Istanbul was achingly familiar. In the puzzle of his mind, he still had more blanks than complete pictures.
A few things were clear. Summer holidays as a child. Portions of his schooling. Running with his father in the evenings. His remembered that his father had loved to run.
But so much was still empty. He occasionally caught pieces when Ava would say something or he recognized something familiar, but he hoped being back in Istanbul would jog more memories. Especially those of when he and Ava had first met.
“How does it feel?” she asked. “Being back.”
“Good.” He smiled. “And warmer.”
“No complaints about that.”
They’d spent the Christmas holidays in Germany. The Irin didn’t celebrate Christmas as the humans did, but he’d bought Ava a tree and hung some lights. The Irin did celebrate midwinter holidays, but Malachi had little memory of what to do. They were supposed to sing songs, but he didn’t remember them. They were supposed to hang lights too. There should have been candles and laughter. But all those memories peeked into his mind before running away.
So they’d celebrated Christmas, and he’d made her a dish that he thought his mother had made, though he’d had to look the recipe up online. It hadn’t tasted right, but it was better than nothing.
Heavy clouds hung over the city, and he was glad that Leo had told him the roof of the scribe house was already repaired.
“Jasper sent me an e-mail,” she said. “Or his manager did.”
“Oh?” Malachi honed in on any mention of her father. They still needed to talk about Jasper Reed. He had been reluctant to bring the subject up, but he knew Rhys wanted Ava to get in contact with Reed to ask about the grandmother she’d been named after.
Her bloodlines were still a mystery.
Irin tradition told that magical ability passed through the mother’s line. Only an Irina could give birth to someone with Ava’s power. And from what the Irina of Sarihöfn said, Ava had plenty of raw power.
But her mother wasn’t Irina. Not in any sense. Rhys had even asked a friend in Los Angeles to trail Lena Matheson in order to confirm what Ava had told them. Malachi hadn’t told her yet, but the scribe in California was certain Lena didn’t have even a hint of angelic blood.
Ava’s paternal line was the only option.
“What did your father say?”
“I talked to his manager. Luis said the usual. Jasper’s really busy. Blah blah blah. Crazy tour schedule. He’ll call when he can. You know.”
“No.” He frowned. “I don’t. I thought you said you hadn’t seen your father in a year and a half.”
“I haven’t,” she muttered, still scrolling through her phone. “We probably should have gone to that concert in Vienna, but…”
“Forget Vienna. Your father is still in Europe?”
“For the next few months. He’ll be in Italy, I think. Then France. There may be a concert or two in Spain. I’m not sure. Then he’ll go back to his recording studio in LA.”
“But right now, he is in Europe?”
“Yeah.”
“And you are here.”
“Obviously.”
Malachi still didn’t understand. “But Istanbul is not far. He is traveling anyway. Why doesn’t he simply fly to see you?”
She only shrugged.
It baffled Malachi. Irin children were rare and treasured because of it. Fathers and mothers both doted on them, especially when they were young. Scribes were expected to stay close to their families when a child was small, even if they were warriors, as Malachi’s father had been. The few memories he’d recovered of his parents were precious.
But though Ava had a close relationship with her mother, her father and stepfather were both distant.
It was something he would never understand. Should they have children, Malachi couldn’t envision being disinterested. The thought of Ava bearing his children brought only feelings of excitement.
“Did we speak of having children?”
She looked up from her phone. “Not… specifically. You told me Irin children were rare.”
“They are. But most couples are able to have one or sometimes even two.”
He saw her color rise. “Are you saying you want children with me?”
“Of course.” He had the privilege of a mate when few other Irin males did. Of course he wanted a family as well. “Do you not want children?”
“I…” She glanced at the driver. “Could we talk about it another time?”
“If we must.” His stomach felt like lead. He’d never considered that Ava might not want children, though he knew many human women chose not to have them.
“Hey.” Her voice softened. “It’s not something I thought about. Before, I mean. When I thought… you know.”
When she thought she’d been mentally ill. Malachi nodded. Ava probably would not have considered herself a suitable mother then.
He put an arm around her. “We have time.”
“I know.”
They had centuries if they wanted them. A thousand years to be together. Maybe longer. Many Irin mates broke up the centuries of life by spending significant time apart. It only made reunions sweeter, and they always had their time together in dream-walks.
Malachi didn’t want to be apart from Ava. He guessed he could have centuries and still hunger for her.
If they managed to survive.