Reshon.
She called him reshon, and his heart soared. Despite the fear. Despite the loss. She called him “reshon,” and he was content. Malachi slept a few hours by her side, hand planted firmly on her soft skin, drawing and offering strength as she rested. But by the time he woke, he couldn’t ignore the words Jaron had whispered in the Old Language before he shimmered out of sight.
“Thousands of you, Scribe. One of her. Remember.”
Remember? How could he forget? The angel’s meaning had been clear: Protect the Irina at all costs.
Whatever Jaron had showed her, Malachi hadn’t seen. But clearly he’d been communicating with his mate in some way. The scene in the office flashed back to him. Jaron’s transformation. Ava’s awe. Their locked gazes held a secret that teased the edge of his mind. There was something…
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”
What had Jaron told her? Why had he been protecting her? There had to be a reason, but Malachi couldn’t see what it was. As always, the motivations of the Fallen were incomprehensible. He wished Damien were here to counsel him, but he knew if the Watcher still lived after battling Brage’s angelic sword, he was probably in a different safe house. It was better that they weren’t all in one place. Had Damien already contacted Vienna? Did the Council know what was going on?
He had to get Ava out of Istanbul. He could drive across the country to Cappadocia, but getting her to Vienna would be better. He wished he knew where Sari was hiding. There was no fiercer Irina than Damien’s mate. She would help him protect Ava; he knew it. Would Damien take them to Sari? Malachi felt like he was wandering in the dark forest of his dreams, stumbling through the fog and chasing answers to questions he didn’t know. The house was utterly silent, but his mind was filled with disturbing and conflicting thoughts.
Ava stirred beside him.
“I can hear you thinking,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.”
She pulled his hand up to her breast. “Then do something more entertaining than brooding.”
Despite everything, she still made him smile. He bent down, kissing along her neck and caressing the skin of her breast, toying with her as his energy built.
Reshon.
A thought occurred to him. Ava wasn’t in control of her magic, but there was a way to make her stronger. To lend her his own. She wouldn’t be able to perform her half of the ritual—she didn’t know the songs—but he could perform his half, lending her his power and protection. She would heal faster. She wouldn’t tire. Her mind would be clearer and her sight better. If they were attacked again, it could mean the difference between life and death for her.
But not for you…, a small voice whispered. It would weaken him, because Ava couldn’t lend her own magic.
Thousands of you, Scribe. One of her.
She turned to him, lifting her face for a kiss. He met her mouth with eager lips, delving in to taste and tease. She responded by pulling him closer, melding her body to his in the small bed as his skin sang where she touched it. More. He had to have more of her. Malachi pulled off his shirt and hers until their bodies were pressed together. He’d never felt more whole. More alive.
Reshon.
He pulled away with a gasp. Protecting Ava was imperative. He knew she was the key. And as her mate, Malachi was the only one who could offer her the strength.
“Malachi?” She sat up, her hair spilling over her shoulders in the low light.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He whispered a kiss across her mouth before he stood and walked downstairs, all the way to the old rug shop. He walked past the showroom, looking into the back room where they stored the new pieces for shipment and also the tools to do repairs.
There, on the workbench, he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the dye and then looked for a brush but couldn’t find one. Just then, he spied a child’s painting in the corner, sitting on top of a small wooden box. Opening it, he saw a mess of watercolor paints and… He smiled. A brush. Not the best quality to touch his mate’s skin, but it would have to do. Someday, they would complete the ritual, then he would brush her skin with sable and decorate her from head to toe. The mental image was unspeakably arousing, so he grabbed the vegetable dye and the child’s brush before he headed back upstairs.
When he entered their small room, Ava was sitting in bed with a frown on her face.
“Where did you go?”
He placed the brush and dye on the side table and knelt beside her. “I wish we were not here. I wish we were someplace beautiful where I could stand with you before my mother and father and speak the old vows declaring you mine.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but they didn’t look sad. “Malachi—”
“I can’t do that, Ava. But I want you to know, I would. I will, someday. And before another hour passes, I want to say the words I can. Words that will mark you as my mate.” He ran the tips of his fingers up her bare spine. “Write on your skin the spells that will bind us together.” His fingers reached the nape of her neck as he bowed his face and kissed over her heart. “Will you let me, reshon? Will you take me, wholly and completely?”
“Tonight?”
“Right now.”
“Your… mate?” She still hesitated at the word, but Malachi smiled.
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
He looked up. “Forever. No turning away until death parts us.”
A tentative smile crossed her lips. “I thought you guys were immortal.”
He kissed her. “We’re all immortal, Ava, as long as our stories are told.” A small frown creased between her eyebrows, so he kissed her again. “Say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He smiled.
“Yes, reshon.” She placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking them despite the rasp of stubble. “You’re mine. I knew it weeks ago. So yes.”
Desire roared to life, but Malachi clamped down on it and said, “Take off your clothes. All of them.”
“Every stitch?” The teasing light came back.
“Every. Single. Stitch.” He pulled back the cover and reached for the jar of dye.
“What is that?” she asked as she pulled off her underthings.
“Henna dye. It’s actually what we’ve always used, but I apologize for the brush.” He shook up the dye and then uncapped it, dipping the rough brush into the jar before he looked up. “It should be much nicer than this.”
“What do I do?” she asked, her voice tentative in the silence.
“Turn around,” Malachi said. “Hold still. And let me mark you.”
Ava pulled up her legs and turned her back to him. Malachi sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. He’d dreamed of this moment for hundreds of years. Granted, the surroundings were usually a little more luxurious, but the sight before him…
Ava’s smooth back, pale and glowing in the lamplight. The fine bones of her spine guiding him from the base of her skull to the swell of her buttocks. She was more than he’d dreamt. More than he deserved.
Malachi leaned forward, whispering the ancient vows against her skin, and his breath cast a golden glow as the magic took hold. He lifted the brush and began.
He wrote the spells across her body, the dye taking hold as the magic did. And though the henna would fade with time, the magic would remain, imbued in her skin. Protecting her. Strengthening her. For the rest of her life, his words would mark her. He took care as he wrote, hundreds of years of practice suddenly making sense. Countless hours of instruction. No mistakes were allowed in this; it was the most important talesm he would ever scribe.
Protective spells formed down her back. Whispered aloud as he felt the magic leave his body and enter hers. His lips trailed after his brush, kissing along her backbone as her heart raced beneath his mouth.
“Is it…” She arched her back when she felt the brush trail low. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”