The Scribe by Elizabeth Hunter Read Free Book Online

peaceful of their brethren in a rural scribe house like Rhys was always talking of doing. He would cloak his armor and spend his days copying sacred texts and his nights watching the stars, perhaps even some day counter the spells that prolonged his life so he could fade into the heavens as so many Irin had after their mates were torn from them.
    Malachi had no mate. Only a handful of scribes did. And it was because of the cursed Grigori that he and all his kind were fated to spend their long lives alone.
    He was kidding himself. He’d never retire from a warrior’s life. Malachi would fight them as long as he lived.
    “You have a job to do, Malachi.” Damien was still talking. “And that job is not following a human woman who happens to catch your eye.”
    “Yes, Watcher.”
    “Keep me informed of your movements. I want to know where you are.”
    “Have Rhys enable the tracker on my phone. He can do that now, you know. You can watch me move on the map, if you want.”
    Damien paused. “He can do that?”
    Malachi chuckled. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, old friend.”

    The tour boat had reached the end of the Golden Horn and had turned back toward the Galata Bridge when Ava approached him. He’d been playing a game on his phone, some mind-numbing activity Leo was addicted to that involved shooting birds at pigs. It was oddly satisfying; the pigs exploded in a puff not unlike the Grigori when you put a knife in the right place. He glanced up when he saw her move, then watched silently as she approached the bench in the corner where he had positioned himself. Her camera bag bumped against her thigh as she walked, an unwieldy cargo he’d never seen her without.
    She paused in front of him, then sank onto the wooden bench opposite as Malachi hid his phone.
    “I’m incredibly bored.”
    He shrugged. “So why did you take the tour?”
    “You’re supposed to take a tour of Istanbul from the sea. Didn’t you know that?”
    He smiled. “Do you always do what you’re supposed to?”
    “Hardly ever, but this is work.”
    “What do you do?” He already knew. Rhys had given him a full profile on her the day after he’d discovered her name.
    “I take pictures for travel magazines.”
    Ava Matheson was considered one of the top travel photojournalists in her field, distinguishing herself by her willingness to go to the most remote location and capture it for the hungry print and online world. In fact, the more remote the location, the more attractive the job seemed to be for her. She’d climbed mountains in Peru and Nepal, traversed the Gobi Desert, and boated the Orinoco. The burgeoning ecotourism industry loved her. Ava specialized in finding the luxurious in the most remote places in the world. She seemed to avoid cities unless there was a specific assignment calling her to one. Malachi had no idea what she was doing in Istanbul, as Rhys could find no record of a commission from any of her usual clients.
    “Which magazine do you work for?”
    “Lots of them.” Her gaze drifted off for a moment until it snapped back to his face. “I don’t want to talk about work. Isn’t that boring? I bet you hate to talk about bodyguard gigs. You probably have some great stories you can’t tell anyone though, huh?”
    You have no idea. He lifted an eyebrow. “So what do you want to talk about?”
    He hoped she wasn’t thinking about coming on to him. That was destined to end badly, then she’d call her parents—or whoever she thought had hired him—and start asking inconvenient questions.
    “Are you Turkish? You don’t have the same accent as most of the people I’ve met.”
    He could actually be honest about that one. “I am, but I’ve traveled a lot. Lived in a lot of other places. I imagine that’s influenced the accent. You?”
    “All-American girl.”
    “They write songs about your kind, you know.”
    She laughed. “ My kind? That’s a good one. I can pretty much promise they don’t write