The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth (библиотека книг бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

She clutched his shirt tighter. “Everywhere,” she choked out. “I hear it everywhere!”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “It can’t be.”

“Every person. All over the world. I hear them, Malachi. In my head. The same language, over and over.” Her tears kept falling, and she wouldn’t let go of his shirt, almost as if she was afraid he would run. “I’m crazy. I know it. I told myself if I could just figure out what they were saying, it would make sense, but—”

“You’re not crazy.” Malachi lifted a tentative hand to her cheek. He had to know. “You’re not crazy, Ava, you’re—”

He broke off when she leaned her face into his hand, resting her cheek against his frozen palm.

Ava whispered, “You make the voices go away.” Then she closed her eyes, let out a soft breath, and Malachi felt her.

The rush of energy filled him, lifted him. His heart raced as the force of it elevated him. Malachi lifted his other hand to her neck, tracing the ancient letters over her skin, watching as the faint golden glow illuminated in the shadow of the pines. A choked laugh bubbled up in his throat and Ava’s eyes flickered open. His hand traced lower, brushing over her bare shoulder, down her arm, and everywhere his hand went, her skin gave off a faint, shimmering gold.

“You’re not crazy.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his fingers touching—actually touching—her. “You’re not crazy, Ava. You’re… a miracle.”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered.

“I don’t know, either.” The contact was intoxicating. Malachi trailed his hand up her arm again, finally cupping her face in both hands.

“Malachi?” The frown was back, but this time, he let his finger smooth away the line between her eyebrows.

“Irina,” he breathed out, then his lips lowered to hers. The first brush of his kiss was soft and testing. Reverent. But Ava didn’t faint. She leaned closer, and Malachi was lost.

His hand slid around to the nape of her neck to hold her as he let himself linger at her mouth. His other hand slid down her arm and around her waist, pressing her closer as he deepened the kiss. Her mouth moved against his, searching. Then he felt her hands.

He pulled away, groaning, “Yes.”

Her hands came around his neck, fingers lacing together as she held him against her. Malachi’s mouth fell to her neck, pressing kisses against the soft skin there as she laid her cheek against his and held him close.

“Closer,” he murmured. “More.”

She left one hand at his neck and brought the other to his cheek, stroking the rough skin there. “Malachi?”

“Touch me, Ava.” He kissed up her neck and over her jaw, searching for her mouth. “Please. It’s been so long.”

His rough hand stroked the small of her back, over her shirt, then he let a finger slide under the edge. She didn’t faint. Didn’t grow weak. Instead, the energy he felt from her seemed to surge wherever their skin touched. He slid his hand under her shirt, pressing it full against the small of her back as Ava let out a breathy moan.

“So good…”

He captured her mouth again, his tongue tracing along her lips until she opened to him. He slid closer. Tongues and lips. Her teeth scraped against his lower lip.

More.

More.

Her mouth was as eager as his when she pressed closer, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck as they knelt under the trees. Her knees buckled and he laid her down on the soft bed of needles, rolling on his side and bringing her with him, never breaking her glorious hold.

“Ava, Ava, Ava,” he whispered against her lips. He let one hand trail down her arm, tracing along her skin, feeling the rush of magic that followed. “You’re a miracle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but don’t stop.”

“I can’t stop. I don’t want to ever stop.”

Her hands were brushing over his cheeks again, her fingernails scraping against the stubble. He’d forgotten to shave that morning. Usually he never thought about it, but he did now. He wanted nothing between her skin and his. He let the hand at the small of her back rise, fingers trailing up her spine as she pulled away and arched her back with a moan. He kissed her neck. Her shoulder. The delicate skin over her collarbone.

“Ava, wait…” He groaned. “We have to stop. I don’t want to, but—”

“No.” She was trembling in his arms. “More.”

“This is—”

Just then, she let out a shudder that racked her whole body. Malachi felt her heave a great sigh, then she stilled, going limp in his arms. He pulled away, panicked for a moment until he saw the deep breaths she was taking. He put his ear to her chest; her heart was strong and steady. There was a peaceful smile on her face. He gently laid her back on the bed of pine needles and pulled off his shirt, tucking it under her head. Then he lay on his side and stared at her.

Malachi brushed tentative fingers over her arm, still disbelieving what he saw with his own eyes. The gold glow was there, if anything, brighter than it had been at first. He scrolled letters over her, brushing spells across her skin to aid in rest and health. To give her peace of mind and sweet dreams. The breeze swept over them both as they rested in the dappled shade that overlooked the sea.

Ava rested, and Malachi watched.

A miracle.

A mystery.

Malachi hadn’t seen one in over two hundred years.

Irina.

Chapter Eight

Ava woke slowly. Her eyes were stiff and heavy with exhaustion like she’d never known before. She stretched her legs, moving languidly in the cool sheets that smelled of lemon and… Malachi?

She forced her eyes open, blinking as she looked around. Early morning sun spilled across the sheets, crisscrossed by shadows from the wooden blinds. She was alone in the room, but it wasn’t hers. A thousand mornings waking in foreign rooms had trained her. Her bag would be in one corner. Her phone by the bed. Shoes set by the door.

This room was not hers.

It was dominated by a wall of bookcases. On the bookcases were volumes of paperbacks, hardcovers, and more. Intricate, leather-bound tomes. Books in boxes. Even a few scrolls. And the walls that didn’t have books had art. It was a small room, narrow and long, but packed with traces of its owner.

It was Malachi’s room. It had his smell. Even more, there was a certain odd balance and masculinity to it that reminded her of him. Simple and bold at the same time. At the foot of the bed, Ava noticed some books had been pulled out. She crawled that direction, unwinding the sheet that covered her.

How had she gotten here?

She searched her memories, but they were fuzzy. Her whole head was fuzzy, an odd feeling for her, though not entirely unpleasant. Usually, Ava woke restless. She rose with the feeling that she was already behind in… something. Some task had escaped her. Some memory forgotten. If she was in a hotel, early morning voices whispered to her, almost always in a hurry.

Rush rush rush.

Mornings for Ava were manic.

But this morning…

She took a deep breath and leaned against the wall where the large bed had been pushed and looked around again. The room almost reminded her of a dorm room. A small desk was in one corner with a computer on top. Packing boxes were stacked in another. She saw a narrow door she suspected was a closet.

Or a bathroom.

She jumped up and ran to it, disappointed when she saw all the clothes. Luckily, another glance to the right revealed a narrow door open to a sliver of a sink. With a sigh of relief, Ava walked in and took care of her most urgent concern, looking around for a moment as she sat.

If this was Malachi’s room—and she was almost certain it was—how did his shoulders fit through that door? Did he walk sideways into his own bathroom? And that shower was ridiculous. Did he crouch in it? His scent was stronger in the bathroom. As she was washing up, she picked up a bar of soap.