Page 121 of The Scribe (Irin Chronicles 1)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ava woke in the blackness, in the cave where they’d first made love. She was wrapped in his scent, but not his arms.

Everything was gone.

She lay still, staring at the chisel marks in the ceiling, wishing the mountain would close in and crush her.

“I know you’re awake.”

It was Rhys. She turned her head to the side and he was there, sitting in a corner of the room, staring at her with bloodshot eyes. They filled with tears as he watched her.

“Ava.”

He reached over and caught her when she started to sob. The cries wracked her body, wringing her out as he held her. She shouted into his shoulder, beating at his back, but he only gripped her closer, rocking back and forth.

She cried for hours, and then the blackness enveloped her again.

Damien was therethe next time she woke.

“You need to eat, sister.”

“I don’t want to.”

“He wanted you to live.” Damien continued, even when she curled into herself, trying to shut out the words. “More than anything, he wanted you to live.”

“Go away.”

“Not till you’ve eaten.”

“No.”

“It’s been over a week. You’re dehydrated. Evren is hours away from putting you on an IV if you don’t drink something.”

“I don’t care.”

Damien knelt beside her, holding out a soft roll and a cup of water.

“Do not let his sacrifice be in vain.”

She started to cry again, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, but she sat up. Damien helped her, placing more pillows behind her back after Ava took the roll from his hands. She bit down, and it tasted like dust.

Whisperedthoughts circled her mind as she stared at the mural in the library, the bucolic scene of families in the village. The ancient scribe she remembered sat across from her, staring silently with pale blue eyes.

She was his companion now.

Ava sat in the library for weeks, staring at the painting as the scribes fed her, forced her to drink. Her body grew strong again.

She slept in the bed she and Malachi had shared. The sense of him lingered for a time, and when it started to fade, Rhys showed up at the door with a blanket that held her mate’s scent. Ava silently took it and wrapped it around her before she shut the door.

“You grieve,”the ancient scribe said one afternoon as the sun lit the rich colors on the wall.

“Yes.”

“As do I.”

She glanced over. “How long?”

He shrugged. “Just a little while longer.”

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