Page 11 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

“You finally decided to show yourself,” I say, crossing my arms and peering hard. “Would you like to fill me in on what happened here? I’m not really in the mood to play games with the dead today. The ones I play with the living are exhausting enough.”

He smiles, but it’s not the warm, charming grin of a victim seeking help.

No, it’s twisted—dangerous. He pushes off the wall, taking a step closer, and the air around me chills further.

My fingers twitch, ready to react if I need to, though I’m not entirely sure how to fight something that’s already dead.

“Games?” he repeats, mocking me. “Sweetheart, the only game here is the one you’re too blind to see. Do you know what happens to little girls who wander into the dark thinking they can survive among the monsters?”

“I’m guessing they survive fine when the monsters are as pathetic as you,” I shoot back, leaning against the edge of the bed.

There’s something deeply wrong about him. Carmen’s spirit had been fractured, confused, but Damien’s feels…whole. Like whatever bound him to this plane didn’t bother tearing apart his soul. Instead, it made him stronger.

Crueler.

He takes another step closer, his figure flickering but never losing that predatory aura. “You think you’re clever. But you don’t even know whose game you’re playing, do you? Whose rules you’re following.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?” I refuse to let him see how much he’s rattling me. “Who pulled your strings before you ended up like this? Who’s pulling them now?”

He chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “You think I’m a pawn? You’re the one being played. The real monsters are right in front of you, and you’re too busy playing detective to see them.”

The temperature in the room drops another notch, and for the first time I wonder if I’ve underestimated him. But I don’t flinch and instead step closer, my chin tilted defiantly.

“You’re dead, Damien. You’ve already lost. Either give me the answers I need or get out of my way.”

His wicked smile widens. “You’re so sure this ends with me. But you’ll see, Kitty Kat.” He leans in close, his form almost solid now, his voice a whisper that feels like ice against my skin. “You’ll see soon enough that the real danger isn’t in the shadows.”

He vanishes, leaving me alone in the freezing room, my heart pounding and my mind racing.

“Kitty Kat.”

My skin crawls. There’s only one person in the world who’s ever called me by that name, and it sure as hell didn’t sound the same on his tongue.

What the fuck is going on here?

My pulse thunders in my ears, and I glance around the room, half-expecting Damien to materialize again. But there’s nothing—no flicker of his ghostly form, no mocking grin. Silence, heavy and suffocating, pressing against me like a weight.

It’s a coincidence , I tell myself, though the thought doesn’t comfort me. Spirits don’t often share their secrets with one another—not in the afterlife, not in the in-between. But that fucking nickname…

My hands clench into fists at my sides, the chill in the room forgotten as something hot and sharp rises in my chest. If this is Damien’s idea of a game, he’s playing with the wrong person.

I pace the room, the soft creak of the floorboards the only sound breaking the suffocating quiet. Coincidence, I repeat, trying to convince myself. But the unease won’t leave, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

I take a deep breath and think. But the name lingers, echoing in my head like a taunt. Whatever Damien is hiding is more twisted than I imagined. And if that name is more than a coincidence, then the stakes are now a hell of a lot higher.

The only person who’s ever called me Kitty Kat is Cade. And Cade is dead.

What the hell did I get myself into?

Damien spoke to me like he knows me—like he knew I was coming. Could Damien reach my family in the afterlife? Could he reach Cade? But why? And how?

I yank my ponytail free, running a shaky hand through my hair. Get a grip, Kat . The fucking name rhymes—it’s a shallow jab from some asshole spirit who doesn’t want me solving this case. That has to be it. Spirits love their tricks, their cryptic bullshit. This isn’t about Cade. It can’t be.

But I can’t stop thinking about him now, or about my parents. I haven’t let my mind go there in years, and yet here it is. All because of a dumb nickname.

Kitty Kat.

The timing couldn’t be worse. I had that dream about Cade the other night, told Malachi about the accident, dredged up things I’d buried deep for a reason. Now my brain is trying to connect dots where there aren’t any. That’s all it is, my head playing tricks on me.

But a darker thought creeps in, and it makes my stomach churn. What if all the spirits I’ve pissed off over the years have found a way to torment my family in the beyond?

My breath catches, and I stop pacing, gripping the edge of the dresser to steady myself.

Relax, Kat . My fingers curl against the wood.

You’re overthinking again. You’re letting your mind get away from you .

The rational side of me tries to take control, grounding me.

I’ve been through worse. I’ve faced spirits far more malevolent than Damien and lived to tell the tale.

This is no different. It’s noise—a distraction meant to throw me off.

Focus.

I need a plan. Damien’s cryptic bullshit aside, I still don’t have anything solid to tell Marco. Hopefully, he’ll give me a few days before demanding answers. He usually gives me space when I’m working a case, and I’m counting on that now.

Do I contact Carmen again? The thought nags at me, but I push it down. I can’t keep pulling from the same shallow well and hoping for clarity. Carmen’s answers won’t fix this puzzle—not entirely. And I don’t know if I can handle summoning Damien again.

One step at a time. I need to piece together what I have, block out the noise, and figure out what the hell Damien knows—and why he’s focused more on me than his own death. Why not tell me who killed them?