The Scribe (17 page)

“And by attack, you mean…”

“Not rape the way you’re thinking,” Rhys said. “They don’t have to be violent. Leo said you saw them in the bar. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Handsome blokes, aren’t they? Charming bastards, every one of them.”

“They seemed a little full of themselves, if you ask me.”

Rhys burst into laughter. “That’s because you’re not human. Grigori seduce. They don’t have to attack humans. Women find them naturally appealing—well,
unnaturally
appealing, really. They go with them by choice. When a Grigori sets his sights on a human woman, she will go willingly.”

“So…” Ava frowned. “I’m confused. I thought you said they attacked women. I mean, they sound like jerks, but that’s not really an assault.”

“It is when the women don’t have a choice,” Malachi said. “Human nature draws them to the Grigori, and the monsters take advantage. Is that any worse than drugging someone? To take away their free will? Take advantage of them?” He broke off when he caught Ava and Rhys’s shocked stares. “It’s wrong. That’s all. The Grigori use women and leave them for dead most times. Most don’t survive, and if they do, they become infatuated with the very thing that seduced and almost killed them.”

“That’s horrible!”

“Most humans legends of succubi are based on the Grigori,” Rhys said with academic detachment. “If a human woman does bear a Grigori child—it happens occasionally—they’re usually quite extraordinary. You can’t discount angelic blood, after all.”

“And are they… normal? The kids?”

“For the most part, yes. Usually very gifted in some way. Mathematics. Music. Art. Many of the world’s geniuses have Grigori blood.”

“So I could have met a part-Grigori kid and not even known it?”

“Possibly,” Malachi said. “The strongest magic is gone, but most would still have that inexplicable something that makes them stand out in human society. And the majority show no more evil tendencies than the average human.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Thanks so much.”

Rhys said, “Hundreds, thousands of years they’ve been hunting in the world. Grigori blood is laced through human biology like a dark thread by now.”

“I feel like I’m taking crazy pills,” Ava muttered, and Malachi tried not to smile.

“You’re processing all of this very well,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.”

Malachi saw her reach for his hand, then pull back. And he wanted—he
wanted
to grasp it. Wrap it in his own. He felt like a man starved, then given a single bite of bread. She was there. She needed his touch. If he could only—

“So if Grigori and Irin are basically the same with the bloodlines and stuff, why aren’t the Irin men predators, too?”

Rhys curled his lip. “We have purpose, conscience, and discipline.”

“Don’t forget, Rhys.” Malachi watched her. “We also have the Irina.”

“The Irina,” Ava said. “What you think I am?”

“Yes,” Malachi said. “The Irina are our other halves. And they are stronger than human women.”

Ava shrank back in her seat. “I don’t have any super-strength, Mal. I think you guys are mixed up about what I am.”

Rhys laughed. “Not like what you’re thinking. And, for the record, the more time I spend with you, the more I agree with Malachi. You give off energy like a reactor.”

“What do you mean?”

“Irina channel human energy; it’s part of their own magic. And if you think about it, you’ve probably always had an excess. Humans would have called you nervous. Anxious. A bit jumpy and irritable.”

“Maybe…”

Malachi knew from the tone of her voice that his brother had touched a nerve.

Rhys continued, “But what
humans
think is nerves or anxiety is normal for an Irina.”

“You hear the souls of the world, Ava.” Malachi tore his eyes from hers when she looked at him. “You absorb some of their energy. That’s why crowds can be so overwhelming for you. It’s inevitable.”

“But
we
love it!” Rhys said. “We need it, really. Irin are only truly powerful when we’re mated. Keeps us balanced. Healthy. Irin and Irina were created to work together.”

They stopped at a small crossing to let a herd of sheep pass over the road. Rhys waved his hand out of the car window at the shepherd and continued driving. The terrain was slowly becoming hillier. They’d left the greener landscape near the coast and were heading inland, up the ancient Anatolian plain, not far from his own birthplace near the Sakarya River. The sun was hot, and the temperature was climbing as they drove. Rhys had been driving since they’d left the city, so it would soon be Malachi’s turn. Perhaps then he could think about something other than the tempting woman next to him.

Almost as if he’d heard Malachi’s
thoughts, Rhys said, “I’m going to pull over and fill up. Take a turn driving?”

“Of course.”

They stopped at a small petrol station outside Ankara, and Ava went in to use the restroom as Malachi filled up the car. Rhys came back from paying the shopkeeper, giving Ava an appreciative glance on the way back to the car. Malachi gritted his teeth as his friend approached.

“So, what’s got you all broody, Mal?”

“Don’t call me Mal.”

“Only the pretty girl gets to call you that, eh?”

“Be quiet.”

“I like it.” Rhys snickered. “She’s got your number, as the Americans say. Is that why you’re in such a foul mood?”

“No.”

He narrowed his perceptive green eyes. “I thought you liked this woman. She’s intelligent. Funny. Obviously very attractive. What’s your problem?”

“She’s Irina.”

“Yes.” His friend nodded. “Hard to explain how, but she certainly bears the most common markers. That’s a good thing for you, remember?”

“But she was raised human, Rhys.”

“And?”

He lowered his voice. “She was around humans all her life. She’s never… She doesn’t know about Irin relationships.”

“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“I touch her, and…” He frowned. “For the first time, she feels one of her own kind. She says I help take the voices away. I can relax her. And
I
feel… well, you can imagine how I feel.”

Rhys spoke as if to a small child. “Again, the problem is…?”

“What if it’s not
me
?”

A look of understanding dawned. “You mean what if she’d react to any Irin male that way?”

