The Singer
Page 90

“Come up here,” she whispered. “Kiss me.”
He kneeled on the bed, bracing himself over her, feeling the heat from her body. Their breaths mingled together when their lips met, and he pulled her leg up as he slid inside, seating himself to the hilt. He thrust his hips when he felt her clench around him.
Real.
Now he understood why she said it, over and over again. Everything paused in that moment, as he looked in her eyes.
Real.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Ava smiled, and there were tears in her eyes. “I believe you.”
“I love you, reshon.”
“I love you, too.” She held on to him as he began to move. “So much it hurts.”
“Don’t hurt. Please, Ava. Not anymore.”
She was always the one who wanted faster, but this time, she didn’t have to beg.
“Too long.” He was going to come apart in her arms. Fly to pieces when her legs wrapped around him and her heels dug into the back of his thighs. “Ava!”
“Yes,” she breathed. “There you are.”
“I’m here.” He was very, very there.
“Not a dream.”
He reached down, changed the angle of his thrusts until she let out a hitched breath that told him—how did he know?—she was close.
“Yes,” she chanted again. “Yes yes yes…”
He felt her go over the edge and he followed, moving through the rush of her climax and closing his eyes as the lights flashed in his mind. He saw them before, making love in a cave, thousands of miles away, her mouth falling open in pleasure and her head thrown back. The images overlapped in his mind, and he saw them.
The first time.
Again.
Always.
His body met his soul, and Malachi lived.
Chapter Twenty-two
The forest was warmer, but darkness still hovered around the edges. The hedge was wide and high, and though she could hear him on the other side, she did not try to find her way to him. She sat in the center of the dark meadow, knees drawn up to her chest, listening as he paced.
“Why do you keep him away when you brought him back?”
She turned her head and the radiant creature was with her again. “Did I?”
He sat down on the grass next to her and stretched his legs out. “Bring him back? Yes. It was unexpected.”
“How?”
The Fallen glanced up. “I am no longer privy to the whims of heaven. Nor do I fully understand your power.”
“I’m not really sure I have that much power to begin with.”
“If I did not feel your uncertainty, I would think you were jesting.” He grimaced. “Your soul rears in rebellion, even in this place.”
“Rebellion against what?”
He ignored her and turned his face back to the sound of pacing outside the hedge. “Tell me. Why do you keep him away?”
Her heart stuttered. “I… don’t know him.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I could hurt him.”
“Yes, you could.”
She could feel the frown creasing her forehead. “I don’t understand this place. Is it a dream? I thought it was a dream. It didn’t seem real, but now I think it was. It is.”
The Fallen sneered. “Foolish child. Dreams are more real than you know. It has always been so. What is the world around us but a dream?”
“What do you mean?”
He shifted quickly, and she saw before her a nondescript human in glasses, then a giant black cat, then a pure gleam of light. Or had she? Before she could blink, the shining creature was sitting next to her again.
“What do you think I mean?”
“Are you real?”
“Very real.”
Their eyes met, and she felt a thread of connection that surprised her. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am. You will wake this time and remember it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Unless your human mind rebels against that, too.”
“Rebellion,” she murmured, remembering what he had said before. “What am I rebelling against?”
“Who you are. Who he is.” He nodded toward the sound of the pacing man beyond the dark hedge, then the creature leaned forward and dropped his head to hers. “You will always rebel,” he whispered in her ear. “Against power. Against control. Against the will of others. It is in your very blood, Ava. I may have fallen, but you ripped the threads of heaven itself to get what you wanted.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“It doesn’t matter.” His voice vibrated with a peculiar resonance. It was excitement and dread. Curiosity and pride, all at once. “Or maybe that is all that matters.”
Her heart began to race. The angel pulled back and narrowed his eyes at the sound of the pacing man beyond the hedge.
“He does not understand yet,” the creature murmured. “Not yet. But soon.”
“Was it bad? To call him back?” Panic was a fist around her heart.
“You don’t ask the right questions, child.”
“What do you—”
“What is bad, what is good? These things are unimportant. You must only ask, is it necessary?”
He was necessary. Not the angel. The man beyond the dark hedge was necessary. She could feel it in her bones, though her head ached with confusion as she listened to him pace.
She wanted him, but he frightened her.
“Are you frightened of him or for him?” her companion wondered. “I don’t know. I know so many things about you. Where you sleep. When you dream. But I cannot interpret the emotions I feel.”