Page 40 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’m standing in the living room, but Malachi isn’t looking at me.

He’s looking through me.

A chill races down my spine as I whirl around. My body is still seated on the couch, Bash’s hands glowing faintly where they touch my arms, his head bowed in concentration. This is wrong. I never cross into the veil this way—without trying, without intention.

“Malachi?” I say, testing the air, but he doesn’t react. It’s like I don’t exist.

I glance back at Bash, my voice trembling. “Bash, something’s?—”

Then I hear it.

A whisper. Soft at first then louder, like dozens of voices layered together. The air thickens, and shadows ripple along the edges of the room, stretching and twisting as if they’re alive. My heart pounds as I turn in a slow circle, the temperature dropping with every second.

This isn’t the veil. This is something else entirely.

“Katja.” The whisper carries my name, disembodied but familiar. A woman’s voice. Then a man’s. Then another. The air vibrates with their chorus, each word tugging at me like invisible threads.

I stumble back, my foot catching on nothing, and suddenly I’m falling.

The world tilts, and I tumble out of the living room, out of the light, into endless darkness.

The room I left hangs above me like a distant window, glowing faintly in the void.

I scramble to my feet, reaching for it, but something—someone—shoves me back.

“You don’t belong here...but you will soon.”

The voice brushes against my ear, cold and hollow, as though the speaker is right behind me. The icy breath freezes me in place, and I scream, spinning around to find...nothing. Only the darkness stretches on, endless and suffocating.

But then the void churns, swirling like ink in water, and shapes begin to emerge. The ground beneath me solidifies into a desolate, cracked landscape. Wisps of mist curl around my ankles, cold and clinging, and then they take form.

Spirits.

They materialize all around me, flickering in and out like broken projections. Men, women, even animals—some look almost normal, their faces solemn and pale. Others are horrors. Twisted bodies, gaping wounds, and empty eyes, frozen in the moments of their violent deaths.

I take a shaky step back, but they’re everywhere. A crowd, restless and shifting, growing thicker with each second. My chest tightens, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. This isn’t like the veil I’ve known. This is chaos. This is...wrong.

Amid the spirits, something else moves. Shadows. They dart between the dead, fast and deliberate, always narrowly out of sight. I whip my head around, trying to follow their movement, but they’re too quick, slipping between the figures like predators stalking prey.

“Who said that?” My voice wavers as I turn, searching for the source of the voices.

A woman stands beside me, her face pale and lifeless, her eyes wide with something that might have been fear—or madness.

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, too wide and too sharp, and she begins to laugh.

It’s a high-pitched, manic sound that claws at my nerves, and then she’s gone, vanishing into the air like smoke.

The laughter lingers, echoing around me, picked up by others in the crowd. More spirits turn toward me, their hollow eyes fixed on mine. I stumble back again, my foot slipping on the uneven ground.

I’ve never seen so many at once.

The sheer weight of their presence presses down on me, until I think I may be sick.

Their whispers grow louder, a thousand overlapping voices clawing at the edges of my mind.

My head throbs, and I press my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t help.

They’re inside me now, their voices wrapping around my thoughts, making it impossible to think, to focus.

I try to will it all away, to block them out like I’ve done before, but it’s too much. The darkness is alive, crawling with restless energy, and I don’t know how to control it. Panicking, I spin in place, searching for a way out.

The spirits close in.

“Help,” I whisper, but there’s no one here to hear me.

“Here, kitty, kitty.” Damien’s voice slithers through the crowd like smoke, wrapping itself around me and making my skin crawl. My heart jumps at the familiarity, a bizarre cocktail of relief and dread settling over me. At least it’s someone I know—if you can even call Damien a “someone” anymore.

“The very person I wanted to talk to,” I call out, forcing my voice to stay steady even as the weight of the veil presses in on me.

My eyes dart through the sea of dead, searching for him, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

The air feels charged, the overwhelming energy of so many voices, faces, and emotions making it hard to focus.

I clench my fists, trying to keep control.

Bash said I’d be stronger. If I can see all of this—feel all of this—then I should be able to control it. Shouldn’t I?

