The Secret
Page 25
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Yes!”
“Then what can I do to help?”
Chapter Six
“I DON’T TELL YOU often enough,” Ava said, love for him filling her up, balancing the anger. “I love you. You’re strong and protective, smart and kind. You’re just a… a very good man.”
“Thank you.”
“I fell in love with the man I met in Istanbul. The mysterious one who touched me and made me feel like I was magic. And I grieved for the hero who sacrificed himself to protect me. But the man you are now? The man you’re becoming? He’s all those things. And he’s more.”
His eyes had lost all their humor. He reached up to cup her cheek. “Ava.”
“You’re a good man. And maybe I don’t know who I am, but I know I’m grateful that you’re mine. That I can find out who I am with you. And maybe help you find yourself too.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him. Malachi reached down and lifted her up, swinging her around until they sat on the edge of the bed again, lips still locked. She pulled back and peppered his face with kisses until he was smiling. Until his dimple couldn’t be hidden. Until he laughed. And Ava thought she might become addicted to the sound of Malachi’s laughter. If she could find the answers she needed and live a thousand years with this man, she would never grow tired of hearing him laugh.
Then she was the one smiling when he threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her deeply, teasing her tongue with his. He tasted spicy, like the peppers and sumac she had smelled from the kitchen during lunch. His shoulders were firm beneath her hands. His body commanding hers to give more. Deeper. His soul voice rang in her head, tuning her mind and body. She felt her magic rise up and settle against his.
He let out a gasp and pulled back. “Ava, it feels so good.”
“More?”
“More.”
She kissed him again. Heard the words in her mind. Pulled away to whisper in his ear.
“Hanama.” She recited the simple spell, picturing what she wanted in her mind as she spoke. “Da’adanama.”
Take of me, the magic whispered. Give to me.
His magic shot through her, and she could feel her mating marks burn as his arms tightened at the small of her back. Malachi’s own skin was hot beneath her hands. Like a circuit sparked by her passion, their magic joined and fed them both, opening them to each other. No insulation. No barriers.
She could see his talesm glowing on his forearms. Could feel the ghost of them under her palms. Once, they’d covered his body, marking the territory of him like a map. She’d told him once that the lack of them didn’t matter to her, but it did. Because they were part of him. Each spell carefully chosen and written. Not simply words a scribe had written to protect himself, but a guide to the man he’d chosen to become.
She wanted them back.
Cautiously, she bent to his ear again.
“Ya davarda,” she whispered, the spell slipping from her lips. It should have been easy after all the times she’d recited it in her mind, but she was so afraid.
Remember.
It was a command she imbued with the deepest longing of her heart. For Malachi to remember who he was. And who he’d made himself to be.
“Ya davarda, reshon,” she said it again, a little louder.
She felt the energy leave her fingertips and enter him. A slip of silk brushing against her skin. There for a heartbeat, then gone. Away from her. Into him.
“Ava!”
Malachi pulled back, his hands clenched on her hips so hard Ava knew they would bruise. His eyes were closed. The marks on his forearms glowed like fire fed from a sudden gust of wind.
She kept her hands on his shoulders, pressing down as if to keep them both from flying away. His face was clenched, but it was not in pain. His eyes darted back and forth beneath his lids. She felt a burning beneath her right palm and looked down.
Like living vines, his talesm crawled up his left forearm, joining and sometimes overwriting the spells he’d added after his return. The glowing quicksilver lines moved up his arm as she watched, twisting and turning. Traveling across and around his wrist, his forearm, his elbow, and bicep. His skin burned as from a fever.
The lines disappeared under his shirt. In their wake, his skin swelled and reddened, leaving ash-black ink embedded in his flesh.
Malachi’s chest heaved for a few deep breaths and then fell still. His head fell. The magic seemed to leave him and retreat back into her.
“Malachi?” She squeezed his shoulders and he winced. Ava quickly pulled her hands away, but he did not open his eyes. She had felt him, shoulders rock hard under her hands. But she could also see the lines of red blood seeping through the white cotton of his shirt.
She tried not to panic. “Malachi?”
He opened his eyes, and Ava could see a gold fire ringing his irises. Then he leaned back and tore off his shirt. Fine wells of blood stained his entire left arm, crawling up to his collarbone.
“You,” he panted, “did this.”
“Are you okay?” Ava was trying not to freak out. She’d wanted him to remember, but though he didn’t look angry, there was a violent expression in his eyes.
“Hurts.”
“I’m sorry.” She willed herself not to cry. She’d wanted him to remember, but his skin looked raw and wounded. She’d done this to him. Some of his talesm were back, but it must have been incredibly painful. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he grunted.
