Page 21 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” he asks, his gaze flicking between the cages and my face.

“Kat.”

The sound of my name—soft but familiar—cuts through the haze. It doesn’t come from Malachi.

He freezes, his head turning slowly toward the cage then back to me, his expression shifting as realization dawns.

“Aurora,” I whisper, the name barely escaping my lips as tears blur my vision and stain my cheeks.

Her red hair is matted, tangled, and lifeless, but it’s her. Even thinner than I remember, her face hollowed and her body frail. Yet it’s undeniably her.

She’s clutching the boy in the neighboring cage, her arms wrapped around him protectively. Her hands are pressed to his skin, her gift shimmering faintly as she channels warmth into him, keeping him from freezing to death in this hellhole.

Her tired, pained eyes meet mine, and for a moment I’m fifteen years old again, back on the night we were torn apart.

I stumble forward, but Malachi holds me back. “Kat, wait?—”

“I have to get to her!” I pull free of his grip.

Aurora shifts closer to the bars, her face softening despite the evident exhaustion. “Katja, is it really you?” Her voice cracks, as if she hasn’t spoken in days.

Luckily, there’s no lock on the bars, only a handle that can only be opened from the outside.

Malachi pulls the cell door open, and I drop to the floor, wrapping Aurora in the tightest hug I’ve ever given anyone.

She squeezes me back as hard, her tears streaming freely now, and I feel my own matching hers.

I want to ask her everything—where she’s been, how she ended up here, what happened after Marco took me. What comes out is altogether different.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m alright.”

“I hate to break this up,” Malachi says, “but two of my people are outside in the tree line, ready to get them somewhere safe.”

I glance at the other Avid as Malachi opens his cell. He steps out cautiously, looking younger than us, maybe by a year or two. Thank God there are no kids here in these conditions. But they may be somewhere else.

Aurora and I pull apart, and I stand, helping her to her feet. I check her over for injuries, but she looks me up and down, her expression shifting as she takes in how different I must look. Not to mention how out of place I am in this ridiculous dress, in the snow, in a fucking underground prison.

The room feels like it drops a few degrees, the air suddenly freezing, and then my chest goes cold.

“Tick tock, Kitty Kat,” a familiar voice echoes, smug and mocking. “He’s closer than you think.”

Damien’s faint form appears beside Aurora, his presence like a shadowy stain against the dim light. He winks at me, his smile twisted, and then he’s gone.

“What did you see?” Aurora asks, gripping my shoulders tightly, her eyes wide with concern. She knows that look on my face all too well.

“We need to leave. Now.”

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close as Malachi leads the way. We rush out of the hatch, carefully putting everything back the way we found it. At the stable door, Malachi pauses, peeking out into the night before speaking into his comms.

“Is it clear for us to come out?”

There’s a pause, my pulse hammering in my ears, before he nods to us, his movements brisk. “Let’s go.”

He slides the large door open enough for us to slip through, and we step out into the frigid night air. The cold bites at my skin, but all I can think about is Damien’s warning. “He’s closer than you think.”

Who’s closer? The killer? Or someone else? The answer feels like it’s hiding in the shadows around us, and it’s all I can do to keep moving forward.

We reach the edge of the forest where two figures are waiting—fully geared up like soldiers with masks covering their faces, weapons strapped to their backs, and heavy coats keeping them warm and hidden.

One of them steps forward, and I can tell by the build it’s a woman.

She moves straight to Aurora, draping a thick jacket around her shoulders.

“You’re safe now. I’ll see you soon,” I say softly, though I have no idea when or if I’ll actually see her again.

My voice trembles, not from the cold but from the uncertainty.

I don’t know these people, but she’s safer now than she was in that godforsaken stable—or if one of those sick bastards from the party had bought her tonight.

Aurora pauses, glancing back at me, and then shrugs the coat off, handing it to the boy beside her.

Of course—she won’t be cold. She never is.

The boy, on the other hand, looks like he’s been through hell, his shoulders hunched and his movements stiff.

He takes the coat with a grateful nod, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment before darting away.

Malachi steps forward, exchanging low words with his people. I can’t make out what he’s saying. The woman gestures toward the deeper forest, and Aurora and the boy begin to follow her.

The second figure, the one in full military gear, lingers behind, his gaze fixed on me.

There’s something about the way he tilts his head, like he’s trying to place me, or maybe he’s curious.

Either way, I’ve had enough people staring at me tonight.

I turn away, pulling Malachi’s jacket tighter around me as if that could shield me from the weight of his attention.

I feel Malachi’s arm drape over my shoulder, pulling me close as he steers us back toward the mansion.

His touch is warm, steadying, and for once I don’t shove him off.

As we hurry across the snow, I glance back over my shoulder, but there’s no sign of them anymore.

They’ve disappeared into the shadows of the forest, swallowed by the night.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

Not them, not Malachi—it’s something deeper, like a presence I can’t name, prickling at the back of my neck and settling heavy in my chest. Damien’s voice echoes faintly in my mind, and I wonder if his warning meant more than I realized. “He’s closer than you think.”

Who?

I swallow hard, forcing my eyes back to the mansion. Whatever it is, I can’t deal with it now. I have to focus on surviving the rest of this night.

Malachi and I don’t speak on the walk back. I’m still reeling from seeing Aurora, still piecing together everything that happened. By the time Malachi opens a door and ushers me inside, I realize we’re in a part of the mansion I’ve never been to before.

The room is grand—far larger than mine. A four-poster bed dominates the space, draped with rich, dark fabrics that match the wooden walls.

