Page 18 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

I shake my head quickly, offering a polite but firm smile. “No, thank you.”

The bartender hesitates, glancing between us.

I’ve never been a drinker. I’ve tried it a handful of times, but it always tasted terrible, burning my throat in a way that made me wonder why anyone found it enjoyable.

But that’s not the real reason I avoid it.

Alcohol dulls the senses, makes you vulnerable—and I can’t afford that. Not tonight. Not ever.

“Make her the drink,” Orin barks, startling the bartender. Then, without warning, Orin wraps an arm around my back and pulls me closer to him, the move possessive and overbearing.

“You’re drinking tonight, demon,” he whispers hotly against my ear, his breath brushing my cheek like an unwanted brand.

I stiffen under his grip, every muscle tensing as I fight the urge to shove him away. His voice is low, almost teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a quiet demand that makes my blood boil. God, if only you knew what kind of demon you were actually dealing with, Orin.

The bartender sets two drinks in front of us, mine a pink frothy concoction that looks harmless enough.

I pick it up, intending to fake a sip, but Orin has other plans.

His hand clamps over the bottom of the glass, tipping it up and forcing me to swallow the entire thing in one go.

It burns all the way down, like I remember from the last time I tried alcohol.

At least this one doesn’t taste entirely horrible—bubble gum with a kick.

“Nice of you to join us, brother,” Orin says.

I glance over and freeze when I see Malachi stepping up to the bar, a few chairs down. The bar’s L-shape gives me a perfect view of him—and his date.

His date.

He has his arm draped around a blonde woman who’s curvy in all the right places. She’s sophisticated, polished, and undeniably gorgeous. Looking at her makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I don’t know why, but I already hate her.

I narrow my eyes at Malachi, but he doesn’t seem to notice—or pretends not to. Turning back to the bartender, I watch as he lines up more drinks, trying to distract myself.

“Lana, you’re looking good this evening,” Orin says, rubbing at his beard, his expression unusually pleasant.

She flashes a bright smile, her perfect white teeth gleaming. Of course. “Nice to see you, Orin,” she replies smoothly, her voice as elegant as her appearance.

Lana. So that’s her name. Who is this woman who knows Orin and is glued to Malachi’s side?

Before I can think too hard about it, Orin tugs me closer, his hands firm on my hips. Now I’m practically wedged between his legs, and the discomfort is overwhelming.

“Another round,” Orin says, twirling his finger in the air for the bartender’s attention. “Make hers a double.”

Great.

“Who is your date? I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Lana asks, gesturing to me with a polite smile.

I force myself to play nice. “My name’s Katja. Pleasure.” I offer her a tight smile, adding with a touch of sarcasm, “And that’s probably because I don’t like to share.”

Orin laughs loudly, his grip tightening on my hips. “You know I like my women feisty,” he says and then slaps my ass. Oh, hell no.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to break my glass over his head right then and there. Instead, I bite down hard on my bottom lip, the sting keeping me focused . Patience, Kat. You need him drunk enough to start talking—or give up and find someone less vile to get information out of.

“How long have you two been together?” I ask Lana, redirecting my attention and trying to mask the venom behind my curiosity.

Lana lights up at the question, looking between me and Malachi with a beaming smile. “Oh, we’ve known each other since we were kids, but Malachi reached out to me when he arrived here a few days ago. I was delighted he called—it’s been far too long.”

She looks up at him with stars in her eyes, and my stomach twists again. There’s an unsettling intimacy in her gaze, one that makes me wonder how much she knows about him now.

“Malachi wouldn’t know how to have a casual fuck if a whore sat on his cock,” Orin interrupts, his vulgarity making us all cringe.

“He’s always pining over one woman, more worried about soul mates and all that feminine shit that turns women off.

A woman wants a tough guy who’ll rough her up in the sack. Isn’t that right, Katja?”

I swallow back bile, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face. He couldn’t be more disgusting if he tried.

“He’s always been the sweet one in the family, hasn’t he?” Lana says, resting her hand on his arm.

Malachi clears his throat, taking a slow sip of his bourbon. “I think my brothers are tough enough for all of us.”

The tension is palpable, and I can feel my pulse quickening.

Malachi doesn’t meet my eyes, but there’s something guarded in his expression, like he’s playing a role he doesn’t quite believe in.

What are you up to, Malachi? And who the hell is this woman clinging to you like she’s been waiting her entire life for this moment?

“Down the hatch, sweetie,” Orin says, his grip firm as he tips my glass again, forcing me to chug the alcohol.

The liquid burns its way down my throat, and I cough slightly as I set the empty glass on the bar.

This is clearly his twisted idea of fun—torturing me in front of a crowd, taking his role as my “date” to heart in the worst possible way.

I need to start planning my escape, and fast.

“My girl loves to drink,” he announces loudly, his hand sliding over my back in what he probably thinks is an affectionate gesture. “It gets her horny.”

Heat rushes to my face, but not from embarrassment—pure fury.

We’re surrounded by people, so I swallow my pride and let his vile words roll off me like water on stone.

