Page 32 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

“How are you feeling?” His voice is softer than usual, gentle in a way that catches me off guard.

“I feel good. Rested,” I murmur, still groggy. “How long did I sleep for? Is it morning yet?” I glance around the dim room, noticing the candle on the end table and the dark curtains drawn tightly over the window.

“The opposite, actually,” he says, shifting slightly as his gaze darts toward the clock.

“You slept for an entire day. It’s already night again.

” His thumb brushes lightly against the small patch of skin exposed where my shirt rides up my back, a motion so absentminded yet so tender it makes my breath hitch.

“Twenty-six hours, to be exact. It’s about midnight. ”

I blink, surprised. “An entire day?” I try to piece together how long I might’ve been in the veil. It hadn’t felt like I was there for more than minutes, but sometimes the toll is unpredictable. “That’s...longer than I expected, but not unheard of.”

His brows knit together slightly as he studies my face. “I know you said this happens—that projecting takes a lot out of you—and Marco warned me you’d need rest. But I didn’t expect it to hit so hard.”

He looks past me, his jaw tightening slightly as if he’s replaying the last twenty-six hours in his head. His hand, still tracing gentle lines on my lower back, seems to move without him realizing it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he presses, his voice dropping into something more serious, more personal.

I nod, resting my chin lightly on his chest as I meet his gaze. “I’m fine, really. Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes not as bad. This was...manageable.”

He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push further, and I don’t tell him how comforting it feels to wake up like this, in his arms, instead of in Marco’s room, him or one of his guards watching me.

I slide out of bed, Malachi’s gaze trailing me as I move, but he doesn’t stop me. He watches, his eyes tracking every step like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out yet. It makes my skin prickle under the weight of his attention.

“Why do you look at me like that?” I ask, hesitating near the bathroom door, my hand hovering over the frame.

“Like what?” Malachi replies casually despite his eyes being anything but.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” I say.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. “Maybe I am,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. “Or maybe I can’t stop staring.”

The way he says it has me giggling like an idiot. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, ducking into the bathroom, but the warmth in my cheeks is unmistakable.

The cold water on my face helps wake me up fully, washing away the haze of sleep and the strange heaviness left behind from projecting. I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and push it back over my shoulders, wanting to feel human again after sleeping for so long.

When I crawl back into bed, Malachi lifts his arm without saying anything, inviting me to settle against him.

I hesitate for the briefest moment then tuck into his side, letting his arm wrap securely around me.

His hold is warm and firm, and the way my body fits against his catches me off guard.

It feels good—too good—and I inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.

I tilt my head slightly, my eyes finding his in the dim, shimmering light of the candle on the nightstand. The golden-brown of his gaze is more vivid up close, tiny flecks of amber scattered like shards of firelight against a backdrop of deep, endless mahogany. He’s staring right back at me.

“You know,” he says suddenly, "you still owe me a kiss.” His lips curve into a slow, teasing smile, the kind that flashes the dimple on his left cheek and makes it impossible to look anywhere else.

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. I don’t have a quick, biting comeback. Because the truth is—I do want to kiss him. Worse than that, I want him to kiss me.

My gaze drops to his lips before I can stop myself, and I feel a rush of heat crawl up my neck.

I bite the inside of my cheek, wrestling with the war raging inside me.

One part of me screams to close the space, to feel the heat of his mouth against mine.

The other part—the one that’s built walls and thrived behind them—warns me to keep my distance.

But then he tilts his head, his smirk softening into something deeper, more intense. His hand slides from where it rests on my back, his thumb brushing lightly against my side as his fingers press into me slightly, holding me closer. “What’s the matter, Kat? No snarky remark this time?” he asks.

I force myself to meet his eyes again, and I see the challenge there, the unspoken dare. I tilt my chin, feigning confidence I don’t feel, and murmur, “Maybe I’m waiting for you to take it.”

For a moment, I think he’s going to move. That he’s going to close the space between us, and?—

But he doesn’t. Instead, his thumb grazes my side again, sending another shiver through me. “Careful what you ask for, demon,” he whispers, his voice like a velvet caress.

I hold his stare, my lips parting slightly, my breath caught somewhere between anticipation and defiance. His thumb pauses on my side, the heat of his touch penetrating through the thin fabric of my shirt. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves, as if the world itself has stopped to hold its breath.

Then he shifts slightly, his hand sliding up my back as he leans in, his face mere inches from mine. I can feel his breath on my lips, warm and teasing, and it sends a thrill racing through me. He hesitates, his eyes searching mine, like he’s giving me one last chance to pull away.

I don’t.

His lips brush against mine, tentative at first, like he’s testing the waters. I sigh into the kiss, my hands sliding up to rest against his chest. He deepens it, his fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer, erasing the space between us entirely.

The kiss is slow and deliberate, yet it steals the breath from my lungs.

His lips move against mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt—no room for anything else but him.

My heart races, my pulse roaring in my ears, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t care about anything but this moment.

He tilts his head, his nose brushing against mine as he explores, his other hand anchoring me against him. I lose myself in the warmth of him, in the way he tastes, the way he feels, like a force of nature I never saw coming.

When he finally pulls back, it’s slow and reluctant, his forehead resting lightly against mine. My eyes flutter open, meeting his smoldering gaze, and I feel my chest tighten all over again. His voice is low and husky when he finally speaks.

“Was that what you were waiting for?”

I don’t trust myself to speak, so I nod, running my tongue across my bottom lip. Then I feel something softer, something dangerously close to safe. I start to let my mind wander, worrying if letting my guard down around him might be reckless.

