The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(8)

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I cannot…” His voice was hoarse. Thick with emotion. “Forgive my rudeness, but you have given her hours. She has never had hours before. You are a miracle. This is a miracle from the gods.”

“It’s not a miracle.” She didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t accustomed to physical contact from men. Not unless they were related to her. Niran’s previous reservation was comfortable and safe.

“Anytime you need me, Kyra. All you have to do is ask.”

The memory of Leo’s voice threatened to break her. Leo was the opposite of comfortable and safe.

She was worn out. Exhausted. And Niran’s gratitude overwhelmed her. It was the only reason, she told herself, that her thoughts turned to “that damn scribe” again.

“I wrote you letters. Do you want to know what I wrote? I can tell you. I remember every word.”

“Everything isn’t possible… Not for me.”

“Forgive me,” Niran said again, releasing her hands and pulling back. Two spots of red colored his dark bronze cheeks. “I apologize. I don’t usually…”

“You are grateful for your sister,” Kyra said diplomatically. “I understand. I was also grateful when my Irina friends taught me. Shielding your mind is like finding a medicine that you never imagined existed.”

Niran nodded.

“I know you have more sisters,” Kyra said. “But for tonight, I think I need to rest.”

“Of course.” Niran motioned toward a house farther along the path that led to the temple. It was already glowing with warm lamplight, and the smell of woodsmoke and spices scented the air. “Please rest, Kyra. We are so grateful you are here.”





Chapter Two





Bangkok, Thailand



Leo wasn’t even out the door when he felt the oppressive wall of humidity bearing down on him. He groaned inwardly. Though he’d been born in the far north, his chosen home for decades was Istanbul. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the warm Mediterranean city with his height, blue eyes, and sandy-blond hair, but Leo didn’t care. He loved the sunshine and the warmth. Loved the vibrancy and the energy of the city.

He didn’t love humidity.

“A desert,” he muttered, slipping on black sunglasses to protect his eyes from the glare. “One assignment in a desert would be welcome.”

As the youngest scribe in the house, Leo was frequently loaned out for missions. His cousin, Maxim, gathered intelligence for their watcher, but Leo was a foot soldier and an experienced one. In the previous year, he’d been called on to consult with various scribe houses around the world on how to develop relationships with the growing groups of free Grigori, sons of the Fallen who were trying to live more peaceful lives.

He walked out of the airport and paused on the covered sidewalk. He needed a haircut. His thick mane was hanging over his neck, and the weight of it had already gathered perspiration. His senses tuned to the crowd around him. Lots of Westerners mixed with local Thai and a crowd of Chinese tourists. Two hundred years of instinct could not be denied. He scanned the crowd for Grigori, who often gathered in areas where tourists dwelled, though they more often hunted at night.

Yes, there were free Grigori who tried to live peacefully, but there were still far more Grigori in thrall to their Fallen fathers. And even free Grigori had a tenuous relationship with the Irin.

Many had no other skills than hunting humans, so when they tried to reform, they turned their attention to hunting angels instead. It was a goal that aligned well with the Irin mandate of protecting humanity, but the process of turning former enemies into wary allies was far from smooth. The Istanbul house had taken the lead in their relationships with the free Grigori of the Eastern Mediterranean and had formed successful alliances. Other scribe houses around the world wanted to know how to do the same thing. Tel Aviv, Shanghai, New Orleans.

Now Bangkok.

Humid. Every single one of them.

A cacophony of languages swirled around him, slowly settling into streams of understandable conversations he could sort through.

The gentle cadence of Thai. The sharper tones of Mandarin. Threads of English and a little French.

“Leontios! Brother Leontios?”

Leo turned toward the unfamiliar female voice. “Leo.” He smiled and put his hands together in greeting toward the Irina who approached him. “Only Leo, please.”

She met his polite greeting with pressed hands and a polite nod. “It is very nice to have you in Bangkok, brother. May I help you with your luggage?”

“Not necessary. I only have this.” He kicked the duffel bag at his feet. “What may I call you, sister?”

She was small, but most women were compared to Leo, even Irina who tended to be taller than average. Her body moved with quick, efficient energy, and her black hair was cut in short layers around her face. Both things made Leo suspect the woman was a warrior. Her skin was a smooth, sun-kissed gold, but her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses like Leo’s, and he could see her scanning the crowd for threats.

“My name is Alyah. Were you waiting long?”

“What a beautiful name,” Leo said. “Alyah. I’ve never heard it before.”

She was impatient, but too polite to show it. “It’s not Thai. My mother was Malay. She named me after her mother.”