A cobblestone fireplace is built into one side, the flames within lighting up the dim room with a amber glow.

It’s warm and inviting, but that only makes the tension in my stomach churn harder.

“What is this?” I ask, turning to face him.

“Stay here,” he says firmly. “Don’t do anything. Sit by the fire and follow my lead when I get back.”

I open my mouth to object, to demand answers, but he’s already out the door, shutting it behind him before I can utter a word. He’s moving fast, like time is running out, and for all I know, it is.

The room feels suffocatingly quiet, and I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. Why leave me here? What’s the plan?

I walk over to the fireplace and lower myself onto the large stone ledge that juts out in front of it.

The flames crackle softly, and I hold my hands out toward the heat, letting it thaw the lingering cold in my bones.

My cheeks begin to flush as the warmth seeps into my skin, chasing away the frigidness from outside.

Slowly, I start to feel human again, my fingers no longer stiff, my nose no longer icy to the touch.

Only a handful of minutes pass before the door opens again. I jump to my feet instantly, my body tensing. But it’s not Malachi who enters first.

It’s Marco.

He stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his presence filling the room like a storm about to break. My pulse quickens, and I try to steady my breathing as his sharp eyes rake over me.

“Katja,” he says with an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place. I have no idea what he knows or what’s about to happen, and all I can do is stand my ground.

Marco closes the distance between us, his movements deliberate, reaching out to undo the buttons of the coat—Malachi’s coat.

My body tenses, frozen in place as his hands part the fabric, revealing the front of my gown.

Blood stains the once-pristine dress, dark and glaring against the crimson fabric.

Marco’s eyes harden at the sight, his sharp features tightening like a vice.

“Is it true what my son tells me? This man was forcing himself on you,” Marco says.

I nod, struggling to speak as Malachi steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. The sound feels deafening in the silence. I know how I must look—a mess, my hair disheveled, my face streaked with tears. It makes the story all the more believable.

Marco’s jaw flexes, the muscle ticking—a rare tell for a man who prides himself on control.

He takes my chin in his hand, surprisingly gentle as he tilts my face up, studying me intently for a long moment.

His dark eyes burn with something fierce, but I can’t quite decipher whether it’s anger, concern, or both.

He lets go without a word and turns to Malachi.

“Stay in this room with her until I come back tomorrow. No one else enters,” Marco says. It’s an order, plain and simple.

“What are you going to do?” Malachi asks. It’s strange hearing someone question Marco. No one does that—not even me. But Malachi is his son, and the dynamic between them is clearly different.

“I’m going to take care of it,” Marco says, straightening his suit jacket with precise movements.

He strides toward the door but pauses before leaving. I think he might look back at me, but he doesn’t. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the room suffocatingly quiet once again.

I glance at Malachi, who watches the door for a long moment before turning to me.

“This...isn’t exactly what I had planned,” he says quietly, running a hand through his hair.

I sit back down by the fire. “What is he going to do?” I ask, my voice trembling despite myself.

Malachi doesn’t answer right away, his eyes darkening as he sits in the chair across from me.

“It doesn’t matter what he does,” Malachi says, stretching his legs out with a casual ease. A small smile begins to play on his lips.

“What?” I ask, unable to decipher the shift in his mood.

“It’s… Damn.” He chuckles softly, shaking his head. “If you think about it, this night turned out perfect.”

“Perfect?” I repeat, staring at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Are you serious? Perfect is not even in the same universe as how I would describe this night.”

“Think about it, Kat,” he says, sitting forward, the smile still lingering.

“We saved two people tonight—one of them someone you clearly care about. And not only that, but we’ve got the perfect alibi.

My father thinks that man was attacking you, and I stepped in to stop it.

Then I brought you straight here to keep you safe. No one will suspect us of anything.”

I stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to process how he’s finding a silver lining in this mess.

“Don’t you see?” he continues, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s a small victory. My father’s trust in me will only grow after tonight, while Orin’s credibility is going to take a hit for not keeping an eye on you.

And when they realize the victims of their precious silent auction have vanished, everyone else will be too busy pointing fingers to look at us.

Marco’s word will protect us. We’re in the clear. ”

I stare at him in disbelief. As messed up as it is, it is a win. A small, tenuous victory in the middle of this fucked-up night.

I shrug, letting out a long breath. “I can’t disagree with you.”

“See?” he says, the smug smile returning. “Enjoy the win, Kat. They don’t come around often enough in this kind of life.”

I roll my eyes but feel some of the tension in my shoulders ease as the reality of what he’s saying sinks in. This night might have been a disaster, but we’ve come out of it unscathed. For now.

He drops to his knees in front of me, and I instinctively lean back. “What are you doing?” I ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

He laughs softly, a sound that somehow makes me feel more on edge. “Relax, I’m going to run you a bath.” His hands are already undoing the straps of my heels, his touch surprisingly gentle as he slowly slides them off my feet.

“Why would you do that?” I study him, hesitant, my arms crossing over my chest.

“Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t do something nice,” he says, amused and exasperated. “You’ve had a rough night, Kat, and contrary to what you might think, I’m not a complete monster.”

He sets my heels neatly on the mantle, their delicate straps hanging over the edge, and then strides into the bathroom. A moment later, I hear the rush of water filling the tub, the sound oddly soothing despite my still-jumbled nerves.

I remain rooted to the spot, staring after him, unsure whether to be grateful, suspicious, or both. “You didn’t strike me as the ‘bubble bath and pampering’ type,” I call out.

“You’d be surprised,” he responds, his voice echoing faintly over the sound of the faucet. And for some reason, that annoyingly smug tone of his almost makes me smile.