Текст книги "The Scribe"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Hunter

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“And Malachi?”

“He was born near here, actually.” Rhys smiled. “Though I believe his parents moved when he was still a child and were living in Germany when the Rending happened.”

“The Rending.”

“Yes… the Rending.” Rhys nudged her farther down the hall as his inner voice took on a low, desperate tone. “One summer, there was a sudden rash of Grigori attacks in the cities. We learned later that it all happened within just a few weeks, but at the time, we had no idea. I was in London, about one hundred years old. I’d finished my training and was doing guardian work, as we all do. The Grigori, who had been relatively quiet for years, started attacking many human women. It was unexpected, and we couldn’t keep up. We’d let our guard down.” He let out a shaky breath. “My watcher followed protocol. When we needed help, we called for the mated men to come help us. They left the retreats to aid us in the city, because that was where the threat lay… we thought.”

They took another step down the hall, and Ava saw the edge of chaos.

She whispered, “But they left the Irina in the retreats alone.”

“Irina…” Rhys’s fingers came up to trace the image of a woman, arms stretched out as dark figures ran toward her. “…have frightening magic of their own. Powerful. Deadly. But they were outnumbered, and they had to protect the children.” Ava felt the tears wet her cheeks as she watched him trail his hands over the scenes of carnage the artist had rendered in frightening detail.

Bodies broken on the ground.

Homes burning.

Children’s toys, bloody and abandoned.

Rhys stopped in front of the depiction of another woman, this one with a fearful gash on her throat. Rhys’s finger traced down the woman’s face, lingering near her neck as if to cover the wound. “Grigori will go for the throat first. If an Irina cannot speak, most of her magic is rendered mute as well. Their voices are…” Ava saw him blink away tears. “The Grigori soldiers overran retreats all over the world. The Irina protected as many children as they could, but most didn’t survive. The girls, especially, were hunted.”

A rushing began to fill her mind. Ava could almost hear it. Hear the voices of the women, silenced forever. Their children, cries cut short by murder. A terrible pain began to throb in her chest.

“How many?” she whispered.

Rhys shook his head. “No one knows for certain. Thousands. It was a coordinated effort on the part of the Grigori to render us weak. They know we are most powerful when we are mated. And they have always feared the voices of the Irina. They fear magic they don’t understand. So, they killed them. As many as they could, along with most of the children and the men who had stayed behind.”

Ava felt the trembling start in her legs.

“The council estimates eighty percent of our women and children were wiped out within a matter of weeks in the summer of 1810. Our race was cut in half. That’s why we call it the Rending.”

The shaking grew. The horror was too much. The loss—barely comprehensible.

They halted at the end of the hall where a tapestry hung, woven with the same circle of Irin and Irina depicted in the book Malachi had shown her. But instead of a couple embracing, the tapestry was torn down the middle, forming a kind of curtain that Rhys pulled back.

Behind it, there were more words, written in the ancient script.

“These are names of the Irina and children from the retreat nearby,” Rhys whispered. He pointed to one near the top. “This was Evren’s wife.”

Ava stifled a cry. Hundreds of names followed that first one. Column after column of names. Some worn smooth by fingers rubbing over them. Others sharp and jagged, as if the stone still held the anger of two hundred years.

She felt rage bubble up along with a primal grief she could barely comprehend. Words caught in her throat, and her hands clenched, her fingernails digging into her palms till she could feel the skin break and the blood run. She felt powerless. Strangled by her own pain. By Rhys’s pain. By the pain lurking beneath every face she’d seen. She shook with it, knowing she was crying, but the tears weren’t enough.

“Ava?” Rhys’s voice seemed to come from a distance. “Ava, are you all right?”

Don’t speak. Can’t speak. Never speak again.

Shaking her head, Ava pulled her hair and closed her eyes. She dug her fingers into her temple, relieved by the bite of pain. Her tear-filled eyes rose to the wall of names, but there was only silence.

And Ava knew.

These were her people. And they were gone.

“No,” she whispered.

The shivering took over, starting in her chest and spreading to her limbs. Her mind flew in a thousand directions as she closed her eyes again and rocked.

“Ava?”

She felt Rhys’s hand on her shoulder. He tried to put an arm around her, but she shoved him back.

“No!”