“Then what can I do to help?”
Chapter Six
“I DON’T TELL YOU often enough,” Ava said, love for him filling her up, balancing the anger. “I love you. You’re strong and protective, smart and kind. You’re just a… a very good man.”
“Thank you.”
“I fell in love with the man I met in Istanbul. The mysterious one who touched me and made me feel like I was magic. And I grieved for the hero who sacrificed himself to protect me. But the man you are now? The man you’re becoming? He’s all those things. And he’s more.”
His eyes had lost all their humor. He reached up to cup her cheek. “Ava.”
“You’re a good man. And maybe I don’t know who I am, but I know I’m grateful that you’re mine. That I can find out who I am with you. And maybe help you find yourself too.”
She stood on her toes and kissed him. Malachi reached down and lifted her up, swinging her around until they sat on the edge of the bed again, lips still locked. She pulled back and peppered his face with kisses until he was smiling. Until his dimple couldn’t be hidden. Until he laughed. And Ava thought she might become addicted to the sound of Malachi’s laughter. If she could find the answers she needed and live a thousand years with this man, she would never grow tired of hearing him laugh.
Then she was the one smiling when he threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her deeply, teasing her tongue with his. He tasted spicy, like the peppers and sumac she had smelled from the kitchen during lunch. His shoulders were firm beneath her hands. His body commanding hers to give more. Deeper. His soul voice rang in her head, tuning her mind and body. She felt her magic rise up and settle against his.
He let out a gasp and pulled back. “Ava, it feels so good.”
“More?”
“More.”
She kissed him again. Heard the words in her mind. Pulled away to whisper in his ear.
“Hanama.” She recited the simple spell, picturing what she wanted in her mind as she spoke. “Da’adanama.”
Take of me, the magic whispered. Give to me.
His magic shot through her, and she could feel her mating marks burn as his arms tightened at the small of her back. Malachi’s own skin was hot beneath her hands. Like a circuit sparked by her passion, their magic joined and fed them both, opening them to each other. No insulation. No barriers.
She could see his talesm glowing on his forearms. Could feel the ghost of them under her palms. Once, they’d covered his body, marking the territory of him like a map. She’d told him once that the lack of them didn’t matter to her, but it did. Because they were part of him. Each spell carefully chosen and written. Not simply words a scribe had written to protect himself, but a guide to the man he’d chosen to become.
She wanted them back.
Cautiously, she bent to his ear again.
“Ya davarda,” she whispered, the spell slipping from her lips. It should have been easy after all the times she’d recited it in her mind, but she was so afraid.
Remember.
It was a command she imbued with the deepest longing of her heart. For Malachi to remember who he was. And who he’d made himself to be.
“Ya davarda, reshon,” she said it again, a little louder.
She felt the energy leave her fingertips and enter him. A slip of silk brushing against her skin. There for a heartbeat, then gone. Away from her. Into him.
“Ava!”
Malachi pulled back, his hands clenched on her hips so hard Ava knew they would bruise. His eyes were closed. The marks on his forearms glowed like fire fed from a sudden gust of wind.
She kept her hands on his shoulders, pressing down as if to keep them both from flying away. His face was clenched, but it was not in pain. His eyes darted back and forth beneath his lids. She felt a burning beneath her right palm and looked down.
Like living vines, his talesm crawled up his left forearm, joining and sometimes overwriting the spells he’d added after his return. The glowing quicksilver lines moved up his arm as she watched, twisting and turning. Traveling across and around his wrist, his forearm, his elbow, and bicep. His skin burned as from a fever.
The lines disappeared under his shirt. In their wake, his skin swelled and reddened, leaving ash-black ink embedded in his flesh.
Malachi’s chest heaved for a few deep breaths and then fell still. His head fell. The magic seemed to leave him and retreat back into her.
“Malachi?” She squeezed his shoulders and he winced. Ava quickly pulled her hands away, but he did not open his eyes. She had felt him, shoulders rock hard under her hands. But she could also see the lines of red blood seeping through the white cotton of his shirt.
She tried not to panic. “Malachi?”
He opened his eyes, and Ava could see a gold fire ringing his irises. Then he leaned back and tore off his shirt. Fine wells of blood stained his entire left arm, crawling up to his collarbone.
“You,” he panted, “did this.”
“Are you okay?” Ava was trying not to freak out. She’d wanted him to remember, but though he didn’t look angry, there was a violent expression in his eyes.
“Hurts.”
“I’m sorry.” She willed herself not to cry. She’d wanted him to remember, but his skin looked raw and wounded. She’d done this to him. Some of his talesm were back, but it must have been incredibly painful. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” he grunted.
