The Scribe
Page 58

“I’m fine. I just—Whoa!” He picked her up and lifted her in his arms, smiling as the passing tourists laughed. Then he hopped over the rock wall and over to some deserted beach chairs near the lapping waves. He sat in one and positioned her so that her legs straddled his.
Reaching up to frame her face with both hands, he asked again, “What is it?”
“You’re being pushy.”
“This is new to me,” he said urgently. “I worry I no longer know how to care for a woman. It has been too long. I cannot care for you if you don’t tell me what is wrong, Ava.”
“Malachi…”
“You must be patient with me. And tell me what you’re thinking. You know my thoughts, but I do not know yours.” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
She couldn’t look away. His grey eyes bored into hers. His skin was illuminated by the full moon that rose over the black Aegean Sea and his dark hair lifted in the breeze.
“It’s too good,” she finally whispered.
An understanding look passed over his face, but he said, “What is too good?”
“I… This. Us. It’s too easy.”
“It should be difficult?”
“It always has been.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Other men are not me.”
“Because you’re Irin.”
“Because I am me.” He kissed her chin. “And you are you.” Another kiss at her temple as his hands began soothing strokes up and down her back. She could feel his fingers playing along the delicate skin over her spine. “There are others like us in the world, but they are not us. We decide who we want to be.”
“And you really want to be with me?” A thread of doubt worked its way into her voice, even though she willed it away.
A slow smile crossed his face. “Do you think me a martyr? That I do things I don’t want to do?”
“No. I can tell that already.” She had already seen his stubborn personality—it was apparent. It was hard to argue against it when iron control was so much of who he had to be. She could feel it under her fingers as she began to stroke his arms. Unbelievably powerful, Malachi had to show the strictest control among human beings. She saw it walking with him through the bazaar. At the shops. Among the more gentle scribes in Cappadocia.
She’d recognized it even when they first met so many weeks before in Istanbul. He was one of the most controlled men she’d ever met, his power on a very short leash. The fact that he loosed it when he held her, let his power wash over her in a gentle wave when they made love, caused her heart to soften dangerously toward him. It would be easy to put her heart in his hands. Easy to let him take care of her. But what would he take in return? Ava didn’t know if she was hanging on to enough of herself to share.
“Are you worried about the Grigori?”
Sensing an escape, she answered, “Yes. This seems like a place they’d hang out.”
He smiled. “Normally, yes. They love the tourist women. But I think so many of them were drawn to Istanbul when you were there, they may have left their usual hunting grounds. I haven’t seen a single one since we’ve been here.”
“And what would you do if you saw one here?”
“Kill it.”
The flat certainty in his voice chilled her. “But how… They’re like you. Not exactly, but didn’t you say—”
“The Grigori may have had similar origins, but they chose their path long ago. They are predators. We are protectors. Once, the Irin helped humanity. We shared our knowledge and secrets until it became too dangerous. When we were no longer wanted, we withdrew. The Grigori continued to feed. Now our job is to stop them from killing. It is the only way we can still serve the humans we were meant to guide and protect.”
Ava’s back stiffened. “You act like humans are inferior.”
“Not inferior. Different.”
“I’m human.”
He stifled a laugh. “No. You’re not.”
She stood up and glared at him. “My mother is Lena Matheson. A human woman. My father is Jasper Reed. A man. I am human. However this happened to me, I’m still human.”
Irritation colored his voice. “Ava—”
“Do you think I’m inferior?”
“Of course I don’t!”
“Then why—?”
“Why are you trying to start a fight?”
It brought her up short. What was she doing? She knew Malachi didn’t see her as an inferior. If anything, she felt like he put her on some frightening pedestal. He stood and brushed off his slacks, slowly straightening his clothes before he met her eyes. He was angry.
“Do you think I’m going to get tired of you? Walk away?”
He turned with a glare and started toward the pathway while Ava stood frozen in the sand, the ocean breeze unable to warm the chill that reached toward her heart as she watched him retreat. Just before he reached the stairs, he turned and held out a hand.
“You can piss me off and twist me around, Ava, but you’re not going to get rid of me.”
She started toward him, and when she got close enough, his hand curled around hers. She swallowed the lump in her throat as he carefully ushered her up the steps.
“I want to go back to the house,” she said as they reached the path along the main road. “I know you’re mad at me—”