He’s nothing I can’t handle, but that doesn’t stop me from noticing Malachi’s gaze trailing after the movement of Orin’s hand, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

“She’ll have another,” Orin demands, pointing at the bartender, who hesitates for a moment before setting about making the drink.

I dread the fresh glass appearing in front of me, the buzz of alcohol already starting to creep into my veins. If this keeps up, tonight will be a night I regret for many nights to come. I need a bread roll, a toilet, or divine intervention.

“Take it easy,” Malachi says, glancing at me. “The night is young.”

I turn and shoot him a glare that could kill. Does it look like I have a fucking choice in the matter? I want to scream at him, but instead I grind my teeth and look away before I lose control.

“Worry about your own date tonight,” Orin snaps, puffing up like a peacock. “Trust me, I know how to show mine a good time. I can teach you a lesson or two if you’d like, brother.”

Malachi leans back in his seat, entirely too composed, while Lana sips her martini like this kind of vile brotherly bickering is as offensive as talking about the weather.

“Maybe later,” Malachi says, lifting his glass to his lips.

The bartender gives me an apologetic look as he refills my glass before moving down the bar to tend to other guests.

Great , I think bitterly, staring down at the drink.

If I keep playing along, I’ll be drunk within the hour.

If I resist, Orin will only make a scene, and that’s the last thing I need.

Lana leans over, whispering something in Malachi’s ear, and he smiles, that damn dimple on his left cheek making its unwelcome appearance. When his eyes flick toward me, I grab the glass in front of me and down it willingly this time.

“There she is,” Orin sings, all too pleased with himself as I slam the empty glass onto the bar with more force than necessary.

“I need to find the ladies’ room. If you’ll all excuse me,” I say, pushing away from Orin’s possessive grip.

“Don’t get lost on your way back, baby,” Orin calls snidely.

There is no fucking way I’m going back to that bar.

I weave through the crowd, crossing into the study and heading down one of the quieter, darker hallways.

I’m searching for the bathroom I spotted a couple days ago when I was on my way to meet with Viktor.

The further I move from the party, the quieter it gets, the dull hum of conversation fading behind me.

I reach the door, push it open, and flip on the light, relieved to find the bathroom empty.

Closing the door behind me, I glance at my reflection in the mirror.

Despite feeling a little wobbly from the alcohol, I still look flawless on the outside.

Perfect hair. Perfect makeup. The dress still daring and distracting. At least I have that going for me.

I reach to lock the door, but the handle turns suddenly, the door flying open and nearly hitting me in the face. I stumble back, startled, but a hand grabs my arm to steady me before the door slams shut and the lock clicks into place.

Malachi.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he says, his voice sharp, and the nerve of this man has me seeing red.

“What do you mean?” I glare at him, crossing my arms.

“You think getting drunk will make you of any use to me tonight? You’re supposed to be working the room, finding someone useful to talk to, eavesdropping on something we can actually use.”

He’s scolding me, and I shove him in the chest.

“Did it look like I had a fucking choice when your brother was literally pouring the shit down my throat?” I spit back, my cheeks flushing hot with anger.

“That last drink didn’t need any help,” he says.

I roll my eyes so hard I almost give myself a headache. “Go back to your date, Malachi,” I say, dragging out his name.

“If I weren’t mistaken,” he starts, a slow, infuriating smirk spreading across his face, “I’d say you sound jealous.”

His arrogance ignites something primal in me, a fire burning hot and unchecked. “Get the fuck out,” I snap, shoving him again. But he’s unmovable, solid as a damn brick wall, and the action does more to hurt my hands than to faze him.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he says, which only annoys me further. “I know how Orin can be. You need to be careful.”

I take a slow, steady inhale to keep from exploding.

“You think I don’t know how Orin can be?

Who do you think has lived with him for the last eight years while you were off doing god knows what on the other side of the country?

I know precisely what kind of evil Orin is, and I don’t need you to tell me how to handle him. ”

His features darken, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that looks almost like guilt. “Has he hurt you before?”

The question sends a fresh wave of anger crashing over me. His concern feels misplaced, patronizing. “I’m sorry, where’s your shiny armor, Malachi? You’re not a fucking knight, and you sure as hell aren’t my savior. So get out and let me do my job. I’ve survived fine thus far.”

I can feel the alcohol coursing through me now, heating my blood, mixing with my temper in a dangerous cocktail. I need cold water. I need air. I need him gone.

“This isn’t over,” he grumbles and steps back, unlocking the door and slipping out.

The second he’s gone, I lock the door again and turn to the sink, flipping the cold water on full blast. I lean down, cupping my hands to take a few sips, the icy chill grounding me. I want to splash it all over my face but stop myself. I can’t afford to ruin my makeup.

I take a few long, deep breaths, forcing myself to steady the chaos inside me. Once I’ve gathered enough composure to face the room again, I straighten up and head back toward the party.

Avoid Orin like the plague. Find someone worth talking to. This place is practically swimming with powerful men, and every single one of them has secrets. Let’s see which one I can get to spill them.