But then, with a breath, I push the intrusive thoughts aside, a spark of boldness flaring within me.

Fuck it.

Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us, my mouth finding his.

The contact sends a jolt through me, and when I press my tongue against his lips, he responds immediately, opening for me.

He’s half-sitting, his back resting against the headboard, and it’s not enough.

I want to be closer. I need better access.

I shift, crawling on top of him, straddling his waist as I deepen the kiss.

His hands move instinctively, trailing down my sides, gripping my hips.

The heat of his touch sends a delicious shiver through my body.

My fingers thread into his hair, tugging gently as his tongue meets mine, exploring, teasing, and pulling soft, shaky breaths from me.

His grip tightens, pulling me flush against him, and I feel his chest rise and fall rapidly beneath me. I tilt my head, angling the kiss for more, giving into the moment entirely as his mouth devours mine.

When I finally pull back for air, I rest my forehead to his, both of us breathing heavily. His gaze locks onto mine, his pupils dark and dilated, his lips red and glistening. He exhales a single word, low and hoarse, his voice like a rumble of thunder in the quiet room.

“Fuck.”

His hands remain on my hips, and I feel his fingers flex slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself in. But the look in his eyes tells me he’s anything but in control.

Suddenly, he flips me onto my back, his lips trailing a searing path along my jawline, his breath warm against my skin.

His hand slips under my shirt, his fingers grazing my stomach before moving upward, cupping my breast with deliberate tenderness.

A soft moan escapes me when his thumb and forefinger tease my nipple, rolling it until it peaks beneath his touch.

His other hand grips my hip, grounding me, holding me steady as his body presses against mine.

I can feel his hardness through the thin layers of fabric between us, and the realization steals my breath.

My pulse races, my heart thundering in my chest as a flood of emotions surges to the surface—excitement, desire, and something heavier, something uncertain.

The weight of every assumption I’ve let him make about me presses down on me.

He thinks he knows me—what I’ve done, what I’m capable of—but he doesn’t. Not really.

I shift slightly beneath him, trying to steel myself against the storm of feelings building inside me. His lips skim the edge of my neck, his breath igniting my skin, and I can’t help the way my voice trembles when I whisper his name. “Malachi…”

He stills instantly, pulling back enough to look at me. His dark eyes search mine, soft yet intense, his expression a mixture of concern and restraint.

“What is it?” he asks, his teasing tone gone, replaced by something infinitely more serious.

I bite my lip, suddenly unsure if I can say it aloud. But I have to—before this goes any further. “I need you to know something.”

He shifts his weight, giving me enough space to breathe, his brows knitting together as he waits for me to continue. “You can tell me anything,” he says, his voice steady, reassuring.

I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to speak before I lose my nerve. “I’ve never…done this before. Any of it.”

His expression falters, confusion crossing his face before realization sets in. “Wait, you mean…”

“Yes.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I look away, unable to meet his stare. “I’ve never been with anyone. Everything you’ve heard, everything I let you believe…it was all a lie.”

The silence that follows is deafening, stretching so long that I almost regret saying anything. When I finally glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. His mouth opens slightly, as though he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words.

“All this time…” he mutters more to himself than to me.

He shakes his head, and I see something briefly in his eyes—regret, guilt, or maybe a mix of both.

“Kat, why didn’t you tell me? For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking letting that fucking pig touch you for information?

” His jaw tightens, his frustration palpable.

“I was thinking people like you always assume the worst about me,” I say, releasing years of pent-up frustration. “It was easier to let you think I was someone else. Someone…stronger. Someone who wouldn’t let themselves be used.”

His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin with a tenderness that catches me off guard. “You’re already the strongest person I know,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry for ever assuming otherwise.”

I search his eyes, looking for any trace of mockery, any hint of disbelief, but all I see is sincerity. “You didn’t have to lie to me,” he adds, “but I get why you did. And for what it’s worth, I don’t care about what you have or haven’t done. I care about you.”

It relieves an ache I didn’t realize I was carrying, but then his expression darkens slightly. “And I want to go back and kill that fuck Eduard all over again for touching you.”

He rolls off me onto his side, still facing me, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he says. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

I let out a slow breath, “I don’t need you to go easy on me, Malachi. I’m not fragile.”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth quirking into that infuriatingly charming half-smile. “I know that,” he replies, “but that doesn’t mean I’m rushing you into something you’re not ready for.”

His patience disarms me, and I hesitate, unused to someone being so careful with me—with my feelings.

It’s always been the opposite—people trying to take, to use, to bend me to their will.

But Malachi…waits. His hand moves to my side, tracing slow, soothing circles over my shirt, his warmth steadying the chaos inside me.

“What if I want this?” I whisper, my fingers toying with the edge of his shirt where it meets his skin.

His eyes darken, his breath hitching slightly, and for a moment I think he might give in. But then he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead so tender it makes my chest ache.

“Then we’ll take our time,” he says softly, his lips brushing against my temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Undone, I bury my face in his chest, letting his heartbeat steady me. His arms wrap around me, strong and secure, and for the first time I let myself fully relax into someone else’s care.

We stay like that for a long time, the candlelight dancing across the walls. His hands trace gentle patterns along my back, as if he’s content to hold me, and I realize I’ve never felt anything like this before.

“You’re going to ruin me, Kat,” he murmurs against the top of my hair, sounding like he’s not sure if he’s teasing or confessing a truth that terrifies him.

I let out a soft laugh. “Good,” I say, my fingers curling against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Someone should.”