were no longer debating going to the city. They were planning on it.

  “May I?”

  Malachi held out his hand, and she passed him the computer, curious what he would do. It was password protected, after all. It wasn’t as if he could—

  He typed in the password with rapid fingers.

  “Hey!”

  Malachi shrugged. “Remember how I said that some things just came to me? Well, that was one of them.”

  “I don’t remember giving it to you in the first place!”

  “I suppose I must be very observant, canım.”

  She ignored the sweet rush she felt with his endearment and tried to scowl. “That is my computer, Malachi,” Ava protested as he pointed and clicked. “You don’t have any right to—”

  “This,” he said quietly, angling the screen toward her. “Will you tell me about this?”

  He had the photo gallery open. Pictures of Topkapı Palace littered the screen. There were hundreds of thumbnails, but he’d opened the one she’d taken of him while he sat near the cafe, drinking a cup of tea and watching her from behind his sunglasses. He was wearing a linen suit and the sun caught streaks of red in his hair. She put her fingers to the picture, touching his serious face. It was when he was still pretending to be her bodyguard. Before she knew… anything.

  “Why this one?”

  “I’ve looked through them all. I tried to start at the beginning, but I still don’t remember much. Will you tell me?”

  “Yeah.” She blinked back the tears. “I can tell you about it if you want.”

  “I want.”

  He looked like her mate. Felt like her mate. But in many ways, Malachi was still a stranger to her. This quiet man held only hints of the arrogant, reckless warrior she’d fallen in love with. He was different. More serious. But then, Ava imagined that she was, too.

  “You kept following me around the city.” She started to smile. “I was pissed, but I can’t deny I was enjoying the scenery.”

  He smiled back. “And you weren’t suspicious?”

  “You have to understand about my stepfather. I thought he’d hired you.”

  “Why would your stepfather hire someone to follow you?”

  “Carl… he has this accountant who worries…”

  He peppered her with questions until she started yawning. Then he guided her up the stairs and into their small room. She let him hold her because she slept better in his arms. So did he. Because, even though her mind didn’t know him, her heart and her body did. She let him hold her because Malachi kept the worst of the darkness away.

  It still haunted her. She worried about using her magic for more than the most basic protection. Worried about the marks on Malachi’s arms that he told her appeared when she sang to him in their dreams. She worried about the strange visions Jaron had given her. And she worried about going to Vienna.

  Malachi didn’t like the idea either, but if Damien, Sari, and Orsala were going, they both agreed they should follow. She still needed lessons from Orsala. They both needed the protection of friends. Vienna was a hotbed of politics, but it was also the repository of ancient secrets Malachi felt sure would shed light on Ava’s origins.

  Plus, her father had a concert there in two months. And according to Rhys and Malachi, Jasper Reed might be the one human who could answer questions about the strange blood that made her an Irina.

  And why she’d attracted the favor of a powerful fallen angel.

  “Tell me what you wish, my daughter. Tell me, and I will grant it.”

  Ava worried. But for the first time in months, she also hoped.

  She drifted to sleep in Malachi’s arms, surrounded by the comfort of her mate. And as she drifted, her shields fell. His soul’s voice whispered to her, soothing murmurs of love and desire. They wrapped around her heart, fed her soul, and carried her when the darkness beckoned. In her mind, she saw them as they’d been in her dream, light and dark, bound together by heaven.

  Not even death had been able to part them.

  In her dream, the great circle rose, like the sun after a long night. Gold and silver twisted together, it climbed the sky until it shattered and a thousand points glistened in the darkness. Endless stars lost in blackest night.

  And Ava stood below it, staring into the darkness, with Malachi at her side.

  Epilogue

  Jaron sat in a corner of the cell, staring at the woman with tangled hair. Like all her kind, she possessed an ethereal beauty. Her unlined skin was the color of sunset over the desert. Her hair was black and streaked with ribbons of red and gold. When it wasn’t tangled, it lay in sumptuous waves over her shoulders. Her lips were the color of ripe berries, and her gold eyes were rimmed by thick, curling lashes.

  The woman in the cell knew none of her own beauty. Not anymore. She was lost in her mind.

  The humans didn’t call it a cell, but that’s what it was. They’d given her paints with no brushes, because she would use the brushes as weapons if she could. But she’d used the paint to decorate the bleak walls with the visions that still came to her. Vivid hues surrounded her even though her clothes were an offensive white.

  At one time she would have scoffed. As a child, she’d hated any dull color, and he had indulged her.

  He’d indulged her audacity, and it had led to this.

  She blinked her eyes open in a moment of lucidity and stared at him. “You.”

  Her voice was hoarse from disuse. He hadn’t visited in a long time.

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  “Imagining?”

  “No.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. He assumed it was difficult to distinguish reality from fantasy. But then, fantasy had always been real to her.

