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

“There could be more Irina,” he said softly.

“It’s possible. We still don’t know why I am the way I am. Where my powers came from. But maybe Jaron knows.”

“But would he tell us?”

“He might not.” Ava shrugged, and a glint of excitement lit her eyes. “But there’s only one way to find out.”

The waiting room looked like any other waiting room of any other office in the city. Bright. Modern. Framed art on the walls and an efficient secretary quietly making calls.

Malachi thought nothing had seemed as menacing. He abhorred masks. And that, no matter what Ava thought, was what this office was. A few minutes later, a cheerful nurse poked her head in.

“Ava?”

“Hello,” she said, rising with Malachi’s hand grasped in her own. “Good to see you again.”

“So happy to see you back. How did you like Cappadocia?”

The two women chatted as they walked down the hall and were ushered into a comfortable office. Malachi’s daggers burned against his skin. He would be able to reach them in seconds, even though they would do nothing against a fallen angel. His brothers surrounded the office building, watching from all angles while Malachi and Ava were inside.

A few minutes later, a seemingly harmless middle-aged man entered the office. His green eyes flicked to Malachi for a moment before he greeted Ava.

“My dear,” he said warmly. “So good to see you back. And this is your friend you were telling me about?”

“Yes, my… fiance.” Ava glanced at him, but Malachi didn’t take his eyes off the doctor. The disguise was seamless. He could sense no extraordinary power from the creature. No flicker of otherworldly strength. No wonder they’d all been fooled.

The angel, pretending to be harmless, held out a hand. “So good to meet you, Mister…”

“My name is Malachi,” he said, ignoring the offered hand. “And you know what I am.”

A slight waver in the mask. “You’ll have to pardon me, but—”

“We also know who you are,” Ava said quietly. “So no more lies. No more disguises. Let’s speak plainly… Jaron.”

Green eyes widened for a heartbeat before the doctor stepped back. And Malachi watched, never letting Ava’s hand leave his own as Dr. Sadik stood behind his desk with a small smile flickering over his lips.

His eyes darkened to near black, then lightened to a glowing gold color as the mask dissolved. Jaron’s shoulders grew wide and thick. His frame lengthened before them until the being was at least a foot taller than he’d been before, almost seven feet. There was a faint gold shimmer that covered his skin as the mask of the harmless doctor fell away and the heavenly being emerged.

His hair grew longer until thick ebony strands brushed past his shoulders. His human clothes disappeared, and the angel stood before them in nothing but a pair of loose pants. The bronze skin of his torso glowed in the afternoon light and raised talesm rose like shimmering brands on his skin.

He was radiant.

Glorious.

Terrible.

The only other time Malachi had beheld an angel, the creature had been cloaked. Jaron was probably still cloaked, but he was letting Ava see him far closer to his true form, if Malachi had to guess. It was little wonder that early humans had thought the creatures were gods. No classical sculpture could compare with the utter perfection of the angel’s form.

And throughout the transformation, Jaron’s eyes never left Ava’s. He stared at her as if Malachi didn’t exist, his eyes glowing with a gold light as he watched Malachi’s mate. When he glanced over, he could sense Ava’s awe. She stood, her heart racing, clutching his hand, but her eyes never left Jaron’s.

“I am Jaron,” he said. The Fallen’s voice was low and resonant. Malachi could feel it pressing against his mind. It wrapped around his body, and he had to fight the urge to flee. “Now you see my true face. Hear my voice. Ava.”

“I…I didn’t know.” She stammered as tears came to her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“Child, you should not have come back.”

Chapter Eighteen

Ava couldn’t speak. Her eyes locked with Jaron’s as image after image flooded her mind. Bright, glaring, as if seen through eyes that took in every shadow and color in preternatural detail. The pictures flickering like an old film reel, she saw herself as a child, stumbling through her first steps. Splashing in a wading pool in front of a tiny house in Santa Monica. Riding a horse at Carl’s ranch.

Darkness.

Then images from her first days in Istanbul. Wandering through the spice market. Buying chestnuts from a vendor near Galata Bridge. Drinking tea with Malachi. Their kiss on the island.

Malachi.

Utter black. Pain. Despair.

She clutched Malachi’s hand tighter, gasping when the next images flew past.

Two dark-haired children. A girl with a golden gaze, laughing as butterflies swirled around her. A boy, staring back at her with his father’s eyes. An ink-black jaguar curled around the children protectively as a wolf and a tiger paced behind. The tiger bent to the girl, opening his mouth. Ava felt her heart race, but the great beast closed his jaw around the girl’s nape gently as she continued to smile and pet its cheek. The image flickered away as a great circle rose in the sky, like a sun twisted with gold and silver. Higher and higher it rose, until the sun faded away to stars, a million scattered points of light dotting the heavens, dancing in concert to a growing song.

Darkness.

Ava felt Malachi’s arms around her. Heard Jaron’s whisper in her mind. Not in the Old Language, but in her own.

I show you what has been. What will be. And what could be. Do not fear the darkness.

Her eyes came back into focus, staring into Malachi’s as he looked down on her. She must have stumbled, because he was holding her in his lap, sitting in a chair in the doctor’s office.

“Ava?”

She couldn’t speak for a moment, still lost in the eyes of the boy as her mate’s eyes stared back at her. She reached up, brushing away the dark hair that had fallen across his face.

“I will not fear the darkness,” she whispered. Turning her head, she looked at Jaron again, but the radiance had grown dim and the Fallen appeared more human, though no less frightening. “Who are you?”

“You ask the wrong question, child.”

“Who am I, then?” She blinked and sat up, trying to fight the wave of nausea that swept over her. The instinctive fear that hummed in her blood.

“A better question, but one I have already answered.”

“No, you haven’t.” She frowned when she saw the angel’s lip curl slightly at the corner.

“You’re right. It’s better to say that I’ve answered it as much as I want to right now.”

“I don’t understand any of this.”

“You will.” He shrugged. “Or you won’t. Try to understand, as more fates than yours rest in your song.”

Ava stood, vibrating with anger. “Why don’t you tell me more, then? What am I?”

She felt Malachi rise behind her, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. “Ava—”

“I’m not scared of you, Dr. Sadik. Or Jaron. Or whatever your name is.”

The angel looked amused. “You should be scared. Wiser ones usually are.”

Malachi growled behind her, trying to push forward to stand between Ava and Jaron. Ava wouldn’t let him; she pushed forward.

“Ava, stop—”

“If I’d wanted her dead, Scribe, she would be,” Jaron said, his voice growing more resonant and his face starting to glow again. “If I’d wanted to harm her, she would be gone. Wiped from the Earth and your memory as if she had never existed.”

“Impossible,” her mate murmured, drawing Ava back to the safety of his arms.

“Very possible,” Jaron whispered. “Never underestimate my kind, Scribe. She has chosen you, yes. But I am not convinced you are equal to the task. What darkness have you truly battled?”