“Ava, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Rhys broke off at the unexpected cry of grief that came from her throat. It was a groan. A shout. It was everything her soul didn’t have the words to express. Ava leaned against the far wall, staring at the mosaic, feeling her legs start to give out. She felt locked in a pain she couldn’t escape.

And then she felt him. Felt him running toward her. Heard his footsteps coming down the hall.

Closer.

“What did you do?” he shouted.

“She asked! Was I not supposed to tell her the truth?”

A shove. A punch. Ava reached out, her eyes still closed, grasping for something she couldn’t name yet.

Hands met hers. Arms encircled her. And the calm followed. The rage fled, and in its wake was a fierce grief for a thousand faces she would never know. A thousand voices she would never hear. Ava held on to Malachi and wept for a loss her mind could barely comprehend. He lifted her and took her away from the hall. Away from the flickering candles and the bloody stones. Ava closed her eyes and let him take her away.

“So many dead.” She closed her eyes and whispered into his skin.

“I know.”

“Women like me. They hated them. They killed them. Because they were afraid.”

They were sitting in a quiet corner of the scribe house, in a room she hadn’t seen before. Low lights flickered from sconces on the wall, and the room was lined with comfortable chairs and sofas. There was another mural on the wall, but this one was a picture of the sky, vividly blue against the light stone walls. Malachi was holding her on his lap, stroking her hair as she burrowed her face into his neck.

“Was your mother killed, too?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Yes. And my father. He had remained behind at the retreat when the men in our village went to Hamburg to help the guardians. He was killed, too. Almost our entire village was wiped out. I was stationed in another city.”

She fell silent again, focusing on the quiet comfort of his skin against hers. How could a people survive such a loss?

“You lost your wives. Your mothers. Your children.”

“Most of us haven’t even seen an Irina since the Rending.” His voice held suppressed rage. “We are half a people.”

“That’s why you called me a miracle,” she said.

She felt his arms tighten. “Nothing about your family says you can be Irina, but you are. We lost so many, but… I am willing to hold out hope that somehow, if you exist, then others might, too. That our race will survive. We are dying, Ava. We may live forever, but we are dying from the inside. Once there were so many of us. Families. Generations. Now there are almost no children. The Irina who still live hide away, angry with the rest of us for leaving them vulnerable. Enraged at the loss of their sisters and children. And who can blame them?”

“And the Grigori know who I am.”

His arms squeezed a little tighter. “They will not get you. I will not allow it. None of us will.”

She pressed her face into the skin of his neck and breathed deeply, allowing herself the comfort. Allowing herself to dream for a moment that there could be a future for her that didn’t mean loneliness and isolation.

“Ava.” She heard the reservation in Malachi’s voice and felt him begin to draw away. She held his shoulders tightly.

“Just give me a few more minutes.”

His shoulders tensed, then relaxed, and she felt his arms go around her even more tightly, pressing her into his chest as he took a deep breath. His voice was only a soft murmur in her mind, and no other intruded. Malachi began stroking her hair again, tentatively brushing his fingers along her neck and behind her ear.

He finally said, “A few more minutes.”

And just like the moment in the hall, when grief and recognition slammed together, Ava knew. However it had happened, whatever strange twist of fate had caught her… these were her people.

And however he tried to deny it, Malachi was hers, too.

Chapter Eleven

It was getting harder and harder to avoid her. Malachi sat in the corner of the library, watching Rhys and Evren interview Ava about her family again. He’d trusted his brother to look after her, even if Rhys’s behavior had irked him, but Ava’s collapse in the hallway had been unnecessary. Rhys should have known. Irin scribes still struggled to talk about the massacre that had taken most of their families. How did he think Ava would react?

So Malachi was back to guarding her, this time from his own people. He didn’t know why he was so attuned to the woman, but perhaps days of reading her expressions had given him some insight the others didn’t have. She was handling her new reality well, but he knew she was still stressed at times. Like when they asked her about her family…

“Listen… Yes, I have a lot of cousins on my mom’s side.” Her voice was clipped, her hands clenched tight. “But no, as far as I know, none of them hear voices. My mom doesn’t hear voices. Her mom didn’t either. I don’t know why you don’t understand this. There is no history of mental illness—”

“Not mental illness,” he muttered from the chair at the far end of the table, glancing up at her. “Stop calling it that. You’re not mentally ill, Ava.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Angel blood. Irin blood. Call it what you will. I’m the only one, okay? Lots and lots of girls all over my mom’s side, and none of them hear voices. Or souls. Or whatever this is.”

