Page 3 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Two

I’m careful not to be followed on my way back to Marco’s compound. The roads are deserted this time of night, and anyone with half a brain knows to keep their distance from the Volkov estate.

Marco Volkov—head of the Volkov family and ruler of the Western District—holds all the power here, like a king in the ruins of what was once a kingdom.

We live in what used to be called California, though that name holds little meaning now.

That was long before viral outbreaks, climate disasters, and total political collapse carved the world into what it is today.

What was once the United States is now a bunch of fractured districts known as Sunderlands.

The population is a shadow of what it was, the billions who once lived here.

At least, that’s what we’re taught. The history books in our schools paint a grim picture of the past, but when the curriculum is dictated by a monarchy that seized control in a time of chaos—one that rules with an iron fist—it’s hard to know what’s true.

They rose to power when everything fell apart, and now they tighten their grip on what’s left of this broken nation.

Fear keeps people in line. Fear of the unknown, of what lies beyond the realms of our borders, and of the Volkov family’s reach. They say the monarchy saved us, but when the truth is written by those who rule, trust becomes a luxury none of us can afford.

At least this compound is perched on the cliffside.

Even though few plants manage to grow here, I can still enjoy the ocean breeze.

I breathe in the salty air and turn up the paved driveway to the place I call both my home and my prison.

Sometimes I wonder if Marco chose this island deliberately, as if the isolation wasn’t punishment enough.

It makes escape that much harder. Too bad California fractured into the ocean, forming a series of islands, history screwing me over long before I ever had a chance.

I’ve learned the hard way that there’s no point trying to run.

The Volkov family has eyes everywhere. After so many failed attempts, I’ve finally accepted this as my life.

The large iron gates come into view, looming in the distance.

I stay close to the edge of the road, hugging the cliffside.

The darkness hides the ocean beyond, but the sound of waves crashing below always resonates deep within me.

Banks steps out of the small guard post as I approach. He’s one of Marco’s many security personnel, but one of the few who actually fears me. Most of the men working for Marco have heard rumors about what I can do, but Banks knows the truth.

“I was starting to worry about you, Miss Sinclair,” he says, sighing in relief as I approach the gates.

He was on the team that escorted me to a job a few years ago.

A wealthy family from the Southern District hired me to find out what happened to their murdered daughter.

They paid Marco for my services, and I was able to contact the girl, uncovering exactly how she died.

One of her father’s enemies kidnapped her and tortured her for information about his company, since she was a valued stakeholder.

The whole experience rattled Banks, who started letting me take walks without question or sneak off to the park when I need to clear my head.

“You know I’ll always come back,” I reply, flashing him some teeth.

Banks gives me a half-smile, his usual stoic expression softening. “One of these days, you might not. Marco doesn’t take kindly to people disappearing.”

I shrug, even though I know he’s right. “It’s a good thing you’re here to keep an eye on me.”

The gates creak open, the iron scraping against the stone in a way that makes my skin crawl.

It’s always like this—the sound, the sensation—like the gates are welcoming me back to my cage.

As I step through, the weight of it all settles in my chest, heavier than before.

The clang of the gates slamming shut echoes behind me, a reminder of the prison I can never quite escape.

Banks nods, his dark eyes tracking my movements, but doesn’t say anything else.

I move as quietly as possible along the gravel path, the crunch beneath my feet sounding louder in the thick silence of the night.

The path wraps around the mansion—no, palace—an enormous structure boasting wings and endless rooms. It towers above me, an architectural masterpiece on the outside, a fortress of control within.

I hug the shadows, keeping to the edges of the property, heading toward the back entrance closest to my room. The grandness of it all doesn’t matter. Whether beautiful or opulent, it’s still a cage.

A curdling scream rips through the house as I turn down the hallway, echoing off the marble floors, sharp and jagged. My body goes rigid, every muscle locking as I press my back against the wall, instinctively slipping into a defensive stance.

Someone’s being tortured tonight, and the thought of being dragged into whatever’s happening claws at my insides.

Another scream follows, a cry of raw pain, and my hand flies to my mouth, smothering the instinct to scream in return.

I want to help, I want to run to them and make it stop, but I know better.

I know that stepping in would only seal my own fate, and I’d be the one screaming next.

The thought of him hurting another Avid makes my stomach churn. The sickness twists inside me, and I force it down, swallowing hard. I tell myself it’s not an Avid. Maybe it’s someone who deserves it, someone who’s done something terrible. But pretending that doesn’t make me feel any better.

Marcos’s made it clear, time and time again, how bad things could be if I stray. I don’t even let the thought of escape flicker in my mind anymore. I’ve learned what happens if I try. I’ve been on the other end of those screams before.

The hall goes quiet, and the silence feels worse than the screams. It wraps around me like a noose. I push off the wall and move again, my steps quickening as the temperature plummets.

