The Scribe ic-1

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “A normal woman who can hear the voice of the soul? A normal woman who can bear our touch? Who craves it, even?”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  “To answer the question you didn’t ask…,” Malachi said, “Yes, I’ve been keeping my distance. Even though it has been difficult.”

  There was still more silence.

  “Rhys has been keeping an eye on her, though there was an incident where she became very upset yesterday. He told her about the Rending, and she… She became distraught, as you can imagine. I was eventually able to calm her.”

  “Completely understandable,” Damien said quietly. “It is still upsetting for all of us.”

  “We have been without Irina influence for too long,” he said. “We become too blunt. I don’t think Rhys expected her to become so upset.”

  Another moment of silence, until the watcher said, “Rhys told her?”

  “I told you, I have been trying to maintain my distance,” he snapped. “She was curious, so she asked him.”

  “But you were the one to comfort her?”

  “I sensed her distress.”

  “And she asked for you?”

  “Not exactly. But she wouldn’t let Rhys touch her, so… She reached for me. I held her until she calmed. Was I supposed to ignore her when I seemed to be the only one who could reach her? The only one who—”

  Damien interrupted him with a low chuckle that grew into a longer laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Malachi asked.

  “You’ve really been staying away from her all this time?”

  “Of course!”

  “When have you ever followed my orders so precisely, brother? At most, you take them as suggestions.”

  “I was trying to do what was right for Ava. You told me—”

  “I think you misinterpreted my advice.”

  Malachi stopped the drumming of his fingers. “What do you mean?”

  “I only wanted you to slow down. I know how rash you can be. I advised you to give the woman space, not ignore her completely. She’d just had a huge shock, and you were hovering over her like a worried mate. But if you gave her space and she still showed interest in you, then what are you waiting for, you idiot?”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Do you care for the woman?” Damien asked. “That’s the real question. Not just the thrill of a woman who can stand your touch, but her?”

  Did he? Was it too soon to be feeling as strongly as he was? What did he know about Ava, really?

  He knew she was intelligent and funny. She was independent. He knew that beneath the tough exterior lay a vulnerable soul, and he suspected a deeply sensuous nature. She was cautious, but unafraid of him, or any of the other scribes she had met. He remembered her, standing boldly among the Grigori, flush with wine and unafraid of the creatures she challenged. Eyes flashing with indignation. Eyes that swung to him, as Malachi saw…

  Recognition.

  There you are, reshon.

  He’d known in that moment, but it had seemed like an impossible dream.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I care for her. Deeply.”

  “Then, Malachi, see her for the gift she is and cherish her.” Damien’s voice grew rough. “We know how unexpected life can be.”

  “You’re right.” He nodded, feeling a profound peace for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’ve probably angered her thoroughly and will have to convince her to let you court her.”

  “I haven’t courted an Irina in over two hundred years.” Malachi had begun pacing the garden without realizing it. Thinking of the volatile relationship between Damien and his mate, he asked, “Any advice?”

  “You’re asking me? My wife hasn’t allowed me to see her face outside of our dreams for over ten years. Though Sari is unusually stubborn. Even for an Irina.”

  “Good point. Why did I listen to you in the first place?”

  “I’m your superior. It’s required. Now, I have to go.”

  “Sadik,” Malachi said, remembering the reason he’d called. “I want to continue watching him. I’ll ask Ava if she’s called him. I think there’s still something we’re not seeing.”

  “I would agree with you. You said that his visits seemed to calm her? Release some of the tension she’d been having?”

  “Yes. She always seemed calmer after a visit with him. She said he used acupressure. Nothing unusual. Mainly around the head and neck.” He paused and thought. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that she’d been in contact with—”

  “An Irin.”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone siphoned off her energy enough for her to function more easily.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “But he is not Irin; Leo was watching him. Following the doctor. He said he wasn’t Grigori, either. Didn’t appear to be anything other than a normal man.”

  A disturbing thought tickled the back of Malachi’s mind. “Appearances can be deceiving, brother. Especially for certain beings.”

  “Only for…” Damien fell silent.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Anything is possible, as your human Irina proves. But is it probable? No.”

  “And yet, it seems there are all sorts of improbable things going on lately.”

  “If you’re right, why? Why her?”

  Malachi stopped pacing to look at the sun, setting west into the hills and painting the sky in vivid purples and reds. “She could be a miracle, Damien. The first Irina born from human bloodlines the world has ever seen. Why wouldn’t she have attracted their attention?”

  “It’s worth looking into. If you’re right, then her description, and Leo’s eyes, mean nothing.”

  “He could be anyone.”

  “Not anyone… There aren’t many.”

  “Keep me updated?”

  “Of course. Keep her safe.”

  “I will.”

  By the time Malachi made it back inside, Evren had packed up his notes for the day and Rhys and Ava were chatting by the computer. Ava appeared to be checking her e-mail while Rhys read over her shoulder, laughing about something in a friendly way. Looking up, the scribe spotted Malachi coming into the library and the teasing look fell from his face. Stern grey eyes met narrowed green ones as Malachi approached. He glanced at Ava with a possessive gleam, then looked back to Rhys.

