Page 15 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

I keep my gaze forward, carefully considering my next words. “Trust isn’t something I afford easily.”

“Good,” he says. “That’s how you’ve survived this long. I’ve taught you well.”

I’m so confused by his question. Why is he asking if I trust Viktor?

It’s his fucking brother. His twin. If Marco is asking for my opinion of him, he’s clearly questioning things about this place and their relationship in ways I don’t fully understand yet.

I want to tell him Viktor is vile, but I hold my tongue.

Family loyalty runs deep, and the last thing I need is to cross a line I can’t step back from.

“Does Viktor have any Avids?” I ask, testing the waters.

Marco doesn’t reply immediately, and the silence feels heavier than it should. My heartbeat picks up, each second dragging longer than the last. I wonder if I made a mistake already.

“Afraid I might find another favorite while we’re here?” Marco finally says, teasing, though there’s something guarded beneath it.

I let out a light laugh, brushing off the tension. “Impossible,” I say smoothly.

He snickers, clearly pleased with my answer, and some of the weight in the air lifts.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” I continue, “and I may need help with this case. Maybe he has someone who could be useful to me.”

Marco hums, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. It’s a noncommittal sound, enough to let me know he’s considering it. Will he actually tell me anything? That’s a different story.

But I planted the seed, and that’s all I want to do right now. Pushing further would be too obvious, too risky. Let him mull it over.

“Viktor is very private,” Marco says after a pause. “His view on people like you is different from mine. If it were up to him, he’d keep you in a cage. This is all very difficult for him. He’s told me he arranged for you to come to dinner tomorrow night.”

I’m not surprised. Of course the bastard would want to put me in a cage. Little does he know, I’m already in one—it has plush sheets and pretty walls. I think about the conditions the Avids he gets his hands on must be in...wherever they are.

Malachi is right. I have to do whatever I can to help, because this may be my only chance to make a difference. I’m tired of being complicit in this gilded prison of mine.

“Yes, he made it clear I’m to be Orin’s, er, date. And that I’m a regular human—my only gifts shall be my looks,” I say.

“Very good.” Marco reaches over, patting my leg briefly, the gesture as dismissive as it is practiced. “Let’s play by his rules since it’s his home and these are his friends. Do you understand?”

I nod, hiding my irritation. Of course Marco wants to play nice. Everything is always nice on the surface with him. Polished, presentable, and dripping with charm, no matter what darkness lurks underneath.

He’ll be your best friend right up until the moment he stabs you in the back—literally.

“Tell me everything you know about the case thus far,” Marco says as we leave the forest and pass by businesses. I knew being vague wouldn’t be enough.

I take a slow breath. “Damien’s spirit is taunting me.

He’s difficult to communicate with because he thinks it’s a game.

It’s as if he doesn’t want his killer found.

On top of that, he’s keeping Carmen from communicating with me somehow.

Her spirit is weak, and I’m struggling to get anything from her. ”

Marco listens intently, his expression unreadable, so I press on, testing the waters for my next move. “I suspect an Avid could have been behind this. I can’t explain it, but when I went into Carmen’s vision, I felt...power. I could probably sense it again if I were closer to it.”

I hope I don’t regret this lie.

Marco tilts his head but doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “I thought you wanted to know if Viktor had any Avids so you could get help. You think one may be behind it as well?”

I force myself not to react, refraining from biting my lip or giving away any tells.

“Yes,” I say. “I could use the extra help, but I also thought that by working with them, I might be able to dig deeper into this case without coming off as a threat. I’m like them.

If I seek their help, I could gain their trust and in turn find out who the killer is. ”

God, I hope I’m not making this a million times worse.

If Malachi doesn’t come through on his promise to help free them, I might be setting these Avids up for some serious punishment. Viktor already despises our kind, and if he starts believing one of us killed his son... Fuck, please let this not be a mistake.

Marco’s fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel. Finally, he nods. “I’ll speak to Viktor about getting you more access, but let’s keep this between you and me for now.”

My heart slows. This is good. A step in the right direction.

