Page 19 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Ten

I end up back in the sitting room, scanning the space for Orin and feeling relieved when I don’t see him anywhere.

Thank God. I haven’t caught a glimpse of Marco or Viktor yet either.

They’re likely doing what men like them do—arriving fashionably late or holding court in some other room teeming with their guests.

I chose this room for its exclusivity, and because there isn’t a single woman here. It’s filled with tall tables where men stand chatting, a lower table with a group engrossed in a card game, and several oversized leather chairs occupied by gentlemen lounging with cigars.

It’s the perfect place to eavesdrop. I stick out, of course, but I’m counting on that. A woman in a room like this will be seen as ornamental, not threatening. A pretty thing in a dress, I think bitterly. Far too delicate to possess a brain.

I keep my ears open, scanning the room while pretending to admire the card game, though I take no real interest. I’m about ready to move on when a conversation pulls me back.

“I was told there will be a silent auction at the end of the night,” a middle-aged man says, lounging in one of the leather chairs to my right. He swirls a glass of brandy lazily in one hand. “Viktor himself gave me a preview earlier today.”

“He’s keeping the Avids here? In his house?” the younger man across from him asks, aghast, as if keeping us here were the equivalent of housing livestock.

“Only two of them,” the older man replies, running a hand over his neatly combed black hair. “One male and one female, but he wouldn’t tell me their abilities. Said it’s a surprise for later.”

The younger man sits forward, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “I need to get in on this. I better find Viktor and reserve a spot.” He stands abruptly, leaving his drink on the side table before hurrying out of the room like a man on a mission.

Gross.

No wonder Viktor doesn’t want anyone knowing what I am. It would cause a frenzy. To men like this, I’m not a person. I’m a prize. A status symbol to parade around.

Fucking pigs.

At least Marco—however manipulative—has always treated us with a sliver of respect, enough to acknowledge we’re human beings. But these people? They’d line up like vultures for a chance to own me.

I grit my teeth, trying to control the sudden wave of rage.

I need to know where Viktor’s keeping them—the two Avids they spoke of.

If they’re here, tonight, maybe I could free them.

No, I can’t think like that. Not yet. I’d need Malachi, and this house is too massive to find them quickly. It’s too risky to search blindly.

Instead, I turn my focus to the older man with graying hair at his temples and the slightest lines marking his face. He’s my best chance at getting more information. But I can’t simply approach him—I need him to think it’s his idea to talk to me.

As I pass him, I make my move, letting one of my earrings fall to the floor with a soft clink. I stop, bending over slowly to retrieve it. “Oh my,” I murmur, watching from the corner of my eye as he perks up and moves toward me.

“Allow me, miss—” He stoops to grab the earring before I do.

“Miss Sinclair,” I say with a polite smile. “But please call me Kat.” I give him my sweetest, most innocent look, and it works like a charm. His deep-blue eyes light up and then drop lower to the neckline of my dress.

“Kat,” he says warmly. “I’m Eduard. Please, let me get you a drink.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “I’ll have a vodka soda, please.”

He looks delighted, taking my hand like a gentleman and guiding me to one of the leather chairs. He snaps his fingers at a passing busboy, not even glancing his way. “Vodka soda for the lady, and another for me,” he orders, lifting his glass of amber liquid.

I settle into the chair gracefully, my mind racing behind the poised mask of politeness. Let’s see what secrets you’ll spill, Eduard.

I keep Eduard talking far long enough to get him through two more drinks. I’m hoping the alcohol loosens his lips, makes him sloppy enough to spill his secrets, but it also means I’ve had to force my way through a couple more drinks as well. And to say I’m feeling it would be an understatement.

Eduard, it turns out, loves to talk about himself. He’s divorced—hates his ex-wife with a passion, and complains endlessly about the “obscene” amount of money he had to pay to be rid of her. He loves golf but hasn’t played in months because of the snow.

It’s mind-numbing but perfect. The more he talks, the less I have to lie, and all it takes to keep him going is a lot of smiling, nodding, and fake laughing.

