Page 44 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“When were you going to fill me in on all of this?” I ask as I take in the room around me.

We’ve entered a part of the Depths I’ve never seen before, and it feels like I’ve stepped into another world all over again. The space is massive, easily the size of an aircraft hangar, segmented into nine distinct quadrants, each one seemingly designed for a specific purpose.

At least twenty people are spread throughout the lab, some working in small clusters, others practicing their gifts in isolation. The air hums with raw energy, a subtle charge that seems to sink into my skin and make my hair stand on end.

The first quadrant catches my attention immediately.

Padded walls line the area, the kind you’d see in a gymnastics center but reinforced with something thicker, almost metallic.

A young woman stands in the middle of the room, her hands glowing faintly as she conjures an orb of fire, spinning it rapidly before hurling it at a target on the far wall.

The flames erupt on impact, but the walls absorb the blast like it’s nothing.

She smiles as an older man claps her on the back and points out adjustments to her form.

Aurora would love this.

The next section is enclosed in what looks like unbreakable glass, the kind that shimmers faintly under the fluorescent lights.

Inside, two Avids are sparring—one wielding crackling bolts of electricity, the other forming shimmering shields of translucent energy to block the strikes.

Their movements are fast, fluid, and terrifyingly precise, the clash of power echoing faintly through the glass barrier. These are all useful fucking powers.

These Avids are ready for battle, and I’m over here seeing ghosts.

Another area has rows of tables covered in vials of swirling, vibrant liquids—Avidian.

Several people are seated, sipping from small doses of it while others monitor them, taking notes on tablets.

Actually, I have no idea who is an Avid and who isn’t, because everyone in here could be using Avidian.

A boy with silver streaks in his hair suddenly stands, his eyes wide as he looks down at his hand. He flexes his fingers, and a dense, golden mist forms around him, coiling and swirling like a living thing.

The quadrants are equipped for everything.

One is filled with strange obstacles—walls to climb, spinning blades, and other death-trap-like mechanisms meant to hone reflexes and agility.

Another features tanks of water where a woman submerges herself completely, holding her breath far longer than any human could as her skin seems to glisten like a fish’s scales.

Near the back, a group gathers around what looks like a makeshift shooting range, only instead of weapons, they’re using their gifts. A man with green eyes hurls jagged shards of ice at moving targets, each one hitting dead center.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling? That was a trip the other day.” Bash’s voice pulls me from my trance. He’s striding toward me, looking sheepish but animated.

“I’m good. Don’t worry about me,” I say, though my focus remains on the room. “Want to explain what’s going on here since Malachi seems…distracted?” I gesture toward Malachi, who stands a few steps away, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on something in the distance like he’s deep in thought.

Bash grins, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Welcome to our little experimental playground. This is where we push boundaries, test limits, and make sure Avids have the tools to survive out there. Each quadrant is designed to train or experiment with different abilities. And we’re fine-tuning the effects of Avidian. Both for them and us.”

“Us?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“For Avids,” Bash clarifies. “If a dose works, it grants temporary access to that specific gift. Avids can practice harnessing other abilities this way, and non-Avids—well, it levels the playing field when necessary.” He gestures to the boy with the golden mist, who now seems to be summoning it into a shape—a weapon.

“Levels the playing field? Or creates a new kind of weapon?”

Bash hesitates, crinkling his nose and rubbing at his chin. “Depends on how you look at it, but what you’re seeing here is controlled. Everyone in this room has agreed to be part of the experiments, and it’s helping them. Look around—these Avids are getting stronger, more precise.”

I take it all in, my skin prickling with unease and fascination. I glance back at Malachi, who continues to watch a group in one of the sparring quadrants.

“Bash, can you give us a minute?”

He looks at Malachi then back at me. “Of course.” He heads over to the nearest table and starts talking to someone holding a vial.

Malachi seems to barely notice when I approach him.

