The Scribe
Page 23
“Yes. Touch me. Please… kiss me again.”
Unwilling to wait another moment, Malachi sprang from behind the building, his dagger ready. He rushed into the alley and grabbed the man’s shoulder. Spun him around, only to be met with a silver dagger gleaming in the grey light.
With a grunt, the scribe fell back.
It was a trap.
“You must be the one they call Malachi,” the Grigori said with a leer. “We haven’t met.”
“No need to introduce yourself,” Malachi said softly as the two men began to circle each other. “I’ll be killing you soon.” If the Grigori had been carrying an ordinary weapon, Malachi wouldn’t have hesitated. His talesm were a living, pulsing armor around his body. But something told him that the Grigori’s blade wasn’t an average dagger. It shone with a dark metallic gleam.
“I’m sure that would usually be true,” the other man said. “I could barely sense you. Your concealment charms must be older than me.”
The Grigori was old. Malachi hadn’t examined the man when he’d been walking down the street, but on closer inspection, Malachi sensed his opponent’s age. His scent was deep, not like the lighter scent of a young soldier. His green eyes were calculating. And now that he had drawn Malachi in, he had no interest in the woman, even kicking her away when she tried to cling to the man’s legs, desperate for his touch.
“Please,” she begged. “I beg—” She cried out when the Grigori flung her into the wall.
He was stronger than the young ones. If Malachi had to guess, he’d say the Grigori was almost as old as Rhys.
Which meant he had taken part in the Rending.
Malachi snarled, curling his lip as the realization struck. As if reading his mind, the other man grinned, watching Malachi with taunting eyes.
“I have killed your kind, Scribe. But please feel free to underestimate me for a while longer. That will suit my plans perfectly.”
He was speaking in puzzles. Malachi lunged to the right, taking the man off-balance as he tossed the dagger to his left hand and reached around, trying to pierce the base of the Grigori’s skull.
His opponent ducked and countered. The blade slashed along Malachi’s stomach, sizzling as it hit the protective spells. Malachi’s skin held… then split open with a hiss.
It was no ordinary blade. The Grigori carried an angelic weapon.
His mocking laugh echoed off the walls. “I do love that look of surprise! When was the last time you saw one of these out of Irin hands?”
Malachi grunted as he sucked in the pain, weaving it into the fabric of his armor as he shifted and hooked his ankle around the other man’s knee, sweeping his foot out from under him and causing the man to stumble back. The blade clattered away.
The smirk fell from the Grigori’s face. He dropped into the fall, rolling over and away from Malachi, reaching for the dagger where it had fallen. Malachi saw his eyes dart into the night sky a second before the footsteps landed behind him. Three Grigori soldiers had joined their friend.
The Grigori with the angelic blade muttered, “Too soon.”
Malachi grinned as he spun around. Taking stock of his new opponents, he realized that all of them had human weapons. He kicked out, catching one in the solar plexus as his right arm extended toward the other. In one smooth movement, he had twisted the Grigori’s head around and plunged the knife deep into the base of his skull.
The human woman screamed, then passed out as the body Malachi held began to disintegrate. Within seconds, there was only a fine gold dust, drifting up in a column, reaching toward the heavens.
He looked over his shoulder, but the blond Grigori had fled, leaving him with the other two. One was just getting to his feet, and the other one looked like he wanted to run after his friend but was too frightened.
Malachi strode to the Grigori he’d kicked, curious whether the other would take the opportunity to run.
He didn’t.
Malachi ignored the glancing blow the gasping man swung toward his shoulder. The dagger hit the scribe’s talesm and bounced off, no more dangerous than a child’s toy. Malachi twisted the man’s neck around and ended him, too. Then he waved the second cloud of dust away and frowned at the last Grigori.
The young man was ethereally beautiful, like all his kind. He had curling dark hair and porcelain skin. His eyes were a light hazel green; his scent was designed to entice his prey.
And he was scared to death.
“Why didn’t you run?” Malachi asked, stalking toward him. “I’m going to kill you now.”
The Grigori couldn’t have been very old. His scent was bright and panicked. “I… I know. But I have to stay here. With you.”
Malachi halted.
“…please feel free to underestimate me for a while longer. That will suit my plans perfectly.”
The second trap snapped shut.
“What does he want?” He lunged at the man, lifting him in a chokehold and pushing him against the wall. “Why are you still here?”
Malachi knew the answer before the man’s lips moved.
“The woman,” the young soldier gasped. “He’s… after the human woman. Had to… keep you distracted. All of you.”
“All of us…?”
They had plans for Leo, too.
Malachi twisted the man’s neck around, striking quickly, and then he began to run. Behind him, a faint cloud of dust rose to the stars.