“Do you want to go talk somewhere more private?” he asks, leaning closer, his hand brushing over my leg. “I’m friends with the owner. I know a few spots that would be more comfortable.”

I give him my most charming smile. “Please, lead the way,” I say, taking the hand he offers to help me up.

When I stand, I’m glad for the support of his elbow because I’m not entirely sure I could walk straight without it. For the first time tonight, I’m worried I might be losing control.

You need to work on your alcohol tolerance, Kat, I think bitterly. Or better yet, make a deal with the bartender next time for soda water all night.

Eduard leads me out of the study, and we weave through a maze of rooms. I think we pass the bar, but the crowd is a mess of swirling color and blurry faces.

I can’t believe Orin hasn’t come looking for me.

Or maybe he did and didn’t spot me in the chaos.

Either way, it feels strange to be without a shadow tonight, and the unease nags at the edges of my drunken thoughts.

Eduard pats my arm reassuringly. “We’re almost there.”

Before I know it, we’re in a guest bedroom I don’t recognize. The fireplace clicks on with a flick of a switch, warm flames licking at the edges of the room. The heat makes my already flushed cheeks burn hotter.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Eduard says, his gaze hungry as it sweeps over me.“There’s a drink cart in here. Want me to get you something?”

“No, thank you.” I reach out to fiddle with the lapel of his suit coat.

Stay focused. Keep him comfortable. I need answers, not another drink .

The firelight moves across his face, highlighting the greedy glint in his eyes. He’s completely oblivious to the real game at play, and that’s the only advantage I have right now. You can do this, Kat. Let him feel like he’s in control. A little longer.

I lean in close, letting my tongue trace a slow, deliberate line up the side of his neck, twirling around his earlobe until he lets out a soft, guttural moan.

“You know what really turns me on?” I whisper, my breath warm against his ear.

“Oh, fuck, tell me, baby,” he groans, his hands greedily caressing my hips and pulling me tighter against him.

“With my ex,” I begin, low and sultry, “we used to make our Avid watch us. Being in control of something so powerful, forcing it to witness me...getting off... There’s something about it that was so exhilarating.”

It was easier to say than I thought, leaving me disgusted with myself.

“I knew you were going to be kinky the moment I saw you bending over in this red dress,” he growls, his hand sliding up to my strap. He toys with it, running his fingers along the fabric a few times before pulling it down my arm, agonizingly slow.

The moment my upper body is exposed, he takes a step back, licking his bottom lip as his eyes roam over me like I’m a meal set out for him.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to hold my ground. I wouldn’t be able to do this if it weren’t for the alcohol numbing the humiliation. I need him to take me to the Avids before he pushes things too far.

“If you’re good,” he says, nearly giddy, “I might tell you a secret.”

Bingo. That’s exactly what I want to hear.

I trail my hands up my neck, letting them glide over my collarbone before moving down to my breasts, all the while keeping my eyes locked on his.

“I love secrets,” I say, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth and biting down to add to the performance.

Eduard’s breathing deepens, his eyes glued to the movement of my hands as I continue to touch myself, hoping to keep his attention fixed on watching me instead of touching me himself.

“Care to share one?” I ask.

His lips curl into a crooked grin, and I see it—his guard lowering. I’m reeling him in, and it’s working. For now.

“How about this, baby? Let me have a little taste, and then I’ll take you to where we can have an audience that won’t disappoint for the finale,” Eduard says, sounding like the sleaze he is.

I’ve got him.

He’s going to show me what I want, and I didn’t even have to be sober to pull it off. In your face, Malachi.

But wait.

Now I might actually have to kiss this guy. My chest tightens, but I try to focus. At least he smells good and has nice teeth.

“That sounds perfect,” I murmur, and he grips my hips, lifting me onto the bed and positioning himself between my legs.

I tip my head back, looking up at him briefly before closing my eyes, preparing for what I have to do. But instead of feeling his lips on mine, I hear his voice again.