I feel it in my bones—the passing of life, so close.

Whoever that was died, crossing over. I can sense it, the weight of it.

My door is in sight, and I need to make it there before.

.. A flicker of movement down the hall has my heart lurching into my throat.

Is Marco sending someone to get me, to punish me for sneaking out?

Or is it the tortured soul of his victim, seeking retribution?

I pinch my eyes closed, forcing back the rising panic, as my hand finally grips the doorknob. I push inside, quickly shutting the door behind me. I don’t hear anything as I listen with my ear against the wall and my shoulders slump as I finally let myself relax.

Nights like this are far too common around here. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

Safe. For now, at least.

I move to the window, pulling back the curtains to peer out at the black ocean below. I can’t shake the feeling that no matter how quiet I am, no matter how dark it is, someone is always watching—dead or alive.

“Mischka, where are you?” I call out as I slip into bed. Mischka was my childhood dog, a seal and white Boston Terrier who died in the car accident that claimed the rest of my family. She was the first spirit I ever saw, which nearly scared the life out of me.

When you wake up in a hospital and see ghosts, it’s not exactly something you can tell your doctor, unless you want a one-way ticket to a padded room.

Over the years, I’ve honed my gift, learned to control it.

But Mish… She’s always the easiest to summon.

All I have to do is say her name, picture her in my mind, and there she is.

She doesn’t look the same as she used to. There’s a bluish glow to her now, like an aura surrounding her slightly translucent form, but she’s still my sweet Mischka. Even in death, she’s never left my side.

I’ve never told anyone about her—not that they could hurt her, since she’s already dead.

Maybe it’s my way of protecting her, keeping something of my own safe.

She curls up beside me, her ghostly form warm in its own strange way, and I feel the tension slip from my body.

I stare up at the vaulted white ceiling, my mind still buzzing from earlier.

Tonight turned into one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, all because of one mysterious man who appeared out of nowhere and left me reeling. I wonder where he would’ve taken me if I’d agreed to his offer to do something crazy. What was it he said? “Seize the night.”

Maybe I will see him again—another late-night rendezvous in the park. Too bad I don’t get to go there very often, only when Banks is on the night shift, and that’s maybe once or twice a month if I’m lucky. I shake my head. Getting involved with Malachi would only put him in danger.

I already crossed a line tonight, but it felt damn good. I bring my hands to my lips, letting myself imagine what it would have been like to kiss him as I drift off to sleep.

Cade chases after me, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me effortlessly, carrying me toward the water.

I scream and laugh, flailing my arms and battering his shoulders, but Cade is tall and built, even for someone our age.

He finally sets me down, and the cold shock of the waves makes me cry out.

“Cade, no! It could ruin everything!” I push his chest, but the giggle bubbling up in my throat betrays me.

“Or it could make everything better! Come on, Kitty Kat.” He grabs my wrist, pulling me into him, and our eyes lock—his soft green eyes filled with mischief.

His disheveled black hair falls across his forehead in pieces, and suddenly it begins to rain.

We both look up, completely dumbfounded.

It never rains. In the Western District, rain is so rare it’s practically a miracle if we get even one day of it each year.

The rain falls harder, sheets of it pouring down.

I laugh, holding my hands out to feel it as it drenches my face and hair.

When I look back at Cade, he’s not watching the sky—he’s watching me.

Without another thought, we move together.

He scoops me into his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist. We kiss.

His lips are soft, his tongue gentle as it explores my mouth for the first time.

A loud knock at the door jars me awake, and I sit up in bed, breathless. Mish is gone, and sunlight streams through the window. It’s late.

“What is it?” I call out.

“Marco says to be ready by 5 p.m.” It sounds like Zane, another one of Marco’s men. He’s not as fond of me as Banks.

“Will do,” I say, listening for Zane’s heavy footsteps to fade away from my doorway.

God, I haven’t dreamed about Cade in a long time.

I guess it’s only natural to dream about my first kiss after almost sharing one with Malachi.

Maybe it’s because I told Malachi about the car accident.

Cade was my best friend for most of my life, and then one day things changed between us. It turned into something more.

But we never really got to explore it. Not long after our first kiss was the day of the accident.

I’ve never tried to contact Cade’s spirit, or my parents’ for that matter.

For a long time, I was in denial and didn’t think it was even possible.

By the time I realized I could do it, I was too afraid of the pain that seeing them would bring.

Or, if I’m being honest, too terrified of what they might say.

They must hate me for the accident. And that’s a weight my heart can’t bear. Obliviousness is easier to swallow.

“And Katja…” Zane’s voice sends a jolt through me, I hadn’t heard him approach the door again—God, I’m on edge today.

“Yes?”

“Dress warm and pack enough for a couple of weeks.”

Weeks. My heart skips. That can only mean one thing—a case. And not just any case. A murder.