  Cocking his head, the corner of Rhys’s mouth lifted before he asked, “Hey, Ava?”

  “Hmm?” She never turned to look at Malachi, even though he knew she must have sensed him.

  “Where did you want to go for dinner tonight?”

  “I don’t know. You know the town better than I do.”

  Malachi stopped. Bastard. He’d planned on taking Ava out to dinner in the village to get her away from the scribe house, but apparently Rhys had already thought of that.

  Continuing toward them, he took the seat on Ava’s other side. “I’ll join you. There’s a place I know with a beautiful balcony I think you’d like.”

  Finally turning, Ava sighed. “Malachi, I don’t…”

  She trailed off as he picked up her right hand, casually playing with the ring on the middle finger the way he’d wanted to for weeks. It was her own nervous gesture, but he’d been fascinated with her hands every time she did it.

  “Do you remember that coffee shop you liked near the Bosphorus?” he asked, continuing to play. “The owner of the restaurant is a cousin of the man who owns the coffee shop. We’ll get a good table, I promise. And the food is excellent.”

  He didn’t let go of her hand. Her cheeks flushed, and she pursed her lips as if she was holding back words.

  Rhys said, “It’s Friday night. Are you sure you can get a table for three?”

  If Rhys wanted to tag along, Malachi could work with it. “I’m sure. Ava?”

  He finally set her hand down, letting his fingers trail over hers as he drew back
and crossed his arms across his chest, flexing his forearms and the intricate spells he’d worked over them. He’d seen her looking at his talesm many times. He knew she was fascinated by them. Her eyes grew wide before she looked away.

  “Yeah, that sounds fine. Table for three?”

  “Of course. I should have taken you out before. I’m sure you’re tired of the kitchen here. It can be rather simple food.”

  “It’s been fine.” Her voice was a bit rough and the color on her cheeks was heightened. “Just give me a few minutes, and I’ll put my stuff away. Meet you two in the garden?”

  Rhys said, “Good idea.”

  They both watched as Ava gathered the bag with her laptop computer and left the library. When she was a suitable distance away, Rhys turned on him.

  “I see someone has finally removed his head from his posterior. Congratulations. You’ve thoroughly pissed her off at this point. Hope you like a challenge.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never backed away from one.”

  “Good.” Rhys stood. “Neither have I.”

  “Rhys.” His friend froze halfway to the door. “I’m not backing away again.”

  The scribe shook his head and grimaced. “You changeable bastard.”

  “She doesn’t feel that way for you.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I do.” Malachi rose and walked toward him. “The same way I know she’s for me.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Rhys’s eyes met his in challenge.

  “Absolutely sure.”

  The three met in the garden as the sky took on the deep, midnight blue of the evening. It was late, but Malachi had already called the restaurant, reserving his favorite table in a corner of the balcony. They walked toward town, Ava between them, and Malachi forced himself to remain casual, even when the scent of her perfume drifted to him on the breeze. It held notes of jasmine and smoke, a sweet fragrance with hidden depths he knew would be even stronger at the curve of her neck where he had kissed her before. Kissed her neck. Her mouth. He imagined nibbling on the skin that peeked from above her waistband when she wore the green shirt he liked.

  Malachi let his mind wander down sensuous paths, knowing she would hear the tone of his thoughts even if she couldn’t understand them. Ava turned around, eyes wide and color high. He simply smiled before he shrugged and kept walking, letting their hands brush casually on the uneven sidewalk.

  “What kind of food does this restaurant serve?” she asked, obviously trying to ignore him.

  “Turkish, along with some Cappadocian dishes that are very good. There is a lamb dish I think you would like.”

  “I love lamb,” Rhys said. “Quite the delicious fluffy animal, don’t you think?”

  Ava gave him a mock scowl. “Do you dine on kitten, too?”

  “Only if they’re prepared with the right sauce, love.”

  The two joked all the way to the restaurant. Malachi tried not to let it bother him, but they had obviously become familiar over the past week. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Ava to like Rhys. He was one of Malachi’s closest friends, after all. But he also knew the look on Rhys’s face, and it was one he hadn’t seen in two hundred years. The Irin was infatuated with the woman. And Malachi had thrown them together.

  He really was an idiot. He could only hope that his gut feeling was correct, that Ava didn’t feel for Rhys the same way she felt for him. They had none of the electricity that charged the air between her and Malachi. When Ava gave Rhys’s shoulder a friendly jab, Malachi tried to hide his smug expression.

  The restaurant was bustling that night, but Malachi nodded to a waiter he recognized and they were shown to a private balcony looking out over the town. Low lights and candles flickered. It was an unmistakably romantic setting that he hoped would impress her.

  It did.

  “Oh! This is so beautiful. Look at that view!” Ava’s eyes glittered with delight as the waiter held her chair for her. Rhys gave him a dirty look.

  The table where they were sitting was private enough that he knew they didn’t have to worry about being overheard, which let him relax as Rhys and Ava began chatting about Irin history in the region.