  He felt the energy before she started to hum, and he flashed to her side, putting a finger over her lips.

  “Shhh,” he soothed. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her to his side. “No singing, remember?”

  “Why not?” Her voice held the petulance of her childhood.

  “You know why.”

  She laughed, but there was no joy in it. It was a dark laugh. Strange and frightening. If Jaron had been human, he imagined it would chill him to his bones.

  “I sing sometimes when you’re not here,” she said, taunting him.

  “You should not.”

  “But I do.” She kept giggling until the laughter turned to tears, and she was rocking back and forth with it, knees pulled up to her chest.

  “Quiet,” he whispered. “No more tears. If they come, I will go away.”

  She sighed again and curled into his chest. “Tired.”

  “Then sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  He put a hand on her head and held the woman to his chest. Jaron held many powers, but the ability to heal her broken mind still eluded him. The injustice of it angered him, but he put it aside, knowing the feeling would disturb her.

  “No dreams,” she murmured. “Don’t want to dream about him.”

  “Sleep, Ava.” Jaron sent a calming wave of power over her, and her twitching limbs fell still. “I’ll keep the dreams away.”

  END OF BOOK TWO.

  Please visit ElizabethHunterWrites.com for more information about the Irin Chronicles and other work from the author. ScreamQueen

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To Genevieve and Kelli, sisters of blood and heart, and the best pre-readers out there. To Kristy, who will always be my very first beta. To Sarah and Paulette, critics and cheerleaders of the best kind. To Killian McRae, Colleen Vanderlinden, and Grace Draven, three gifted writers who I am also privileged to call friends.

  To all the book bloggers and reviewers who review and promote my work. Your love of books
inspires me. And especially, to Nika Johnson, who so generously organized the blog tour for this book.

  To my amazing writing group, twenty-one women of character, attitude, and humor. I might have been able to make this journey without you, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun.

  To Anne, my wonderful editor, who makes my words shine. (If there are mistakes in these acknowledgements, that’s completely my fault, as I don’t let her see these before publication.)

  To Jane Dystel and Lauren Abramo, agents extraordinaire. They work very hard for this picky customer, and I am eternally grateful.

  And a special thanks to my family and friends as they suffered through me writing this fairly dark book. I can humbly admit that my mood was not always the best.

  And to GOD, who gives purpose to my life, security to my soul, and joy to my heart.

  “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you,

  plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ELIZABETH HUNTER is a contemporary fantasy, paranormal romance, and contemporary romance writer. She is a graduate of the University of Houston Honors College and a former English teacher. She once substitute taught a kindergarten class, but decided that middle school was far less frightening. Thankfully, people now pay her to write books and eighth-graders everywhere rejoice.

  She currently lives in Central California with her rapidly growing son, two dogs, many plants, and a sadly dwindling fish tank. She is the author of the Elemental Mysteries and Elemental World series, the Cambio Springs series, the Irin Chronicles, and other works of fiction.

  Website: ElizabethHunterWrites.com

  Elemental Mysteries fan site: ElementalMysteries.com.

  E-mail: elizabethhunterwrites@gmail.com.

  Twitter: @E__Hunter

  ALSO BY ELIZABETH HUNTER

  The Irin Chronicles

  THE SCRIBE

  THE SINGER

  THE SECRET (Winter 2014)

  The Elemental Mysteries Series

  A Hidden Fire

  This Same Earth

  The Force of Wind

  A Fall of Water

  The Elemental World Series

  Building From Ashes

  Waterlocked (novella)

  Blood and Sand

  The Bronze Blade (novella)

  The Cambio Springs Series

  Long Ride Home (short story)

  Shifting Dreams

  Five Mornings (short story)

  Desert Bound (FALL 2014)

  Contemporary Romance

  The Genius and the Muse

  The best-selling paranormal mystery series

  by Elizabeth Hunter:

  THE ELEMENTAL MYSTERIES

  Join five hundred-year-old rare book dealer, Giovanni Vecchio, and librarian, Beatrice De Novo, as they travel the world in search of the mystery that brought them together, the same mystery that could tear everything they love apart.

  NOW AVAILABLE:

  A HIDDEN FIRE ~ THIS SAME EARTH

  THE FORCE OF WIND ~ A FALL OF WATER

  “The Elemental Mysteries turned into one of the best paranormal series I’ve read this year. It’s sharp, elegant, clever, evenly paced without dragging its feet, and at the same time emotionally intense.”

  —NOCTURNAL BOOK REVIEWS

  Read on for the prologue to A HIDDEN FIRE:

  The man stole down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the dimly lit basement of the library. He made his way quietly, brushing aside the dark hair that fell into his eyes as he looked down. The security guard turned the corner and approached, his eyes drawn to the tall figure that glided toward him.

  “Sir?”

  The guard cocked his head, trying to see past the hair covering the man’s eyes as he neared him in the flickering service lights.

