The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 24
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The other man was even bigger than Malachi, almost a giant. His hair came down to his shoulders, but she could only see his back and bare arms, arms that were covered in the same intricate tattoos she’d seen in the book.
“Oh! The… the men. The ones in the manuscript? They have the same tattoos!”
Ava looked for Malachi, her eyes alight with curiosity, only to realize that—for the first time—his own arms were bare. He’d always worn long sleeves. Always. But he didn’t now, and the intricate tattoo work that she knew started at his collar crawled down his arms, covering his forearms and biceps. The words were scrawled at odd angles, like they’d been added and crowded into every available inch of skin. She looked at Leo. To the black-haired man.
“Holy shit, you all have them. Just like the men in the book.”
The giant threw up his arms and yelled, “I can’t believe you showed her one of the books, too!”
Malachi said, “Damien, she has to know.”
“Does secrecy mean nothing to you? Does the safety of our race—”
“She’s part of it!”
“She can’t be! We’ve searched the records. We know where she was born. We know who her mother is. There is no trace of—”
“Forget the records and look at her!” Malachi strode over to Ava, who stepped back. He slowed and held up his hands. “Please, Ava. I have to show them.”
She gulped. “Show them what?”
“What are you doing?” The green-eyed man’s voice was concerned. “Malachi, you mustn’t—”
“Trust me,” Malachi whispered, meeting her eyes. Ava felt instantly secure, warm and safe, despite the strangers surrounding her. Their inner voices, all alive since she’d walked into the room, were practically shouting now. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know,” she said. “I know you won’t.”
The green-eyed man rose to his feet as his hands reached out. “Malachi!”
Malachi stepped behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist as the giant named Damien yelled, “No!” He lunged toward Ava and Malachi, but before he could reach them, he halted, and his eyes went wide with shock.
She felt Malachi’s finger trace along her collarbone and she shivered at the sensation. His finger moved up and down along her exposed skin. Was he writing? Her eyes were glued to the reactions of the men around her. Damien, who had been lunging toward them, fell to his knees, suddenly staring up at Ava with a wild expression of awe. The green-eyed man was just as shocked, his mouth frozen in an O. Leo and the other blond man grinned in the corner, expressions of sheer joy across both of their faces.
“You see?” Malachi pleaded. “It’s true. She does not faint at my touch.”
She might not faint, but swooning was a definite possibility if he kept drawing on her skin like that. It felt amazing and oddly intimate. She blushed furiously, aware of all the eyes on them as Malachi held her.
“Malachi, you have to…” She tried to push his arm away, but he wouldn’t let go of her. He did, however, stop writing on her skin. She felt his mouth at her ear.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“It’s fine,” she whispered as his hand moved down her arm again. She glanced down to see his heavily marked forearm still around her waist, holding her up. His other arm lay against hers, and his finger was trailing… She blinked rapidly. “Holy shit, there are gold letters all over my arm.”
Then everything went black.
When she woke up this time, afternoon sun shone on the red roofs outside the window, and Malachi sat on the edge of the bed, a cool washcloth pressed to her forehead. In the chair by the desk, Damien also sat, unabashedly staring. Ava pushed Malachi’s hand away and sat up.
“What happened?”
“You fainted.” Malachi smiled. “And Damien was convinced that I’d killed you until I picked you up and showed him how deeply you were breathing. Are you all right?”
“Why would you have killed me? And where am I?”
Damien spoke from the corner. “You are in the Irin scribe house of Istanbul, Ava Matheson. And my brother’s touch would have eventually killed you… if you were human. But you’re not entirely human, are you?”
She blinked and rubbed her eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m human.” She turned to Malachi. “And so are…”
You…?
She couldn’t say it, because in that moment, Ava knew it wasn’t true. Not entirely. The book. The strange tattoos. The language.
“Are you people aliens?” she whispered.
Malachi burst out laughing, and Damien rolled his eyes.
“What?” She was indignant. “What am I supposed to think?”
“Not aliens!”
“Well, I’m glad this is so funny to you, Mal. I’m just rolling with laughter here.”
Damien said, “We are not aliens, Ms. Matheson.”
“So, what are you?” She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.
Malachi smiled and put his hand on her bare foot. “We are the Irin. The heavenly race.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you know history?” Damien asked. “Think about human myths and legends. Genesis. The Book of Enoch. The heroes of Greek myth. You have written about us; you just never knew the whole story. Haven’t you heard the myths of those who fell from heaven? Of their offspring?”
“Fell from heaven?” she asked. “You’re talking about… angels? Fallen angels?”
“Of course.”
Her temper snapped. “Nothing is ‘of course’ about this situation!”
Damien said, “Please calm down, Ms. Matheson. We are trying to explain.”
“But you’re talking about angels.”
“Yes.”
“Actual angels. From heaven. Coming down and—and sleeping with human women?”
Malachi said, “Angels don’t sleep. But if you’re referring to sexual relations, yes. The Fallen took human women as mates.”
She turned to him. “And you’re telling me that you and your… whatever you all are would be their… what? Their sons? Is that what you’re trying to get me to believe? That you’re the sons of angels?”
“Not only the sons.” Damien looked offended. “What would that have to do with you, then?”
She frowned. “What are you—?”
“Did you think the angels only had sons?”
All the air left her lungs. Ava’s eyes were locked with Damien’s, but she felt Malachi reach for her.
“Ava, we are the Irin people. We are the descendants of those first children. We are the sons… and daughters of angels.”
“Daughters?” She looked back to Malachi as his thumb brushed her cheek. “Of angels? You must be—”
“Crazy?” he said quietly. “Is that what you think? Truly?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t know. Their words made no sense, and yet there was no hint of deception in them. No waver in their silent voices told her to guard from harm.
Malachi asked gently, “Did the humans call you crazy, Ava?”
“Of course they did.”
She could tell the knowledge pained him, but he kept his hand on her foot. His fingers on her cheek. Gentle and constant, his touch soothed her.
Damien asked, “Malachi says you hear voices. Is that correct?”
She shrank back. “Yes.”
“In the Old Language,” Damien mused. “If this is true, then you hear as the Irina do.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Irina hear the voice of the soul. It is one of their gifts.”
Her chest was tight. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t understand what that means. How can the soul have a voice?”
“How can it not?”
“I don’t understand any of this.” She was overwhelmed. Part of her wanted to keep firing questions, and the other part wanted to run away.
As if sensing her panic, Malachi grasped her hand in both of his. “We are all confused. None of us understands how this happened, Ava.”
“I don’t even know—”
“Know this: I believe you are one of us.” His grey eyes met hers. They burned with passion. “I know it. We will find the answers. We will help you.”
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