Malachi may not think so, but I don’t care what he thinks. I’ll do what I have to do, and if he has a problem with it, he can deal with it later. For now, I’ve opened a door. Whether it leads to salvation or disaster, only time will tell.

We pass through a dilapidated town, the kind of place that feels forgotten by time.

Marco slows the car, the tires crunching over ice-covered asphalt, cracked and riddled with fissures that spiderweb across the surface like scars.

The buildings lining the street buckle under the weight of snow and years of neglect.

Roofs sag precariously, icicles dangling from their edges like jagged teeth, while shattered windows gape open, exposing rotting interiors to the bitter wind.

Streetlights, long dead and encased in frost, lean at unnatural angles, their warped poles twisted from years of brutal weather.

A scattered few people shuffle along broken sidewalks covered in snow, hunched against the cold in mismatched layers that barely shield them from the biting air.

Their faces are gaunt, hollowed by hunger, their eyes fixed downward as if even a glance in our direction could invite trouble.

Small clusters of them gather around barrels filled with burning scraps, the flames lighting up their weathered features. As we drive past, I can’t help but wonder if the people here even remember what if feels like to be warm—to be full.

I feel bad for them—for anyone forced to live like this—but I know better than to dwell on it.

This is how it is in so many places, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.

Marco could help. The political families in charge could change everything for these gutter zones.

But they don’t. They don’t care, and it’s a fucking travesty.

We turn up a narrow road that winds deeper into the forest, leaving the remnants of the forgotten town behind us.

I know better than to ask where we’re going, but my unease is growing with every mile.

It’s fully night now, and beyond the trees and the snow, there’s nothing but darkness pressing against the SUV’s windows.

“We’re here,” Marco says finally.

I squint into the blackness but don’t see anything at first. Then he slows the SUV and turns down a barely visible snow-covered path. If it weren’t for the four-wheel drive, I doubt we’d make it. My heart starts to pound as the headlights cut through the trees, illuminating a clearing up ahead.

There’s a warehouse standing there, large and looming, its metal sides rusted and worn. It looks abandoned at first glance, but faint lights flicker inside. A few trucks are parked outside, along with one fancy SUV that looks out of place but similar to ours.

I don’t like the look of this.

“Let’s go,” Marco says, putting the vehicle in park and stepping out.

I fall into step at his side as we approach the building. Two men step out to meet us, their appearances fueling my growing unease. They’re scummy-looking with torn jeans and that “haven’t showered in days” air about them.

“He’s in the back room,” one of them says, curt and dismissive. As we walk past, both of their eyes rake over me in a way that makes me want to run and hide. I stare straight ahead, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

Once inside, it’s not much better than the outside.

The air is cold and damp, and the walls are missing panels, exposing beams and insulation in some spots.

The concrete floors are uneven and coated in a fine layer of dust that clings to my boots as we move.

The faint buzz of flickering lights echoes down the long, empty hallway.

I hear someone cry out in the distance and the hair on the back of my neck stands up, but I don’t stop. Oh God, what am I walking into?

Marco leads the way into what looks like a makeshift office, sparsely furnished and barely functional.

A man in a suit sits at a small desk with a laptop in front of him.

His clothes speak of wealth, but his features are rough—a long scar runs down his cheek, and his nose is large and crooked.

Black and gray-peppered hair is cropped close to his head, but nothing about him feels polished, despite his attempt at refinement.

“I thought you weren’t going to make it,” the man says, standing and extending a hand toward Marco.

“Yes, I’m not used to driving in the snow,” Marco replies with a charming smile, shaking the man’s hand. “Didn’t take into consideration I’d need to drive slower.” His manner is easy, almost conversational, but I know better.

His attention shifts to me. His eyes sweep over me with open appraisal, and I force myself not to flinch. Marco steps closer, his hand moving to my back and gently pushing me forward a couple of steps.

“This is her,” Marco says smoothly, as if presenting some prized possession. “My obedient little demon I spoke to you about. You see, she’s not a fantasy after all.”

Disgusted but impassive, I’ve had years of practice hiding how much I loathe moments like this.