The Scribe
Page 68
“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.”
“Don’t make the mistake of assigning moral judgment to them,” Maxim said. “Good. Bad. These have no meaning to them. They do not live by human mores. They were never intended to.”
“But…” He saw her frown. “I thought angels were meant to be good.”
“No, they were meant to serve. That is their sole purpose. Servants of the Creator.”
Ava leaned forward, away from Malachi’s arm. “But the Forgiven…”
“The angels fell from the heavens, tempted by the beauty of human women, curious about the interest their Master had in this new race. Remember that: They all fell.”
“Because they fell in love?”
Maxim shrugged. “Don’t assume so. Don’t assume any human emotion when it comes to angels. They wanted and they took. They’re curious creatures. Human women would have been stunned by their appearance. They probably thought they gave themselves to gods. Their children were powerful and magical. Heroes and seers. The first offspring were imbued with the powers of their fathers, but they were uncontrolled. Unpredictable.”
“So what happened? Where did the Irin come from?”
“We are the children of the Forgiven. Fallen angels who returned to heaven.”
“Why? Why did they leave?”
“The Creator offered forgiveness. They took it. We don’t know why or how.”
“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.”
“Don’t make the mistake of assigning moral judgment to them,” Maxim said. “Good. Bad. These have no meaning to them. They do not live by human mores. They were never intended to.”
“But…” He saw her frown. “I thought angels were meant to be good.”
“No, they were meant to serve. That is their sole purpose. Servants of the Creator.”
Ava leaned forward, away from Malachi’s arm. “But the Forgiven…”
“The angels fell from the heavens, tempted by the beauty of human women, curious about the interest their Master had in this new race. Remember that: They all fell.”
“Because they fell in love?”
Maxim shrugged. “Don’t assume so. Don’t assume any human emotion when it comes to angels. They wanted and they took. They’re curious creatures. Human women would have been stunned by their appearance. They probably thought they gave themselves to gods. Their children were powerful and magical. Heroes and seers. The first offspring were imbued with the powers of their fathers, but they were uncontrolled. Unpredictable.”
“So what happened? Where did the Irin come from?”
“We are the children of the Forgiven. Fallen angels who returned to heaven.”
“Why? Why did they leave?”
“The Creator offered forgiveness. They took it. We don’t know why or how.”