I close my eyes, forcing three slow, steady breaths as I try to quiet the madness around me.

I can do this .

I focus on the cold, electric hum of the dead—the constant, grating vibration that surrounds me—and attempt to shut it out completely.

Normally, I’d lean into it, tuning in to each thread of energy to pull the answers I need.

But this time, I push back, trying to create some semblance of peace in this cacophony.

When I open my eyes, it’s barely better. The dead still swarm, flickering and murmuring like static-filled apparitions, their voices blurring together into an unbearable din.

“Want to take me somewhere quieter to talk?” I ask as I glance at Damien. He tilts his head and takes the bait. His hand grips my wrist, and the world around me shifts.

The suffocating darkness melts into the snowy forest I’ve come to associate with him—Damien’s haunting reflection of home.

The skeletal trees, their black branches heavy with snow, stretch endlessly, casting jagged shadows over the pale ground.

The murmuring dead thin out, their flickering forms still visible but distant now.

For the first time since I crossed into the veil, I exhale.

I don’t pull my wrist away, even though the chill of his touch makes my flesh prickle. If he lets go, I might get dragged back into that overwhelming nightmare. For now, I’ll tolerate it. “Thanks,” I say carefully, keeping my tone light. No need to poke the bear when I need answers.

“You certainly know how to draw a crowd for someone who’s supposed to be invisible,” Damien says.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You Avids,” he says snidely, “you’re supposed to be the untouchables. The pets no one wants to play with but that everyone wants to own.”

That puts a sour taste in my mouth. He would see us that way. After all, I’ve seen how his father treats people like me. I want to snap at him, to tell him where he can shove his twisted perspective, but I hold back. Losing my temper won’t get me the answers I need.

“Carmen said something before,” I say. “She said, ‘He’s not dead. He’s alive.’ Who was she talking about?”

Damien’s expression barely changes, but there’s something behind his eyes—something smug. “Fuck if I know. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” he says lazily, shrugging as if the thought of Carmen bores him.

“I’ve tried. She’s not exactly easy to reach. Either someone’s keeping her away, or she doesn’t want to talk to me.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, cold and humorless. “Maybe she’s got her reasons. Ever think of that?” He licks his lips. “But I’m more fun to talk to anyway. You keep coming back, playing my games, hoping I’ll throw you a breadcrumb. Maybe if you keep being entertaining, I will.”

He’s already getting under my skin, but I force a smile, knowing I need to keep him talking. “If you want me to keep showing up, you’ll have to give me more than breadcrumbs.”

He leans closer. “I have enough to keep you wanting more.”

I steel myself, meeting his gaze head-on. “Your father, did he know? Did Viktor have anything to do with your murder? Did you do something to piss him off, something you couldn’t come back from?”

Damien’s smile falters, his expression darkening.

“He’s innocent—if you think being uninvolved makes him innocent.

Do you really believe something like that could go down under his roof and he wouldn’t know?

” His thumb brushes over my wrist, causing goosebumps to spread up my arm.

“My father’s no saint. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he’s never clean. ”

Damien’s right—Viktor’s reaction to his son’s death was cold, calculated. A party mere days after Damien’s murder, blood still staining the walls upstairs? That’s not the grief of an innocent man. I already knew that. But Damien’s certainty that Viktor didn’t directly order the kill throws me off.

“Oh, Kitty Kat,” Damien says, mocking affection. “You are going to be so surprised when you find your killer.”

A chill creeps down my spine. “Why don’t you tell me?” I ask, exasperated. “You know who did it. Why play these games?”

“Because it’s fun,” he says simply, his smile widening. “And because watching you figure it out is so much more satisfying. Careful who you trust out there. Us Volkov men can be very resourceful—all of us. Killing is in our blood.”

I stiffen. It feels like a jab at Malachi, but I can’t tell if it’s meant to rattle me or if there’s truth hidden in his taunt. Either way, I don’t like it.

I narrow my eyes, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite the unease creeping into my chest. Damien thrives on reactions, I remind myself. Don’t give him one.

