The Scribe

“Huh.”

“Though… there’s a lot of strange happenings lately,” he muttered, still searching for something online. “Like your Dr. Sadik.”

Ava burned just thinking about him. Bastard. She’d trusted him, and now she had no idea who the doctor was, or even if he was a doctor at all. Rhys was still trying to track him down. They worked in silence for several more minutes, but Ava could feel Rhys’s eyes keep coming back to her.

“What?”

“I’m curious about something.” Rhys handed her a book written in what looked like Farsi just as Malachi entered the room. Ava tried to push down her own annoyance at seeing him.

“I can’t read this,” she protested, looking through the book. “I can speak a little Farsi, but—”

“Just look at the pictures,” Rhys said. “See if you recognize anyone.”

Malachi walked toward her, but she shot him a look. She was irritated about the whole “mated-not-married” thing, and she wasn’t going to try to make him feel better. He could have at least warned her. And the fact that everyone around her was so damn happy only irked her more. Would it have killed him to keep her informed?

“If you want to punish him, you’re doing a bang-up job,” Rhys said when Malachi crossed the room to speak to Maxim about something. The two conferred for a moment before heading toward the library door, leaving her and Rhys alone. Ava turned to him.

“I’ll get over it eventually, but right now I’m pissed.”

“He didn’t mean to anger you. I’m sure of it.”

“But he didn’t exactly keep me informed, did he? Did Malachi tell you we were mated?”

Rhys’s mouth did a little gasping-fish thing. “Not in those words… exactly.”

“Really? When?”

He muttered something that sounded like “Captain Donkey.”

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Cappadocia.”

“Oh really?” She glared at the door. “We were there one night after we… you know.”

“I think the whole valley knew. Caves echo.” Rhys kept talking, even though her face reddened. “Honestly, love, the two of you had been dancing around each other for weeks. Stop being such a fussbudget.”

“A…a what?” She tried to hold in the laugh as Rhys blushed.

“Nothing.”

“Did you just call me a…a fussbudget?” The snicker turned into a laugh.

“I… well, you are. Being very fussy about all this. You’re—”

“Showing your age, old man.” Ava couldn’t stop laughing.

“And you’re being annoyed for the sake of being annoyed.” At least Rhys was laughing, too. His eyes were lighter than they had been since the disastrous night she’d kissed him. “So just stop.” The laughter left his voice and Ava wiped the tears from her eyes. “You two have what most of us have only dreamed of for over two hundred years. A mate. A partner. We can all see it, even when you’re annoyed and he’s exasperated.”

She sighed. “I do exasperate him.”

“And he loves it. He loves you. And you’re clearly besotted with him.” Rhys grabbed her hand and squeezed it for a second. “So stop trying to be sensible about it. Grab love when you can. It doesn’t come around for everyone.”

“I’ll try.”

“You’ll try…” He shook his head and turned back to the computer screen. “You know what? Keep fighting the inevitable. It makes for very entertaining—”

“Oh my God,” she breathed out, staring at the face on the page. The vivid green eyes were rendered in black and white, but the shape was exactly as she remembered. The sketch looked old, maybe from the turn of the century or earlier. It was hard to tell. After all, that particular style of glasses was classic. “It’s him.”

Rhys whipped around. “Who?”

“Him.” She pointed to the angular face on the page. “It’s him. Dr. Sadik.”

“You’re positive, Ava?”

“I’m sure! It looks just like him. Exactly.” She looked at the other pictures on the page. Even though she couldn’t read the writing, it was clearly an extensive entry. “You’re saying my therapist is really a Grigori soldier?”

“No, he isn’t.” Rhys reached over and closed the book, swiping a thumb over the title. For a moment, the letters shimmered and shifted, then the characters reshaped into the more recognizable Roman alphabet.

“That spell is incredibly…” Ava blinked when she read the title. “Oh. My—”

“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.”