“I just…” She cleared her throat. “I need to know what this means.”
He looked at them, then he cocked his head. “Why?”
“I hear it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. She wouldn’t cry. She was out of tears. “This phrase. All the time, I hear it now. I’ve heard it for years. When I pass a funeral. When I hear someone who’s grieving.” She lowered her voice as she nodded toward the old scribe who still sat in front of the mural. “I think it’s the only thing I’ve ever heard from his mind. I just… I need to know what these words mean.”
“Ava, I’m not your teacher.”
“But you are my friend.” She forced out a smile. “Please? Please, just tell me. It’s not that long, right? And it’s driving me crazy.”
Rhys shook his head. “You’re right, of course. There’s no reason you can’t know what it means. It’s not even complicated. It’s just…” He cleared his throat. “
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.” He squeezed her hand and tossed the paper in the wastebasket under the desk. “I guess that makes sense for someone who’s lost someone.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Still leaving tomorrow?”
“Like you said, you’re not my teacher.” She smiled. “But I know I need one.”
Rhys knit their fingers together, palm pressed to palm. “I’ll see you again someday, Ava.”
It wasn’t a question.
Damien and Ava drove to Nevsehir the next day, leaving the last pieces of the familiar back in Goreme with Evren and the remnants of the Istanbul scribes. She stared at the twisting rock formations as they drove, then closed her eyes as the plane took off, trying to imagine Malachi’s arms wrapped around her as she slept.
That night, Ava stared out the window of her hotel room near Ataturk Airport, watching the moon shine over the city. She draped herself in the blanket that barely held his scent and remembered the night they’d watched the moon rise behind the Galata Tower, huddled under the blanket on the roof of the old wooden house.
She wasn’t alone anymore. No matter what. She knew that.
Then the whisper from his mind. From his heart.
Ava buckled over, and sobs wrenched from her gut as the pain hit her again. She was walking through darkness, having lost the one love she’d ever dared to trust. Rage battled with grief as she knelt on the floor of the sterile hotel room, clutching the last piece of him she had.
“I hate you tonight,
Ava beat her fists against the floor, pressing her tears into the rough blanket that had wrapped around them in the garden that night. The scent of her mate filled her nose, but he wasn’t there. No arms held her. No touch soothed her. No familiar voice filled her mind.
“I love you,” she choked. “I hate you. I love you. Come back to me, Malachi. What’s the use of all this if you’re not with me?”
His spells glowed in the darkness, and Ava stared at them, the old words whispering in her heart. Her soul wept, reaching for its other half.
In the darkness, Ava cried out. The words slipped from her lips, reaching up to the heavens.
“
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hundreds of miles away, he woke with a gasp, his lungs filling with the night air as he lay cold and naked on the Phrygian plain. Grey eyes gazed into the heavens, staring at the full moon, and grass pressed to his back on the deserted riverbank. Night cloaked him, bare and unmarked as the first night he’d been born into the world.
He knew nothing and no one.
But a million stars danced over him, and a familiar voice whispered in his mind.
End of Book One.
A first look at THE SINGER: Irin Chronicles Book Two Coming SPRING 2014
Prologue
The Fallen appeared on the summit of Mt. Ararat. Golden eyes reached west, settling on some point unseen by the hawks circling overhead. The wind whipped past him, brushing the black hair that fell to his shoulders. Jaron wore his human form, content to cloak his true nature and enjoy the sharp pleasure of the sun on his skin. Ancient
His brothers appeared beside him, Barak with his wolf-grey hair, gold eyes watching the birds overhead. Vasu, already pacing, his lean human form dark against the snow.
“You gave up your city, brother.” Vasu stared down as he spoke, seemingly mesmerized by the tracks his bare feet made in the frost. The angel chose to reside in warm climates, though none of their kind were truly bothered by either heat or cold. They commanded their senses at will.
“You imply defeat. I simply chose not to fight for it. It no longer interested me.”
Barak murmured, “And the rest of your territories? Are they secure?”
“Volund knows better than to become too brazen. I allowed his child to overrun Istanbul because it served my purpose. No doubt, he was confused to find my people withdrawn.”
“Where are they?” Barak asked. “And do not underestimate Volund. I thought the same about him until he attacked. Now my children think me dead. They hide, afraid of their own shadow.” Barak’s lip curled. “I would cleanse this realm of their presence if doing so wouldn’t give away my continued existence.”
“I am watching,” Jaron said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the city. Something was churning there. The sun fell in the west, slipping below the clouds to shine pink over the plains and mountains of Asia Minor. “I am always watching.”
“But for what?” Vasu asked. “I hope your visions sing true.”
“Have they ever not? I warned you of Galal’s attack, didn’t I?”
Gold eyes flashed from behind Vasu’s curtain of black hair. His
