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

“Your therapist isn’t a Grigori,” Rhys said, pulling away the book. For a moment the letters held, then the title shifted back to the original Farsi. But the name was branded onto her mind.

JARON.

“Your Dr. Sadik is a fallen angel.”

Chapter Seventeen

Malachi shivered just thinking about it. She had been alone with him for weeks. The monster had touched her. Touched his mate. The fact that she was still so silent probably meant she was in shock.

“Absolutely not,” Malachi said, pulling Ava closer as they sat on the couch in the library.

Maxim said, “But surely you can see the value of—”

“You will not put her at risk,” he barked, unable to comprehend why they were even considering his brother’s suggestion.

Ava’s doctor was Jaron. Jaron was Sadik. The fact that his mate was still in the city drove him to distraction. He wanted to board a plane. No, not a plane, the bastard could fly. A boat? Water was safer. A car would do. Anything to get Ava away. Get her as far away from the monster as he could. For the first time, he completely understood why the Irina had fled.

“Malachi, calm yourself,” Damien said, standing in the doorway.

“I want to know more.” Ava spoke for the first time since the brothers had gathered.

Rhys sat near the computer. Leo sat next to him, looking through more books, everything they had on record about the fallen angel known as Jaron. Maxim was sitting across from Malachi and Ava, and Damien was waiting for a callback from Vienna.

“I want to know more about the Fallen,” Ava said again. “This makes no sense. How did Jaron know about me? Why was he even interested? Malachi acts like the Fallen are more powerful than you guys—”

“They are,” Maxim said.

“So, what did he want with me? And why didn’t he hurt me when he could have?”

The set of her jaw told Malachi he’d be answering questions whether he liked it or not. When his mate set her mind on something, she was impossible to budge. Part of him loved it. The other part wanted to tear his hair out.

But then, there was no such thing as a biddable Irina.

Maxim crossed his arms and leaned toward them. “Ava, the first thing you must understand about the Fallen is this: They are not human.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” Malachi ignored the clipped manner his brother took with Ava. For such a young scribe, Maxim had more knowledge of Fallen and Grigori society than he did. Malachi had a tendency to stab first and question later.

“You don’t truly understand what they are,” Maxim continued. “It’s impossible. The Fallen are angels; beings with no place in this world. Completely and entirely foreign. Irin are at least partly human.”

“The Fallen are bad; I know that.”

“Don’t make the mistake of assigning moral judgment to them,” Maxim said. “Good. Bad. These have no meaning to them. They do not live by human mores. They were never intended to.”

“But…” He saw her frown. “I thought angels were meant to be good.”

“No, they were meant to serve. That is their sole purpose. Servants of the Creator.”

Ava leaned forward, away from Malachi’s arm. “But the Forgiven…”

“The angels fell from the heavens, tempted by the beauty of human women, curious about the interest their Master had in this new race. Remember that: They all fell.”

“Because they fell in love?”

Maxim shrugged. “Don’t assume so. Don’t assume any human emotion when it comes to angels. They wanted and they took. They’re curious creatures. Human women would have been stunned by their appearance. They probably thought they gave themselves to gods. Their children were powerful and magical. Heroes and seers. The first offspring were imbued with the powers of their fathers, but they were uncontrolled. Unpredictable.”

“So what happened? Where did the Irin come from?”

“We are the children of the Forgiven. Fallen angels who returned to heaven.”

“Why? Why did they leave?”

“The Creator offered forgiveness. They took it. We don’t know why or how.”

“But they left,” Ava said. “They left their wives. Their children. How could they?”

Malachi said, “Angels were never meant to live here. The Fallen were heavenly creatures who turned their back on their purpose. And as Max said, their offspring were frightening. Some were thought to be gods. Others became so powerful their own fathers were forced to destroy them. The Irin believe the Forgiven returned to heaven because—though they realized they could rule over the Earth—that power was contrary to everything they had been created for. So they left us and returned. They sacrificed their own power for the good of humanity and were redeemed.”

“And their children?” Ava’s voice wavered, and Malachi took her hand when her eyes filled with tears. “You said some were destroyed, but the Irin are still here. Even with the Irina mostly gone—”

Damien broke in. “The Creator took mercy on the mates of the Forgiven and on their children. He protected the offspring who were not destructive. Allowed them the strength and knowledge of their fathers, but on the condition they would watch over this new race of humans. That is where we came from, Ava. We are of the race of angels. Neither wholly human, nor wholly heavenly. The Irin were meant to guide humanity and guard it. Servants on Earth as our fathers were servants in the heavens. That became our purpose.”

“And the Fallen?”

“The Fallen are an abomination in every sense,” Damien said. “Beings meant to serve who repudiated their Creator and desired to rule. They didn’t leave, because they sought to conquer. They saw humanity as sheep. Lesser beings. They break every law of the universe, simply by their rebellion. The Fallen cannot be trusted. Their very presence on Earth is evidence of their dishonor. That is why their children are cursed.”

“The Grigori,” she said.

“Yes,” Malachi drew her closer. “They became predators like their fathers, the Fallen. They prey on the humans we seek to protect. It has always been so.”

Ava asked, “How many fallen angels are there?”

“We don’t know,” Rhys said from the desk. “There are nine prominent ones, scattered across the globe. Each rules over an area, but there are minor Fallen as well. They kill each other off occasionally. Fight their own wars, which we only pay attention to when it affects us or the humans.”

Leo muttered, “It’s not as black and white as you all believe. There are variations. Subtle shifts in power that—”

“We all know your fascination with them,” Rhys said. “Trying to understand the Fallen doesn’t make them any less evil.”

Leo and Maxim simultaneously bared their teeth, and Malachi was reminded, again, how young the two cousins were. Only around two hundred, they were babes when the Rending happened, hidden by their mothers somewhere in the cold North. No one knew how, exactly, the boys had survived. They had been delivered to a scribe house in rural Finland weeks after their families had been destroyed.

“Fallen society is, in its own way, as complicated as ours,” Maxim growled. “I’ve studied it. Jaron is—”

Malachi finally broke in, exasperated by the bickering. “Can we please stop the history lesson and return to how we’re going to protect Ava?”

Maxim said, “I’m just saying that Jaron is not easy to classify. The fact is he had access to your mate for weeks when no one suspected him. He could have harmed Ava at any time, but he didn’t. Clearly, he has some interest in her that is not wholly understood. It may be beneficial for her to meet with him and try to get more information.”

“It’s not safe,” Rhys said. “He may have not moved then, but how do you explain the clear aggression in Kusadas?? They were trying to hurt her. Or capture her at the very least.”

“Malachi,” Maxim asked. “You said the Grigori in Kusadas? looked like Brage?”