“I want to taste more than your mouth, baby.”

He pushes my chest back and starts hiking up my dress. Panicking, I jerk back, and my eyes lock on the ceiling as I try to rationalize my actions.

I can do this. It’s for the Avids. It’s for the mission. Oh God, can I do this? What would Cade think if he could see me now, or Malachi? I’m not the first woman to dangle sex to get what she wants, but that isn’t who I thought I was. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. Am I in control or not?

His hands trace over my calves, and I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself. But then something changes—warmth spreads over me. No, not warmth—wetness.

My eyes snap open as Eduard’s eyes go wide, his neck gaping open in a crimson slash. Blood spills down the front of him, splattering across me.

I freeze, my breath caught in my throat as his body collapses forward, sagging heavily against me. For a horrifying moment, I can feel the warmth of his blood soaking through my dress before his weight shifts and he crumples to the floor with a sickening thud.

I’ve seen my fair share of murders over the years—I live with the fucking Volkov family, after all—but this? This is something else.

I sit up, my heart racing, and my eyes meet Malachi’s as he shoves a bloody blade back into the waistband of his pants.

For a moment, neither of us says a word. His eyes burn with fury, the intensity making me feel more exposed than I already am. When his gaze drops lower, I throw my hands over my chest, yanking the strap of my dress back into place.

“What the fuck is going on?” I wail, standing unsteadily as I look down at the blood smeared across my dress and pooling on the floor.

Malachi doesn’t answer, doesn’t even blink. Instead, he strides forward, scooping me up like I weigh nothing and slinging me over his shoulder in one swift motion.

“Put me down!” I yell, pounding a fist against his back, but he ignores me entirely.

He moves around the room, rummaging through drawers and shelves. I can’t see what he’s doing from this angle, but his movements are quick and deliberate.

I think he’s about to carry me out of the room but then he sets me down on the bed, not gently but not harshly either. His glare is sharp enough to cut through steel, the look of a disappointed parent—or maybe a frustrated executioner.

“Start talking,” he says finally.

I cross my arms over my chest, staring back at him, defiance bubbling up despite my shaken state. “You just murdered someone!”

“And saved your ass in the process,” he snaps.

“I had it under control,” I hiss.

His laugh is cold, humorless. “Control? Is that what you call being drunk sitting half-naked on a bed with a predator between your legs?”

My cheeks burn with anger and humiliation. “I was working him!”

“Yeah?” Malachi steps closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over me. “From where I stood, it looked like he was about to work his way inside you.”

“You told me to get information from these guys. How did you think I was supposed to do that?”

“You’re reckless, Kat,” he says, softer now but no less intense. “And tonight could’ve ended very differently if I hadn’t been there.”

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. I want to argue, to yell, to push him away, but deep down I know he’s right.

For once, I don’t have a clever comeback. I sit there, glaring at him, before I spit, “And what if that’s what I wanted?”

“I’m sure you could find someone better to fuck than that,” Malachi says, hitting a nerve. My head throbs as the alcohol and frustration mix into a volatile cocktail.

I cross my arms. “He said there are two Avids being kept in this house tonight, and there’s supposed to be a silent auction for them after the party.”

Malachi’s expression darkens, but I continue, sitting up straighter and taking a deep breath. “He said he’d take me to them. He...” I swallow, unwilling to say the rest out loud.

Malachi doesn’t look away. His silence is heavy, expectant, as if he’s waiting for me to finish the thought.

“He wanted something in return,” I say finally, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. I don’t elaborate. I don’t need to.

“Get up. Are you sober, or do I need to leave you here to sleep it off?” Malachi’s says condescendingly, like I’m some unruly child.

“Murder has a way of sobering someone up, if you know what I mean,” I say, crossing my arms. I wouldn’t call myself fully sober, but I’m definitely functional.

“Good, because we need to figure out where they are before it’s too late,” he says.

I glance at the bloody body in the room with us.

“Why don’t I ask him?”