  “Sir, are you looking for the lobby? You’re really not supposed to be down here.”

  He did not speak but continued walking directly toward the portly security guard. As he passed the guard, he held out his hand, silently brushing his finger tips along the guard’s forearm before he continued down the hall, around the corner, and up the nearest staircase, never halting in his steady pace.

  The guard stilled for a moment before shaking his head. He looked around the passage and wondered why he was in the hallway leading toward the old storage rooms. Checking his watch to see if his break was over, he noticed the second hand seemed to have stopped. He shook his wrist slightly before taking it off and putting it in his pocket.

  “Stupid, cheap thing…” he muttered as he turned and headed back toward the break room. In the distance, he thought he heard a door in the stairwell click close.

  Waiting in the deserted stacks near the bank of computer terminals on Friday evening, the man read a periodical while he observed the student-study area. His eyes scanned to the left, suddenly alert to the plain, blond girl who took a seat on the edge of the bank of computers. He observed her pull out an economics textbook and sneak a quick sip of her diet soda before she put it back in her bag. The corner of his mouth lifted, pleased by how little attention the girl had drawn from the librarian at the desk and the surrounding students.

  He approached, shifting his leather messenger bag so he could sit down at the computer next to her. Taking out his own drink, he smiled politely when the girl glanced at him. He saw her cheeks fill with color as she took in his pale skin, startling green eyes, and dark curls.

  “Hello,” he whispered, angling his shoulders toward the student.

  “Hi,” she whispered back.

  “Are the librarians here strict about having a drink out? I’m new at the university.” He leaned toward her and noticed the scent of her fruity shampoo. He twitched his nose but remained angled toward the young woman as she responded.

  “Um…not really near the stacks, but they’re kind of strict by the computers,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap.

  When he smiled, she blushed and looked back to her economics textbook which still lay closed on the desk in front of her. She fumbled it open and glanced at his bag, which lay near his feet.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Are you a student here?”

  He smiled and whispered back, “I just started some research work at the university.”

  “Oh, that’s cool. I’m Hannah. I’m a sophomore…economics.”

  “That’s a fascinating subject, Hannah.” He tried to meet her eyes, but she was still looking down at her textbook as she leafed through it.

  “Oh,” she laughed. “You don’t have to be nice. I know most people aren’t really that interested in economics.”

  “I’m interested in everything,” he said, willing her to look up. When she did, he set his elbow next to her economics textbook and reached over with his right hand, lightly touching her forearm as he spoke. “Are you a good student, Hannah?”

  She gazed into his eyes, rapt with attention and unaware of the small hairs all over her body as they lifted, drawn toward the man sitting next to her.

  “Yes, I get excellent grades.”

  “Why are you here on a Friday night?”

  “I don’t have a lot of friends, and boys never ask me out,” she said. “I like to come here so I’m not alone in my dorm room.”

  “Do you have time to help me?”

  “Yes. I don’t really have any school work I need to finish.”

  “Excellent.” The man leaned toward her and murmured in the young woman’s ear. She turned on the computer as he spoke, opening a search engine and typing in the phrases he murmured. He hooked his ankle with hers under the table, letting his pale skin maintain contact as he took notes in a small brown book he drew from his messenger bag. Every now and then he would lean over and whisper further instructions in the girl’s ear.

  A little over two hours later, he leaned back in his chair, frowning as he surveyed his notes. He looked at the lar
ge clock on the wall opposite him and at his unwitting assistant before he closed his notebook, put it back in his leather bag, and scooted away from Hannah. Keeping one hand on her shoulder and letting his fingers stroke her neck, he whispered in her ear one more time before he straightened and walked swiftly away from the computer terminals.

  He kept his head down, striding toward the darkened glass of the lobby and the pressing heat of the September evening. Once he reached the doors, he looked up, and his gaze briefly met a black-haired girl’s before he pushed out into the humid night and left behind the harsh fluorescent lights of Houston University’s main campus library.

  He walked down the concrete steps and through the alley of darkened oak trees, taking out his keys as he neared a charcoal grey, vintage Mustang. He unlocked the car, got in, and started the engine, listening with pleasure to the rhythm of the perfectly tuned engine.

  Backing out, he flicked the radio knob to the local campus station and rolled the window down as he enjoyed the lick of warm, humid air along his skin.

  He sped toward the lights of downtown, bypassing the tall buildings and speeding along Buffalo Bayou as he drove toward the gates of his secluded home. He turned into the short drive before the gate and tapped in the entry code with the end of a stainless steel pen he drew from the chain around his neck.

  The Mustang drove forward, winding its way through the dimly lit property. He pulled his car into the brick garage behind his home and walked through the small courtyard between the outbuilding and the main house. He stopped, listening to the burbling fountain and admiring the honeysuckle vine that trailed up the garage wall and suffused the small courtyard with fragrance.