  “You were born near here, weren’t you?” Ava asked him. “I’m sure it’s changed a lot over the years.

  He smiled. “This area? No, but I remember visiting here with my father as a child. The cities change more, of course. Cappadocia can almost feel like a time capsule. I was born west of here. It’s still a very rural area. The village where I was born in is no longer there.”

  Malachi thought he saw a troubled look filter across her face. He wondered if she was thinking about the Rending.

  “I have many happy memories from that retreat and the one in Germany,” he added, hoping to ease her mind. “Both were wonderful places to grow up.”

  Rhys distracted her with a joke about Malachi, and within moments, the troubled look left her face. He would have been resentful if he wasn’t so grateful.

  Malachi watched them at dinner, trying to discover her feelings. It was clear she liked Rhys, but Malachi was still convinced that his and Ava’s connection was unique. It had to be. Even when he was young, he didn’t remember being drawn to one woman the way Ava drew him. Of course, he’d had his flirtations and even a few brief relationships with suitable Irina when he’d been young, but nothing like this. He could spend hours just watching the subtle play of emotions across her face.

  They’d been eating for over an hour, and the wine had brought a flush to her cheeks, and then she asked the question.

  “Hey guys, I’ve been wondering. There’s this phrase I hear repeated a lot in people’s minds. It sounds kind of like… Vasha—”

  Rhys slapped a panicked hand over her mouth as Ava’s eyes widened. In the next second, it disappeared as Rhys’s arm was twisted away and shoved to the side. Malachi bared his teeth as Ava gasped.

  “You do not silence her. Ever.”

  “But the magic—”

  “Never.” Malachi’s grip tightened around Rhys’s wrist and the man winced. “Warn her if you will, but never attempt to silence her again.”

  “Let go of my arm,” Rhys growled.

  “No one is looking.”

  “They will be if you don’t let go now.” Rhys warned Malachi with a glare.

  Malachi released him as Ava let out a breath.

  “What on earth just happened?”

  Rhys cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Ava. I was concerned and I overreacted.” His eyes cut toward Malachi. “As did your defender.”

  “What did I do?”

  “Nothing,” Malachi said. “You asked a perfectly reasonable question.”

  “But you must be very careful, Ava,” Rhys added, his voice dropping. “Remember that the words you hear are in the Old Language. The eternal one. It is the same language we use to cast spells. For scribes, those spells must be written down to have power. But for singers—”

  “Ooooh.” Her own eyes widened. “They speak them, right? So if I say something—”

  “You could be performing magic you have not been trained for. Rhys is correct about that,” Malachi said softly. “We start to manifest power near puberty. It is why we start training then. But for you, who has no training in magic, even repeating a simple phrase you hear from the mind of a human could be quite dangerous. You do not understand your own power yet.”

  He saw the curious gleam in her eye.

  “But I can learn? Even though I’m older?”

  Rhys and Malachi exchanged a look.

  “Irina magic is always taught by other Irina,” Rhys said. “What we don’t know outweighs what we do. Still, there has to be a way. There are Irina in the world, though they are mostly in hiding. We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.”

  “As do I.” Their eyes met in the flickering candlelight, and Malachi had a vision of Ava, her arms spread, her voice raised in song. Magic poured from her. He imagined
her voice whispering secrets in his ear, the ancient words a mate would share. The most beautiful power imaginable that bound two into one. The thought brought a rush of emotion he hoped she heard. From the flush of her cheeks, he was guessing she did.

  Chapter Twelve

  Four days later, Ava was still thinking about Rhys’s words.

  We will find a way to let you unlock your power, Ava. I promise.

  Power. They told her the manic energy that had stalked her wasn’t illness or mania, it was power. For someone who had spent her life skirting around the edges of insanity, it was hard to fathom.

  Excitable.

  Emotional.

  High-strung.

  Hyperactive.

  Troubled…

  The descriptions from friends and doctors had slowly devolved as she’d gotten older. They’d gone from amusement to awkwardness. And though her mother had always cushioned the blow, Ava had known from the time she was a child that there was something different about her. Something that wasn’t good. Something that made her “too much” to deal with. Carl had only confirmed it when she’d reached her teens. His constant stream of classes and camps and internships may have given her a résumé most twenty-somethings would kill for, but Ava knew it had little to do with concern. She was a problem, one he preferred to farm out.

  “Evren?” She turned to the old scribe sitting across the table from her.

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “Would you say that I’m… normal? For an Irina?”

  Evren gave her a slow smile. “But what is normal? For any man or woman?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.” He put down the pencil he’d been taking notes with and folded his hand. “You are who you were meant to be, Ava. I see nothing damaged or wrong with you. How you came to be who you are?” Evren lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “Who can say? In Irin history, there is no incidence of any Irina being born in a human family. But you are here now. You are among your people. You are a wonder to us, not an oddity.”

  “My whole life, I’ve never fit in.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” he said. “I’m sure in the human world, you would stand out. Here? You are normal. You remind me very much of a girl I grew up with. She was so curious.” A dimple touched Evren’s cheek. “She was the favorite of our teachers in the village.”