Chapter Six
Unwilling to wait another moment, Malachi sprang from behind the building, his dagger ready. He rushed into the alley and grabbed the man’s shoulder. Spun him around, only to be met with a silver dagger gleaming in the grey light.
With a grunt, the scribe fell back.
It was a trap.
“You must be the one they call Malachi,” the Grigori said with a leer. “We haven’t met.”
“No need to introduce yourself,” Malachi said softly as the two men began to circle each other. “I’ll be killing you soon.” If the Grigori had been carrying an ordinary weapon, Malachi wouldn’t have hesitated. His talesm were a living, pulsing armor around his body. But something told him that the Grigori’s blade wasn’t an average dagger. It shone with a dark metallic gleam.
“I’m sure that would usually be true,” the other man said. “I could barely sense you. Your concealment charms must be older than me.”
The Grigori was old. Malachi hadn’t examined the man when he’d been walking down the street, but on closer inspection, Malachi sensed his opponent’s age. His scent was deep, not like the lighter scent of a young soldier. His green eyes were calculating. And now that he had drawn Malachi in, he had no interest in the woman, even kicking her away when she tried to cling to the man’s legs, desperate for his touch.
“Please,” she begged. “I beg—” She cried out when the Grigori flung her into the wall.
He was stronger than the young ones. If Malachi had to guess, he’d say the Grigori was almost as old as Rhys.
Which meant he had taken part in the Rending.
Malachi snarled, curling his lip as the realization struck. As if reading his mind, the other man grinned, watching Malachi with taunting eyes.
“I have killed your kind, Scribe. But please feel free to underestimate me for a while longer. That will suit my plans perfectly.”
He was speaking in puzzles. Malachi lunged to the right, taking the man off-balance as he tossed the dagger to his left hand and reached around, trying to pierce the base of the Grigori’s skull.
His opponent ducked and countered. The blade slashed along Malachi’s stomach, sizzling as it hit the protective spells. Malachi’s skin held… then split open with a hiss.
It was no ordinary blade. The Grigori carried an angelic weapon.
His mocking laugh echoed off the walls. “I do love that look of surprise! When was the last time you saw one of these out of Irin hands?”
Malachi grunted as he sucked in the pain, weaving it into the fabric of his armor as he shifted and hooked his ankle around the other man’s knee, sweeping his foot out from under him and causing the man to stumble back. The blade clattered away.
The smirk fell from the Grigori’s face. He dropped into the fall, rolling over and away from Malachi, reaching for the dagger where it had fallen. Malachi saw his eyes dart into the night sky a second before the footsteps landed behind him. Three Grigori soldiers had joined their friend.
The Grigori with the angelic blade muttered, “Too soon.”
Malachi grinned as he spun around. Taking stock of his new opponents, he realized that all of them had human weapons. He kicked out, catching one in the solar plexus as his right arm extended toward the other. In one smooth movement, he had twisted the Grigori’s head around and plunged the knife deep into the base of his skull.
The human woman screamed, then passed out as the body Malachi held began to disintegrate. Within seconds, there was only a fine gold dust, drifting up in a column, reaching toward the heavens.
He looked over his shoulder, but the blond Grigori had fled, leaving him with the other two. One was just getting to his feet, and the other one looked like he wanted to run after his friend but was too frightened.
Malachi strode to the Grigori he’d kicked, curious whether the other would take the opportunity to run.
He didn’t.
Malachi ignored the glancing blow the gasping man swung toward his shoulder. The dagger hit the scribe’s talesm and bounced off, no more dangerous than a child’s toy. Malachi twisted the man’s neck around and ended him, too. Then he waved the second cloud of dust away and frowned at the last Grigori.
The young man was ethereally beautiful, like all his kind. He had curling dark hair and porcelain skin. His eyes were a light hazel green; his scent was designed to entice his prey.
And he was scared to death.
“Why didn’t you run?” Malachi asked, stalking toward him. “I’m going to kill you now.”
The Grigori couldn’t have been very old. His scent was bright and panicked. “I… I know. But I have to stay here. With you.”
Malachi halted.
“…please feel free to underestimate me for a while longer. That will suit my plans perfectly.”
The second trap snapped shut.
“What does he want?” He lunged at the man, lifting him in a chokehold and pushing him against the wall. “Why are you still here?”
Malachi knew the answer before the man’s lips moved.
“The woman,” the young soldier gasped. “He’s… after the human woman. Had to… keep you distracted. All of you.”
“All of us…?”
They had plans for Leo, too.
Malachi twisted the man’s neck around, striking quickly, and then he began to run. Behind him, a faint cloud of dust rose to the stars.
Chapter Six