“Yes! If she’d been raised like us, her mother and father would have hugged her and held her. She would have had a normal childhood. Not one where she was starved for contact with her own kind for twenty-eight years. It’s not fair for me to take advantage of that, Rhys. How would you react, if it were you?”

A bitter smile touched his lips. “You mean if I’d been denied the comfort and strength of a mate for two hundred years? If I had little to no hope of ever achieving the kind of connection with another Irin that my parents had? I just can’t imagine, Malachi. Who would be able to imagine that, except… oh, ninety-five percent of us?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“And you’re being ridiculous. You had feelings for this woman when you thought she was still human, you idiot. This sounds like some nonsense Damien told you.” Rhys only sneered when Malachi flushed in anger. “That’s right, isn’t it? Damien warned you off her. Filled your head with this rubbish.”

“You think he’s wrong?”

“I think he
has
a mate,” Rhys hissed. “Even though they rarely see each other outside their dream walks. And I think he distrusts anything and everything he doesn’t understand. I also think Ava has feelings for you, and you’re being a right ass toward her.”

Malachi stepped back and finished with the gas pump. Ava was still in the building. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“You think the right thing is leaving her without a friend in this crazy new reality?”

“I think she deserves to find out what all this means for herself without being influenced by what I want!”

“Truly? Well, then…” Rhys smiled. “
Excellent
.”

Malachi’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means the first new Irina seen in two hundred years is riding in the back seat with me all the way to Göreme, and I’m suddenly feeling much happier about the journey. Thank you.”

Malachi’s face fell. “You wouldn’t.”

“You seem to think that she might be drawn to anyone, so I might as well give her the option, my friend.”

A red haze fell over his vision, but just then, Ava stepped out of the shop, carrying three bottles of water and a bag of oranges. Rhys walked over with a smile, holding out his hands for the bag.

“Here, let me hold that. That was extraordinarily thoughtful, Ava. These look delicious.”

She smiled up at Rhys. “Well, I wasn’t sure what you guys like to eat, but I’m assuming it’s more than milk and honey. Or whatever the myths say.”

“Clever girl.” He slid an arm around Ava’s shoulders, guiding her back to the car. “I assure you our appetites are very similar.” He opened the car door and helped her inside. “And we always appreciate sweet things.”

He was going to kill Rhys. Slowly. In seventeen different ways so far, and they were only two hours past Ankara. The man talked and flirted, drawing Ava out in ways that had her confessing childhood mischief and university adventures. He asked about her travels and told her about his, making himself the hero of every confrontation, the key to every success.

Malachi was going to kill him.

He touched her casually, a brush on the arm, a bump of the knee. Ways that Malachi knew must be killing him. Like most of the Irin, Rhys hadn’t had regular contact with any woman since the Rending. He must have been as ravenous for Ava’s touch as Malachi had been on that hill by the monastery, but unlike Malachi, he had his control clamped down.

Malachi had been overwhelmed. Even the memory of her lips left him in a painful state of arousal, which was rather inconvenient, considering he had four more hours of driving.

He saw Rhys brush his elbow against Ava’s knee as he bent down to get something from his backpack. Malachi slammed on the brakes, sending Rhys’s head crashing into the front seat.

“Sorry.”

Rhys straightened, rubbing his forehead, murder in his eyes and a book in hand for Ava.

“No problem. Accidents happen.”

“I thought I saw a dog run across the road. False alarm.”

Ava said, “Rhys, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Ava. I’m used to Malachi’s driving. It’s always been quite bad.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

Then she put a hand on his jaw and pulled Rhys’s face down toward her neck so she could see the red bump on the man’s hard head. From the corner of his eye, Malachi saw Rhys’s eyes close in pleasure as Ava’s small fingers traced over the nonexistent wound.

“Does it hurt?”

“Only a little. Did it break the skin at all?”

“Not that I can see, but let me…” She started to run her fingers through the hair at his temple, examining it for any blood.

Eighteen. There were eighteen ways that Rhys could die.

It was nighttime when they pulled into the old house in Göreme. The small Cappadocian town was ancient, dug into the soft volcanic rock of the hills. Once an Irin retreat had thrived only a few miles away, but after the Rending, when most of the Irina and the children were gone, the remaining Irin took shelter in the scribe house. They dug farther into the cliffs, scribing spells into the rock that made the compound one of the most secure places in the world. The libraries were legendary, as were the skills of the scribes who had stayed.

Ava crawled out of the car, sleepy and stumbling on unused legs. They’d driven straight through without stopping after the last break for petrol. Rhys was still snoring in the back seat.

“We’re here?”

“Yes.” He opened the back of the car as she leaned against it.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“It’s fine. I can get most of it, and the others are expecting us.” Malachi could already see the gates that guarded the compound opening. Lights began to switch on all over the side of the hill and scribes climbed down from their solitary rooms to greet the visitors. “Everyone will be out in a minute. I’m sure they’ll have rooms ready for us.”

“This place is amazing.” She looked up at the terraces and caves that had been carved into the hill. The scribe house had been a work in progress for hundreds of years. The oldest parts were near the base where the library had been dug down into the rock, the dry Cappadocian air perfect for the preservation of manuscripts. The rest of the compound stretched up and back into the hill. A series of gardens, terraces, and decorative metalwork gave the compound a stark beauty.

Ava said, “Rhys told me the scribes here are older.”

“Yes.” He set some of his bags in the dust, moving them out of the way to get to hers. She would want her things so she could sleep. “Most of the scribes here came after the Rending. Many of them stopped casting the spells that prolong their life, so they are aging. More slowly than humans, but still aging.”