Page 22 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)
Chapter Twelve
“This is going to be fun,” I mutter under my breath as I step out of the bathroom, feeling better after scrubbing every last trace of blood off me.
The bath helped, though Malachi’s lack of a proper brush made dealing with my wet hair a nightmare. At least his oversized white t-shirt serves as a makeshift nightgown, falling to my knees and sparing me from the burden of wearing his equally ill-fitting pajama pants.
He’s stretched out on top of the bed wearing gray sweats and a white shirt, a book in his hands, looking far too comfortable for my liking.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.
His gaze doesn’t even flick to me. He doesn’t say anything and keeps reading, like I’m a ghost he’s choosing to ignore.
I hesitate for a moment, debating whether to demand he sleep on the floor, but I shove the thought away. I’m an adult. Sharing a bed shouldn’t be a big deal. Right?
“What are you reading?” I ask, craning my neck to catch the title.
He startles, quickly sitting up and shoving the book into the drawer of the nightstand like a kid caught sneaking candy. “Must be good if I caught you off guard,” I tease, crossing my arms and giving him a sly grin.
“It’s okay,” he mutters.
“Oh, really?” I step closer to his side of the bed, and his eyes narrow like he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to. Before he can stop me, I reach over, yank the drawer open, and grab the book.
“Hey!” he protests, making a half-hearted swipe to snatch it back, but I sidestep, flipping the cover up so I can see the title.
“A romance novel?” I blurt out, blinking at the embossed letters and the couple locked in a passionate embrace on the cover.
His ears turn the faintest shade of pink as he crosses his arms, glaring at me. “It’s not a romance novel. It’s…literature.”
“Uh-huh.” I tap the book against my palm, biting back a laugh. “You know, I pegged you as the brooding action thriller type. But this? This is adorable.”
“Are you done?” he grumbles, clearly annoyed but not making a move to take the book back.
“Not even close,” I say, dropping onto the bed next to him and flipping through the pages. “Let’s see what kind of literature you’re into, Malachi.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” he asks, exasperated.
“Not really.” I glance over at him, a half-smile starting to form. “Honestly, this is the most fun I’ve had in days.”
“I’m glad making fun of my choice in literature is fun for you. By all means, keep making jokes,” Malachi says, his lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile.
I stop flipping pages when a particularly spicy line catches my eye. Grinning wickedly, I start reading aloud, “‘Calliope grasps his hard length?—’”
Before I can finish, he snatches the book from my hands and shoves it back in the drawer, slamming it shut. “Okay, that’s enough,” he says, clearing his throat.
I burst out laughing, clutching my sides as I flop back onto the bed. “That’s great. Who knew we’d have the same taste in books?” I tease, still giggling.
He gives me a look—a mixture of amusement and irritation—but I catch the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you think you’re funny,” he mutters, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms.
“Oh, I know I’m funny,” I say, sitting up and wiping a stray tear from my eye. “Seriously, you could’ve told me you like romance novels. I wouldn’t have judged. Much.”
He shakes his head, finally letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re full of surprises,” I quip, still grinning as I settle back against the pillows. “Maybe I’ll borrow it when you’re done. Seems like a real page-turner.”
“Not a chance,” he says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, that half-smirk making a brief reappearance.
For once, the tension between us feels a little lighter, and I can’t help but think that maybe this night isn’t a total disaster after all.
“Are you tired? What time is it? Do you think they discovered that Aurora and the boy are missing yet? Do you think Marco confronted Viktor about Eduard?” I ask, my thoughts spilling out in no particular order.
“I can see that bath really gave you a second wind,” Malachi says, amused. I reach over and swat his chest lightly.
“I’m not tired, and it’s only 11 p.m.,” he answers, leaning up to check the clock on the bookshelf. “I don’t know if they’ve discovered the Avids are missing yet. The party will probably go on until the early hours of the morning, so it’s very possible they won’t realize until then.”
He pauses, his expression hardening slightly. “As for my father... I don’t know what he’s going to do. But either way, Eduard deserved to fucking die.” His jaw ticks as he speaks, and I peek over at him, unsure how to respond. “What were you thinking tonight, getting in a situation like that?”
I avoid his gaze, staring up instead. I didn’t mean to steer the conversation back to this.
My eyes stay fixed on the ceiling, as if the wooden beams above could offer me an excuse or a way to justify my actions. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. That’s what I have to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything like that,” he counters, frustrated. “You think throwing yourself into the lion’s den is the only way to get results?”
I finally look at him, and the way his dark eyes search mine makes my chest tighten.
“What do you want me to say, Malachi? That I planned to let it go that far? That I wanted to let him touch me to get information?” My voice shakes, and I hate that it does.
“Do you know what it’s like to be me? To constantly weigh every action against what’s expected of me?
To know that no matter what I do, it’s never enough and I’ll never be free? ”
He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw still tight.
Then he sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.
“No, I don’t know what it’s like to be you,” he admits.
“But I do know you don’t have to put yourself through hell to prove anything to anyone.
Fuck my father and brother and the entire Volkov family. ”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
His hand moves to mine, brushing against it lightly before pulling back as if he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Kat,” he says quietly.
I shake my head and sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything to you,” I say. “I was trying to survive, Malachi, like always.”
“I promise I’m going to get you out of here, free of my family. You’ll have a life of your own one day. But until then, promise me you won’t be reckless.”
