The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth - Страница 25
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She nodded, keeping her eyes on his. Even if nothing else made sense, some instinctive part of her trusted Malachi. Through all of this, he had watched out for her. He grounded her with his utter and complete confidence. She allowed herself to take a deep breath.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Okay.”
“Malachi speaks the truth as he believes it,” Damien bit out. “I am not convinced. We know your mother is not one of us.”
“My mom?” She looked between Malachi and Damien in confusion. “What about my mom? What do you know about my mom?”
“You look just like your mother,” Damien said. “Almost exactly.”
“Yeah, so?” She was starting to get irritated. “And how did you get pictures of my mom?”
Damien turned from her and spoke to Malachi. “Irina only come from Irina.”
“That’s what we’ve always been told.”
Ava asked, “So why do you think I’m one of these Irina?”
Both men ignored her and continued to argue in low voices.
Malachi said, “She’s reacting like the Irina. She hears the soul-voice. She can bear our touch. Judging from the color in her face, she even seems to thrive on it.”
“It’s not enough. We need to know how this could happen. Admittedly, she looks healthier than she did when she first came here, but—”
“What do you mean, ‘when I first came here?’ Who all was following me?” As irritated as she was, Ava had to admit she did feel great. Malachi was holding her hand and she felt calm. He was like the medication she’d tried once, but without the awful side effects. Holding his hand muffled Damien’s inner voice, making it easier for her to concentrate. She felt centered and easy. Relaxed. Her head was clear, and she was starting to remember more about the day.
“She can’t go back to the hotel,” Damien said. “She has to stay here. Stay protected.”
“Hello?” Her voice rose. “I am still in the room.”
“The Grigori still followed her yesterday?”
“Leo and I lost them on the way back from the islands, but—”
She squeezed Malachi’s hand, trying to get his attention. “Who the hell are the Grigori, and why are they—” Her eyes widened. “Shit.”
That one word was enough to silence the two irritating men.
Damien asked, “What?”
“How long was I sleeping? After we…” She glanced at Malachi. “You know.”
Malachi ignored her embarrassed flush. “I carried you back from the island yesterday afternoon. I thought you’d wake up after a while, but I think I underestimated your exhaustion.”
“So I’ve been out of contact for over a day?” Ava pushed his hand away and scooted to the edge of the bed. “Where’s my phone? I have to call my mom and let her know I’m not dead, or she and Carl will be sending out the commandos.”
Malachi went to his desk and opened a drawer. “So you did call them the other night. Is that where you got the gun?”
“Carl sent it.” Ava glanced at Damien, who was watching her like she was some curious animal at the zoo. “I…” She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell her. Last I talked to them, I was convinced you guys were part of some international conspiracy to kidnap me.”
Damien murmured, “You might not be far off.”
“What does that mean? Does this have something to do with the Grigori guys you were talking about? What’s a Grigori?”
Malachi handed her the phone. “There are others related to our kind who are after you. We’re not sure why, but it cannot be good.”
“Supernatural bad guys? Of course there are supernatural bad guys.” She threw up her hands. “I mean, you don’t get superheroes without supervillains, right?”
“I wouldn’t call them super,” Damien said with a frown. “But they do have an interest in you.” He rose. “I need to call Vienna. Malachi, can I see you in the hall for a moment?”
Malachi glanced at Damien, then back to her. “I’ll be right back.”
“And I’ll call my mom.” She waved her phone. “I guess I’ll tell her… something.”
By the time Malachi returned to the room, Ava had ended the call with her mother after spinning a very elaborate story about Malachi and the old bodyguard miscommunicating. About how, really, it had all been a huge misunderstanding, and Ava was fine, and it had all worked out for the best.
Because she and Malachi were now involved in a whirlwind romance.
If there was anything that could distract Lena Matheson, it was speculating about her daughter’s love life. Plus, Ava figured that it would keep her mom from calling too often if she was daydreaming about the nonexistent grandchildren Ava might someday give her when she found “the right man.”
She had the book open again, staring at the entwined couple, tracing the edges of the page and remembering the way that Malachi’s touch had lit her skin from within.
“Ava?” His voice was soft and solemn.
“Hey.”
“How is your mother?”
“Happy, actually. I convinced her that it was all a misunderstanding, and we’re now involved in a torrid affair. That’ll distract her.” She kept her eyes on the book. Now that they were alone, she didn’t know how to act around him. She craved his touch, but the craving put her on edge. Was it natural? Normal? If he was really part of some supernatural race, could he make her feel things she wouldn’t otherwise feel? Her heart told her Malachi was trustworthy, but a lifetime of rejection warned her to be cautious.
Malachi said, “That would have distracted my mother, too.”
There was a strange sort of sadness in his tone. A tone that told her, somehow, in the moments they’d been apart, something delicate had shifted. He stood a little farther back, and a shadow tinged his voice.
“Your mom…” She lifted the corner of the page and tried to pretend the shadow wasn’t there. “She’s…”
“She was Irina. Our women are called Irina.”
“Ah. And you think I’m one of them.” Her finger trailed lightly over the gold leaf on the woman’s skin, illuminated just as hers had been when Malachi touched her.
“I think you have to be.”
“You think I’m part… angel?”
“It’s slightly more complicated than that, but yes.” He brought a chair over and sat across from her.
“My stepdad would disagree strongly with that.”
“It’s not what humans think.”
“But you think I’m like you.” She pointed to the woman in the book. “Like her?”
“I do.”
She paged through the book a bit more but kept coming back to the picture of the couple he’d left the book open to at first.
Malachi said, “You’re taking this all rather well. No running and screaming. Part of me expected you to be on a plane back to Los Angeles by now.”
“You have to remember”—she closed the book and let out a rueful laugh—“you’re talking to a woman who’s heard strange voices from people’s heads her whole life, remember? I don’t think you can classify me as a skeptic.”
“I suppose that’s true. So you believe us?”
“Sort of. Kind of. There’s a lot I don’t understand.”
She heard him shift in his seat, but he didn’t come closer. “Then we will help you find the answers.”
“Is that why you kissed me?” she asked quietly. “Because you wanted to know if I was like them?”
He paused. “Partly.”
“Of course.” Ava nodded. “That makes sense.”
Malachi said nothing, and Ava refused to look up. She just stared at the couple. A perfect balance of male and female. Perfect longing. Perfect love. She ached for something always out of reach. She’d thought she felt a hint of it with him, but maybe it was all an illusion. Malachi certainly wasn’t making any grand declarations about his feelings. His arms were crossed over his chest; his eyes avoided hers. Ava itched to reach out and trace the intricate letters that were marked on his skin, taste the edge of his jaw the way she had when they kissed, but everything about his body language screamed stop, even as his silent voice coaxed her closer.
“Ava, there is a scribe house east of here, in Cappadocia. One of the oldest in existence. There are scribes there who are far older than me or even Damien. Scribes who might know how all this is happening. Understand why you have the magic you do, even though you weren’t born Irina. I think there might be answers there.”
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