“Good to know,” I say. “Not that I’d expect anything less from you.”

He grins, taking a step closer, “You really should be careful who you trust. Not everyone has your best interests at heart. If only you could see what I see.”

I retort, my voice cold, “I don’t take anything you say at face value, not anymore.”

“Smart girl,” he says, something dark lurking in his gaze. “But even the smartest fall for the wrong person sometimes.”

I swallow hard, refusing to let his words shake me. “Is that what you think this is? Some cheap attempt to scare me off?”

Damien’s laugh echoes through the trees, hollow and haunting. “No, Kitty Kat, it’s a warning. Trust is a fragile thing, and you’re in a world where even the closest bonds can shatter like glass.”

He’s not going to get under my skin, and I sure as hell won’t let him turn me against Malachi. Damien loves screwing with me, twisting everything he says into a barbed threat or a cryptic taunt. His games may have been mildly interesting at first, but now? They’re exhausting.

Damien releases my wrist with a sudden, icy shove. The snowy forest around us dissolves into darkness, its serenity melting away like smoke in the wind. The noise returns—voices, so many voices. It’s a cacophony of whispers and cries, spirits clawing at my mind, each one desperate for attention.

It’s like they want a piece of me, to give me a message, to take something from me. I can barely think, barely move, as the overwhelming sensation drags me down, my knees buckling beneath the weight.

As I’m about to lose myself completely, Mischka bursts into view, her glowing form leaping into my arms. Her warm, shadowy presence grounds me, and her familiar licks on my face help silence the relentless noise.

I cling to her, drawing strength from her, until she wriggles free, barking sharply and darting ahead.

I follow her, my eyes snapping to where she’s heading. That’s when I see it—my window. My way back to Malachi’s living room.

Except the sight before me freezes my blood.

The window is surrounded by the dead, their translucent hands clawing and grabbing at my physical body.

My body.

They’re trying to drag it into the veil.

“What the fuck?” I gasp. This has never happened before.

I don’t even know what would happen if they succeeded.

Would I be trapped here, my soul severed from my body forever?

The thought sends a jolt of panic through me, and I take off running, my heart pounding as I chase after Mish.

She weaves through the crowd of spirits, her calls guiding me.

I can see the living room beyond the window now.

Malachi has his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, focused intently, while Bash flails wildly, his movements erratic as he tries to swat at something he can’t even see.

They have no idea what they’re up against—no idea how to fight off the spirits threatening to drag me into oblivion.

“Mish, go!” I shout, my voice echoing through the void.

She leaps through the window without hesitation, disappearing into the room.

I charge forward, shoving past the spirits.

Their cold, spectral hands claw at me, some passing through me with a bone-deep chill, others dragging me down with their weight.

I can barely see, barely breathe, but I throw myself into the writhing mass, pushing and clawing until I reach my physical hand.

The moment my fingers connect with my own, everything snaps back into place. I gasp awake, my lungs burning as though I’ve surfaced from deep underwater.

I’m back. I’m in Malachi’s living room.

Malachi’s arms are still around me, his grip so tight it’s almost painful, and Bash is breathing hard, his wild eyes scanning the room as if the spirits might have followed me through.

“What the fuck happened?” Bash demands, his voice loud and sharp in the silence. But all I can do is sit there, trembling, as Malachi falls to the couch with me in his arms.

He grips my face, his hands firm but careful, his wide eyes scanning me like he’s searching for something—any sign of injury.

“Kat, talk to me,” he says, his expression tight with panic.

“I’m okay,” I manage, slurring as exhaustion starts to pull me under. “That was intense, but I’m?—”

A wave of heaviness crashes over me, my body sinking like lead into the couch. My head feels too heavy to hold up, my vision blurring at the edges.

“Kat!” Malachi sounds distant now, as though it’s coming from somewhere far away. My last blurry glimpse is of him shooting Bash a look so sharp, so full of fury, it could cut glass.

“It’s not his fault,” I want to say, but the words don’t come. I try to lift my hand, to do something, but the overwhelming pull of sleep takes over before I can process another thought.

Darkness swallows me whole.