The Secret
Page 32
She tousled his hair. “You’re so cute when you’re being a nerd. But you should really listen to me instead of staring at your pretty tattoos.”
“I don’t remember writing them,” he muttered, “but I seem to have been somewhat obsessed in my early years with sexual potency.”
Ava burst into laughter. “Really? So that’s all magically enhanced, huh?”
He closed his eyes and gave into laughter. “Apparently so. I apologize if you thought it was natural. I hate to disappoint you.”
She was still laughing when she shoved him back and straddled his lap.
“Not disappointed, babe. Not even close.”
He lay back and let her lean over him, tracing the line of her shoulder with one finger. She’d been softer in his isolated memories of her before he’d been killed. Her arms hadn’t been lean with muscle. Her legs hadn’t been quite as thick. Part of him missed the soft give of her flesh under his hand, but the other part was satisfied that his mate was more formidable now.
“Talk to me about the mating ritual,” he said. “Are you sure you want it?”
“Why wouldn’t I want it?”
He shrugged.
“A shrug is not an answer.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I worry. It’s a permanent thing. Far more permanent than marriage.”
“But you’ve marked me, right? I’ll wear your mating marks forever.”
“Yes.”
“What did you write? What was your vow?”
He didn’t remember the ritual they had shared, but he had examined her body when the magic held her, had seen the marks he’d written with his power. They glowed gold when they were intimate.
He felt the heat in his face. “There are many passages from Irin poetry we write during the ritual. Just like there will be many passages you will have to memorize to sing to me. You know—”
“But there’s part that’s just yours, right? The part that goes up my back and then over my shoulder to my heart? That’s what Sari said.”
“Yes.” He traced the line of her back, seeing the words in his mind. He’d seen them countless times since. His own vow on her skin. A reminder of who she was and what he needed to be for her.
“What was it?”
“It was simple,” he said, suddenly feeling inadequate. The words he’d written weren’t enough. It wasn’t often that he wished he was less of a warrior and more of a poet. “I must not have had much time. If I’d had more time—”
“What did you write, Malachi?”
“‘I am for Ava,’” he said quietly. “‘For her… my hand and voice. For her, my body and mind. Her strength in weakness. Her sword in battle. Her balm in pain. I am hers. Hers to cherish. Hers to hold. Hers to command.’ That’s what I wrote.”
Malachi tried not to hear disappointment in her silence.
“I know it’s simple—”
“You see that, read that, every time my marks glow?” Her voice was hoarse with emotion.
He traced a finger over her heart, following the words he’d written there. “Yes.”
“So every time we make love, you are reminded of that vow. Every time you touch me”—she swallowed hard—“that promise is on my skin.”
“It is Irin tradition. It’s the way it has always been.”
“And you don’t want the same thing from me?”
Malachi dreamed of wearing her mating mark across his chest. It would be centered over his heart. And while the singer decided what words to include in her vow, it was up to the scribe to embellish those words and make them his own. His father’s mating mark had been an elaborate illumination from his mother’s German heritage. Scrolled flowers and birds marked the edges of her vow. He’d even broken tradition and added color.
And every time Ava faced him, her own promise would be written in his flesh.
“I want to wear your vow more than anything,” he said with a pounding heart. “But I worry. Everything seems so precarious right now.”
She sat up. “So you want me wearing your vow, but I shouldn’t make any promises to you?”
“That’s not… I don’t mean it that way. You don’t need to. I know you’re my mate.”
“Then you can take my mark, Malachi. You deserve my promise too.”
“Don’t you understand?” he asked. “You’ll be surrendering some of your power. To me. But it’s you that Jaron is tracking. It’s you whom Volund has attacked. Ava, I don’t want—”
“We’re in this together.” She spoke softly, but her voice was firm. “You heard what Orsala said. We work in balance or we don’t work at all. We survive together, or we don’t survive.”
“If we’d been mated when I was killed, it could have killed you. It likely would have.”
“You don’t know that. Plus I’m stronger now. And you’re not dying again.”
“Ava—”
“Stop.” She put a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath. “I’m serious. I don’t really know how I brought you back the last time. I think it was beginner’s luck. So don’t even think about trying it again, because you’ll probably just have to stay dead. And that’s not acceptable, not even an option, okay?”