The rest of the world might have disappeared. Malachi and Ava glared only at each other.

“Are you always this sarcastic?” he asked.

“Are you always this taciturn?”

He picked up a book again and pretended to read.

Ava said, “I’ll take that as a yes.” She turned back to Evren. “Okay, next question.”

Evren cleared his throat. “It seems improbable, but let’s explore all genetic possibilities and look at your father’s side.”

“Now that could be difficult.”

“Because?”

“I barely know my biological father.”

Her father was a famous musician, Jasper Reed. He and Lena Matheson had never married. It was a brief relationship that only lasted until Lena became pregnant. From Malachi’s research, he knew the father had stayed in the mother’s life in a peripheral way, remaining friendly, but not an active part of his child’s life. Malachi found little to admire about Reed, despite the human’s legendary musical talent.

Children were rare to the Irin. A mated couple would probably only ever have one, possibly two, children in hundreds of years. No one knew why. Perhaps it was simply a divine trade for the unnaturally long life their race had been granted. For that reason, children were unreasonably cherished. Malachi might even say pampered, except for the rigorous magical training that started when Irin children reached the age of thirteen.

The thought of fathering a child and abandoning her was unheard of.

Evren asked questions carefully, but Malachi could tell Ava was becoming more upset. She twisted her ring in a nervous gesture, and the air around her became charged. He had the almost unbearable impulse to shove Rhys from his seat next to her so he could take her hand, just to calm her down. He quashed it. Damien’s warning still rang in his ears. Ava wasn’t a normal Irina who had been nurtured by a loving family. She had been subjected to the battery of human emotions her whole life. In that situation, any Irin male would be able to offer her comfort. It didn’t mean she had a special bond with him, even if he felt drawn to her.

But…

Maybe it was more than just a normal attraction. She wouldn’t let Rhys approach her when she broke down in the hallway. She’d reached for him. Even with her eyes closed, she’d sensed him. Almost as a mate would.

Reshon. The word had become a persistent whisper in his mind.

There has been an overwhelming feeling of comfort as he held her. Malachi knew he was soothing her, but the act of giving comfort fed his soul, as well. Not to mention the intoxicating feel of her skin against his. Then the memories of their kiss on the island—

“Shut up!”

He blinked and looked to her. Ava was glaring at him, and Malachi frowned.

“I wasn’t saying anything!”

“Not out loud. But did you forget I can hear you? You. You’re here, and all the other voices fade, and I just hear you. And there’s this weird mix of pride and frustration and wanting—” Her voice caught. “And guilt and anger and I cannot take it anymore, Malachi. I can’t deal with all this and you, so please just go.”

If she had punched him in the gut, he couldn’t have been as shocked.

“Ava—”

“Go.” He could see a sheen in her eyes. “I can’t handle all your complicated shit and these questions, too. So I need you to leave.”

He saw Rhys begin to rise, but one look from Malachi had the other man sinking to his seat again.

He set down the book. “Fine.” He shoved back his chair and marched from the room, ignoring the voice inside that practically begged him to take her with him. He wouldn’t stay where he wasn’t wanted, even if everything in him said she was exactly where he belonged.

He called Damien from the garden outside the scribe house. Phone reception was spotty in Cappadocia, but there was a corner of one garden that seemed reliable.

“How is the woman?” his watcher asked, by way of greeting.

“Coping.” He paced, frustrated and anxious for some activity after being cooped up in the scribe house for over a week. “Have you learned any more about Dr. Sadik?”

“The therapist seems to be on holiday, from what we can tell. No one is in the office, not even nurses or the receptionist. No sign on the door, either. Considering the summer months, it could be a coincidence—”

“Or it could be that his reason for remaining open left the city.” Malachi drummed impatient fingers against his thigh. Part of him craved the energy of the city. Part of him knew he was only looking to escape his own temptation.

Damien said, “Tell me more about the human.”

“She’s not human, and you know it.”

“She cannot have Irina blood. I spoke with Evren yesterday. There is no evidence from family history that she is anything but a normal human woman.”

“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.