The Scribe - Hunter Elizabeth. Страница 56

Powerless.

She was stronger. Faster. Healed more quickly. But she knew nothing about how to protect herself or make her mate stronger. She gripped the cold, gritty handle of the crowbar and lifted it against the dark, tensing when she heard the first sounds of struggle.

Chapter Twenty-One

Malachi slid through the shadows of the cistern, sneaking behind the first soldier and sliding a hand to cover his mouth as the dagger plunged into the monster’s spine. The Grigori stiffened, arched, then began to dissolve. The dust lifted in the darkness, pulled by an unseen wind. He spun and darted behind the next pillar, waiting for the other Grigori to react.

“I see dust!”

“He’s here.”

“Where?”

“In the cistern.”

“We already knew that, you idiot.”

They were speaking a mix of German, Turkish, and Danish, with muttered curses in at least two other languages. These Grigori were not from Istanbul. Who had sent them? Who was pulling Brage’s strings?

Malachi hid behind another pillar, darting out to grab another. He quickly dispatched him as the others scrambled in the water. Two down, six to go. His legs, long used to the strength of his immortal power, ached in the cold water, but pure adrenaline pushed him. He had to keep them away from his mate.

“Work along the walls,” Brage said. “You idiots! Forget him. We want the woman. Drive her to me.”

Eyes narrowing, Malachi stepped into the light, drawing their attention to him and away from Ava.

“There!”

Two Grigori rushed him, and Malachi was soon lost to the battle. Splashes sounded from overhead as more soldiers fell into the water, heading toward him. Then more shouting as he slashed and stabbed.

Another to dust. Another.

He ducked and twisted, using them against each other in the confusion of the dark water. Many ended up stabbing each other, their blades diverted from his skin by the spells that still protected him. The ones that did land hurt, but not enough to make him pause. It was their numbers that overwhelmed him. As more poured in, Malachi lost count of how many he fought. His only thought was to move toward the exit, drawing them away from Ava.

“One of her. Thousands of you, Scribe.”

Protect Ava.

He ducked under the water, crouching down, only to burst up, blades flying, catching two Grigori under the chin and throwing them back as their blood sprayed the slick pillars of the cistern.

He slashed again and again until the muddy water was black with spilled blood. And still the corner where Ava hid was silent.

She watched, lip clenched between her teeth, biting back the screams as she watched him battle. Four Grigori were on him, one slashing his back, another diving for his neck, only to trip over something in the water and fall down, taking out another who approached him.

He fought like a raging beast, his muscles straining, his talesm glowing in the harsh light and shadows of the underground cavern. Blood poured from a gash at his temple and she cried when a soldier pierced his side.

Still he fought.

But he wasn’t healing.

She’d seen him. Seen the cuts heal in Kusadas?. Seen the unflagging energy. But she knew as he wavered after throwing off an attacker…

He was going to lose.

There were too many. No help came. And a seemingly endless stream of attackers approached. No sooner had he dusted one than another fell on him.

Ava bit back a sob. He was going to lose. He wasn’t strong enough.

Because of her.

Furious music pulsed in her head. Ancient songs beat at her.

A low humming chant echoed in a latent part of her mind.

Ava opened her mouth just as shouts echoed from the top of the cistern.

“Malachi?”

She let out a cry of relief when she heard Damien’s voice, and two soldiers turned to the dark corner where she hid. Their eyes lit up with predatory glee as they turned to her, and Ava raised the crowbar again.

“Get to Ava!” Malachi shouted, still throwing off his attackers, some of whom had turned to the door. Ava’s eyes scanned the darkness. She moved back and forth, trying to see beyond the forest of pillars.

Where was Brage?

The pale Grigori with the angel’s blade was her greatest fear. She had no idea what would happen to Malachi if he was hit by the weapon in his condition. Would he be able to hold on as long as Leo had?

“Do you see her?”

“I think so.”

The two soldiers drew closer. There was no avoiding them. They were headed straight for her. Ava didn’t wait.

Throwing herself into the light with a guttural shout, she flung herself at the first one, swinging the crowbar down where his neck met his shoulder. She felt the bar sink in as the man’s eyes went wide with shock; then she pulled. He tumbled forward with a splash, and Ava gasped at her own strength. A chunk of flesh ripped from the man’s neck, and his collarbone was slick with blood, sticking out from the top of his chest as he flopped in the water like a wounded carp.

The other Grigori stood still for a moment, then raised a sword, only to look at it with wide eyes and lower it again.

They aren’t supposed to hurt me, Ava realized with grim satisfaction.

She plunged forward, eyes focused on the man’s neck, but he dodged to the side and grabbed her, tearing the crowbar from her hands as he tried to lift her from the water. She resisted for a few moments, her boots stuck in the thick mud, but eventually he tugged again, and her feet came free.

“No!” she screamed as he threw her over his shoulder. “NO!”

“Ava!”

Malachi saw the Grigori lift her, tossing her over his shoulder like baggage. He started trudging toward the exit, moving as quickly as he could in the heavy water. He was fighting two soldiers, feeling weaker by the moment, but he saw Max spot Ava as Damien sliced his way through the Grigori who swarmed them.

“Max, get Ava!” he yelled as loud as he could. The cistern was filled with the sounds of splashes and grunts, blades ringing against the stone pillars and men crying out in pain. Through it all, Malachi didn’t think. He kept going, his single focus to move toward the soldier with his mate.

Get Ava. Escape the cistern.

Something tugged at his leg, but he kicked it away, losing one of the boots and a shoe at the same time. Sharp stones dug into his foot when he set it down again, and he could feel them pierce his flesh.

Damien moved toward him, throwing off the soldier who had attached himself to Malachi’s back and was trying to grab his weapons. Most of the Grigori had lost their knives in the fight, the blades falling into the water as they struggled.

Malachi held on.

“Max, she’s there!”

“I see her!”

He saw his brother head toward Ava, slicing through two Grigori, dusting one and throwing another into the darkness with a roar.

Almost there.

The lights flickered. Went out.

Ava screamed.

On again.

She’d been stabbed in the fighting. Blood poured from her belly, and he saw her face pale.

“Ava!”

Their eyes met in the flickering light as Malachi raced toward her as fast as he could, his heart beating out of his chest and blood dripping into his eyes.

“Hold on!”

“Malachi, no!”

Just then, a large soldier tackled him from behind a pillar. He knocked Malachi down. The water enveloped him as a painful scream filled the air.

The magic raged through her, closing the wound on her belly, and Ava’s soul rose in fear and fury. Through the pain, her voice lifted, echoing against the ancient stones.

The songs rang in her mind. The magic called her.

Speak, the seductive voice whispered.