The Singer
Page 28

“And children?”
Astrid shrugged. “I’m sure a scribe would be given leave if his mate was pregnant. Children are rare for us, and Irin men seldom leave their women alone when they are pregnant.”
“So how does nobody know where this place is?”
“Orsala.”
“Who’s Orsala?” Ava asked. “And… does she have tentacles and a great singing voice?”
Astrid threw her head back and laughed. “Singing voice? Yes. Tentacles, no. Orsala is Sari’s grandmother. She’s very old. The oldest singer I know. She’s letting herself age now because her mate was killed during the Rending. But she’s still with us. And Orsala is the one who’ll talk to you before you leave. After you talk to Orsala, Volund himself couldn’t make you give up the name of this place.”
She felt a shiver creep up her spine. “Magic?”
“Strong magic.”
Ava fell exhausted into bed that night, hoping to lose herself in dreams. She suspected she was sleeping too much—and had spoken to enough psychologists to recognize the symptoms of depression—but something drew her. Some instinct tugged her to darkness and rest. She huddled under the thick down blankets and closed her eyes.
She wandered through the forest, but she no longer wept. She waited. He’d said he would be there, and she knew he would come.
“Reshon.”
She turned toward his voice, smiling. “You’re here.”
“I told you I would be.” He approached cautiously, one hand lifting as she drew near. “You’re not crying anymore.”
“I don’t need to.” She took his hand and led him toward a low bed that had appeared at the edge of the clearing, butted up against the hedge he’d torn through. The gash had closed, and now the dark leaves were lush, no longer forbidding. The forest surrounding them was a shield and not a barrier. It hummed with life, and the meadow where they rested was lush with grass and dotted with white flowers that glowed under the half moon.
The two lay down on the bed and he wrapped her in his arms. Her body hummed in awareness as he traced over the marks he’d painted on her neck and shoulders, and everywhere he touched, her skin turned gold.
“You’re not as tired as you were before,” he said.
“No. I’m sleeping better now that you found me.”
“I’m glad.” He nestled his face in her neck and took a deep breath. “I miss your scent.”
“And I miss yours.”
“Jasmine and smoke. We met in the market; it smelled like cloves.”
“I think… I remember that.”
She held on to the arm that banded around her waist. He’d rolled her onto her back and kissed softly along her collar and neck, his mouth lingering on her skin. His tongue tasting. Teasing. She closed her eyes and let her senses take her away, losing herself in the feel of his skin against hers, his energy aligning with her own. She felt calm. Content to her bones. But slowly, with every nip of his teeth against her neck, desire rose.
Her grip on his arm tightened. “I need you.”
“As I need you.”
His arm slid around her waist, and suddenly the clothes she’d felt against her skin and his were gone. In their place, a warm breeze wrapped around them as his mouth met hers. Their tongues touched, and he swallowed the low sigh that came from her throat.
“I missed this,” she whispered. “I missed you so much.”
“So did I. I don’t…” He pulled away for a moment, frowning. “I don’t remember what happened.”
“I don’t either.” Her hand went to his cheek, and she rubbed her thumb against the coarse stubble on his jaw. “Kiss me. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”
A slow smile—the one she loved that made his dimple stand out—spread over his face.
“I’m here now,” he whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He murmured it over and over again as he moved over her in the dark. The forest protected them; no danger hovered nearby. Soft night birds called in the trees as they held each other, and that moment was all she knew. They made love under a blanket of stars.
And it was enough.
Chapter Seven
Malachi woke slowly, keeping his eyes closed to hold on to the edges of the dream. He could still taste her skin. Still smell the jasmine in her hair. He rolled over, eyes slowly opening, and the bedclothes were damp, as if they’d been left out in the night air.
“Ava…,” he whispered.
A knock came at the door.
“Wake up.” It was Rhys. “We’ve got work to do in the library. Leo wants to start your talesm tonight.”
He glanced at the clock. It was just after six. Malachi took a deep breath and stretched up from the bed, his body refreshed and relaxed despite the hour. He stretched his neck to the side and reached over his left shoulder to stretch the muscle in his arm. As he did, his fingers brushed against something that made him wince. He frowned and stood, going to the mirror near the closet door.
Curved into the tan skin of his shoulder were three scratch marks.
“More.”
He blinked at the memory of her voice. Was it a dream or a memory?
“It’s been too long. I need you. Harder.”
He could feel the bite of her nails. Hear her breath. There was a low rumble in his throat as he remembered her nails digging in. The tug of her hands in his hair.