“I don’t remember writing them,” he muttered, “but I seem to have been somewhat obsessed in my early years with sexual potency.”
Ava burst into laughter. “Really? So that’s all magically enhanced, huh?”
He closed his eyes and gave into laughter. “Apparently so. I apologize if you thought it was natural. I hate to disappoint you.”
She was still laughing when she shoved him back and straddled his lap.
“Not disappointed, babe. Not even close.”
He lay back and let her lean over him, tracing the line of her shoulder with one finger. She’d been softer in his isolated memories of her before he’d been killed. Her arms hadn’t been lean with muscle. Her legs hadn’t been quite as thick. Part of him missed the soft give of her flesh under his hand, but the other part was satisfied that his mate was more formidable now.
“Talk to me about the mating ritual,” he said. “Are you sure you want it?”
“Why wouldn’t I want it?”
He shrugged.
“A shrug is not an answer.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I worry. It’s a permanent thing. Far more permanent than marriage.”
“But you’ve marked me, right? I’ll wear your mating marks forever.”
“Yes.”
“What did you write? What was your vow?”
He didn’t remember the ritual they had shared, but he had examined her body when the magic held her, had seen the marks he’d written with his power. They glowed gold when they were intimate.
He felt the heat in his face. “There are many passages from Irin poetry we write during the ritual. Just like there will be many passages you will have to memorize to sing to me. You know—”
“But there’s part that’s just yours, right? The part that goes up my back and then over my shoulder to my heart? That’s what Sari said.”
“Yes.” He traced the line of her back, seeing the words in his mind. He’d seen them countless times since. His own vow on her skin. A reminder of who she was and what he needed to be for her.
“What was it?”
“It was simple,” he said, suddenly feeling inadequate. The words he’d written weren’t enough. It wasn’t often that he wished he was less of a warrior and more of a poet. “I must not have had much time. If I’d had more time—”
“What did you write, Malachi?”
“‘I am for Ava,’” he said quietly. “‘For her… my hand and voice. For her, my body and mind. Her strength in weakness. Her sword in battle. Her balm in pain. I am hers. Hers to cherish. Hers to hold. Hers to command.’ That’s what I wrote.”
Malachi tried not to hear disappointment in her silence.
“I know it’s simple—”
“You see that, read that, every time my marks glow?” Her voice was hoarse with emotion.
He traced a finger over her heart, following the words he’d written there. “Yes.”
“So every time we make love, you are reminded of that vow. Every time you touch me”—she swallowed hard—“that promise is on my skin.”
“It is Irin tradition. It’s the way it has always been.”
“And you don’t want the same thing from me?”
Malachi dreamed of wearing her mating mark across his chest. It would be centered over his heart. And while the singer decided what words to include in her vow, it was up to the scribe to embellish those words and make them his own. His father’s mating mark had been an elaborate illumination from his mother’s German heritage. Scrolled flowers and birds marked the edges of her vow. He’d even broken tradition and added color.
And every time Ava faced him, her own promise would be written in his flesh.
“I want to wear your vow more than anything,” he said with a pounding heart. “But I worry. Everything seems so precarious right now.”
She sat up. “So you want me wearing your vow, but I shouldn’t make any promises to you?”
“That’s not… I don’t mean it that way. You don’t need to. I know you’re my mate.”
“Then you can take my mark, Malachi. You deserve my promise too.”
“Don’t you understand?” he asked. “You’ll be surrendering some of your power. To me. But it’s you that Jaron is tracking. It’s you whom Volund has attacked. Ava, I don’t want—”
“We’re in this together.” She spoke softly, but her voice was firm. “You heard what Orsala said. We work in balance or we don’t work at all. We survive together, or we don’t survive.”
“If we’d been mated when I was killed, it could have killed you. It likely would have.”
“You don’t know that. Plus I’m stronger now. And you’re not dying again.”
“Ava—”
“Stop.” She put a hand over his mouth and took a deep breath. “I’m serious. I don’t really know how I brought you back the last time. I think it was beginner’s luck. So don’t even think about trying it again, because you’ll probably just have to stay dead. And that’s not acceptable, not even an option, okay?”