Malachi sits up and reaches out, his hand brushing my back briefly until I finally turn to face him. “Don’t ever do what you did tonight again. I don’t care if you’re trying to get information to save someone’s life. It’s not worth it. What if I hadn’t gotten there in time and?—”
I stare at him, confused.
I’ve seen so many different sides of Malachi tonight, and this one throws me off the most. Why does he care what I do or what happens to me?
“If you didn’t get there in time,” I say, keeping my expression steady and cold, “then I would have fucked him and gotten the location of the Avids, and he’d probably still be alive right now.” I bury the sensitive side of me that’s trying to claw its way to the surface.
Malachi leans back, his head hitting the headboard with a soft thud as he exhales sharply. “I take it you’re experienced in using your body to get what you want,” he mutters, staring across the room, his expression unreadable.
“You have no idea.” I stand, pulling back the covers before climbing into bed, deliberately keeping my movements calm and indifferent.
Little does he know, I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin, and the closest I’ve come to kissing a guy in years was that night in the park—with him.
I turn on my side, facing away from Malachi, and focus on Mischka.
It takes only a moment before she appears at the end of the bed, her tiny tail wagging as she does a few excited circles.
I call them scuttle-butts because of the way she tucks her butt in like something’s about to chase her. It’s a Boston Terrier thing.
I can’t help but smile, holding back a laugh as Mischka finally settles, climbing up to lie on her side right against my chest. Her comforting presence lifts the weight of the evening a little.
I start to relax, assuming Malachi has fallen asleep.
But sleep is impossible for me. My mind races with questions after everything that’s happened tonight.
I want to see Aurora again, to find out where she’s been all these years, if her powers have changed, and if she’ll be okay.
I reach out, running my fingers along Mischka’s ghostly fur in slow, soothing strokes.
“What are you doing?”
I freeze, my hand stopping mid-motion. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but my heart skips a beat.
“You’re doing that weird spell shit again,” he says, his voice closer than I expected.
I press my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. “As far as I know, Avids don’t cast spells, and wizards don’t exist,” I say, peeking over my shoulder at him.
Malachi’s eyes narrow, though his expression softens when he sees the smile on my face.
I roll over to face him, and Mischka hops over my body, settling herself perfectly in the space between us. I watch her, and Malachi follows my gaze, his brow furrowing slightly.
“You’re going to have to fill me in on what’s going on here,” he says.
“If I tell you, do you promise never to share it with anyone?” I ask.
His lips curl into a faint, teasing smile as he shifts, propping himself up to face me more comfortably. “I promise, Kat,” he says, and somehow I believe him. After tonight, I feel like I can trust him—something I never thought possible.
“My childhood dog, Mischka, died in the same car accident as my family.” I pause, reaching out to pet her, and his eyes follow the motion, though he says nothing.
“She was the first spirit I ever saw. When I woke up in the hospital, there she was, sitting by my bed like she hadn’t left my side.
Before her, I had no idea I was an Avid. No clue I could see the dead.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“All I have to do is think about her, and she materializes. A piece of her is always with me, but I can only see her when I will it. She’s here now, cuddled between us.” My hand strokes her oddly warm fur, and his gaze drops to follow the motion.
“Why don’t you want anyone to know?” he asks, his hand moving tentatively toward where mine rests. His fingers graze the empty air, searching as if he might feel what I see. “It’s not like they could hurt her. She’s already dead, right?”
I smile faintly, shaking my head. “No one could hurt her, but I like knowing it’s something special only I have. She’s comforted me through some really dark times, and keeping her a secret is my way of keeping her safe, even though she doesn’t need protecting.”
He tilts his head. “Makes sense,” he murmurs. His fingers hesitate in the space between us, and I realize he’s not mocking or dismissing me. He’s trying to understand.
“What will happen to Aurora and the boy?” I ask.
Malachi glances at me. “We have a safe house not far from here. My team will keep them there, protect them until I give the all-clear for them to move on. After that, we’ll help them find a real place to call home—a life where they can live without fear of being hunted or exploited.”
“I want to see her again. When can we make that happen?”
“I’ll figure something out soon,” he says, and I beam at him, the prospect of reuniting with my only real friend filling me with a small, fleeting joy.
“One of these days, you’ll have to tell me how you know her,” he adds, his fingers grazing mine, but I don’t move away.
“That’s a long story,” I admit. “A story about a really dark time in my life—one I don’t want to relive tonight. But one day, I’ll tell you...I promise.”
He studies me for a moment. “Alright. I look forward to it,” he says. In a gesture so simple yet oddly intimate, he reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
The touch makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t explain.
“One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me more about this team of yours,” I say, shifting the conversation. “How it works, how you got into the business of saving people who are trafficked.”
His lips curl faintly at the corners, but his eyes hold something heavier. “Yes,” he says, “one day soon, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
I don’t push for answers now. The exhaustion in my bones outweighs my curiosity. “Good,” I murmur, leaning back against the pillows, Mischka curling against me.
Malachi shifts, sliding under the covers beside me, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight as he repositions. I glance over at him as he settles in, his arm brushing mine for a fleeting moment before he folds his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.
I try to focus on the firelight dancing across the walls, but the warmth radiating from his side of the bed is distracting.
It’s ridiculous—the odd urge to inch closer, to let my head rest against his chest like this is something normal, something safe. I grip the edge of the blanket tighter instead, willing the feeling to go away.
“Goodnight, demon,” Malachi mutters.
“Goodnight, savior,” I reply sarcastically. It’s a fitting nick name after his actions tonight. He chuckles lightly before silence falls over us, and I shut my eyes.