The Secret by Elizabeth Hunter

blinked. “Wow.”
    “Know that. Understand it, because I’m going to say something that will likely make you angry.”
    She frowned. “Oh.”
    “You need to stop fooling around and work on your magic.”
    “What?” Her mouth dropped open. “But you said—”
    “I know what I said. ‘Go at your own pace. No pressure.’ That was me being supportive and protective.”
    “I like you being supportive and protective.”
    “I don’t think you need me to be supportive and protective right now. I think you need a kick in the ass. Because the magic I just felt has nothing dark or evil about it. You’re scared of something that doesn’t exist.”
    Yeah, okay. That made her a little mad. More than a little. He didn’t know what she saw. Had no idea the shadows she felt lurking on the edge of her mind anytime the magic drew near.
    “Until we know where my power comes from—”
    “Ava, we may never know.” He sat up and she followed him, facing each other on the rumpled bed. “We could search the world, question your father, wring answers from a fallen angel, and there is no guarantee we’ll ever know why you were able to call me down from heaven. Or why you can show others things like the face of Death itself. We may not know any of it. Ever.”
    She had nothing to say, because he was right. She hated it, but he was right.
    “What we do know,” he continued, “is that your power is unique. It could be an incredibly potent weapon against those who want to hurt you. And you need to learn how to wield it like you just did with me.”
    She raised an eyebrow and glanced down at his naked body.
    “Okay, maybe not just the way you did with me. You know what I mean.”
    She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the wall, unnerved by his honesty.
    He was right. She’d felt the power when it left her. Felt the echo of it come back when they made love. It wasn’t the dark shadow she’d felt in the past. The dark edge was still there, but it hadn’t hurt Malachi, so she knew it wasn’t inherently bad.
    Could she use it to hurt?
    Undoubtedly.
    But she could also use it to heal. Her mate was in temporary pain, but his magic had been given a huge boost with the restoration of part of his talesm . The Old Language Orsala had taught her bent to her will, taking on her magic before she spoke it into life and power.
    She had done this.
    And she knew she could do it again.
    Ya davarda, reshon.
    It was a command. She’d told him to remember and he’d remembered.
    How did Irina not become intoxicated by this power?

    ORSALA examined Malachi’s arm, lifting it to search every inch of the talesm that had reappeared.
    “And these are what you remember?”
    “As much as I can remember, yes. They feel right. If that makes sense.”
    “It does. These are your original marks. I can see the progression in expertise.” She touched the skin that had already healed at his wrist. “A young man’s marks here, for certain.” Her finger passed over his forearm and elbow as Ava watched anxiously from her chair in the library. Rhys sat next to Ava as Orsala inspected Malachi in the full light of the window. “And then as we go up the shoulder… Yes, an obvious progression. You could be rather dramatic when you were young, yes?” She smiled at him, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
    A faint flush stained his cheeks. “I was not always the most rational when choosing my marks.”
    Rhys said, “Still aren’t.”
    “Shut up, Rhys.”
    “I can see a hotheaded boy in this arm,” Orsala said, patting it. “But also the beginnings of a passionate, protective young man.”
    “Thank you.”
    Orsala turned to Ava, smiling. “You did this.”
    “I did.”
    Rhys nudged her arm, catching her eye with his mischievous smile. “And then they celebrated after. Loudly.”
    Malachi sent his friend a smug smile as he pulled on a shirt. “Jealous.”
    “Obviously.”
    He crooked his head and Rhys abandoned his seat next to