“Why are you being so weird and cryptic? You drag me down here and don’t say anything. You said Irina knew what Jamie meant, but you still haven’t filled me in. Care to share?” I shove Malachi’s arm, hoping to snap him out of whatever is occupying his mind.

He blinks, as if remembering I’m still here, then grabs my wrist. “Yes, let’s go to my office.”

I barely have time to react as he walks over to one of the cabinets in the corner of the lab, shoving random items into a backpack.

My curiosity is still fixed on the room behind me, on the Avids practicing their gifts and the buzz of power that makes the air feel electric.

I want to stay, to watch, to see other abilities in this strange and fascinating place.

But Malachi is already tugging me out and down the hall, leaving the lab behind.

We reach a door, and he pushes it open. The room inside is a stark contrast to the sterile, industrial feel of the lab.

It’s…cozy. The walls are lined with bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of titles, their spines worn from use.

A dark-mahogany desk sits in the center of the room, papers and notebooks scattered across its surface.

Two chairs face the desk, and off to the side there’s a large leather couch next to a sleek black fridge.

The space feels lived-in, personal, and completely unexpected.

I glance around, taking it all in, before my attention lands back on Malachi. He moves to his desk, drops the backpack onto it, and starts rifling through the contents with a single-minded intensity.

I cross my arms, planting myself in the middle of the room. “What the fuck is going on, Malachi?” My irritation rises, fueled by his silence and the way he keeps brushing me off. “You’ve been acting off since we got here, and I’m tired of being left in the dark.”

“My aunt said ‘where the wolves prowl’ could be Jamie’s old hunting cabin,” Malachi explains, spreading a worn map across his desk.

His fingers trace over faded lines, stopping at a remote spot.

“He used to take trips there often, especially with Marco and Viktor. It’s isolated, deep in one of the last forests left in the Western District, and only accessible with four-wheel drive.

It’s the perfect place to hide something. ”

My concern sharpens, the implications settling heavy in my gut. “How far away is this cabin?” I ask, leaning over the map.

“About an hour from here,” he replies, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through its contents.

“I take it we’re going?” I say, my voice dry.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he says without looking up. “You’re staying here with Bash, where it’s safe. I’ll check it out and come back as soon as I can.”

I startle, offended. “Excuse me?” I take a step closer to the desk. “You think I’m going to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you head off into the unknown? With Marco’s history, Jamie’s cryptic warnings, and Orin’s lovely visit fresh in my mind? No fucking way.”

“Kat,” he says, finally looking up, his tone even. “It could be dangerous.”

I bark out a humorless laugh. “You think my life hasn’t been a constant parade of danger? News flash, Malachi, I’ve been surviving worse situations than this for years. Dangerous is my normal. And I’m not staying behind.”

He scowls bitterly. “I don’t even have my team here,” he says, gesturing at the map. “They’re still at the safe house near Viktor’s compound. I wasn’t planning on taking action—only scoping the place out, gathering intel.”

“Sounds like a low-risk operation, which means I’ll be even safer tagging along. What could go wrong?”

He gives me a look, the corner of his mouth twitching as if fighting a smile. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“Not when the alternative is being left behind with Bash, wondering if you’re walking into a trap.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You’ve got two choices: take me with you, or waste time arguing until I find a way to follow you anyway.”

His smirk finally breaks through, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—pride, maybe? “Fine,” he relents, folding the map with a decisive snap. “But if we’re doing this, you follow my lead. No going rogue. Got it?”

I grin. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He steps around the desk, his hands firm but gentle as they grab my waist and lift me effortlessly onto the map.

My breath catches when he leans in, his fingers brushing a strand of hair behind my ear before his lips meet mine.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, and intoxicating.

When his tongue grazes mine, my mind betrays me, wandering to thoughts of him—his hands, his mouth, his body—everywhere at once, a flush of heat racing through me.

“Fuck, I wanted a night with you all to myself,” he mutters, frustrated. His forehead rests against mine as I wrap my legs around him, pulling him closer.

“We can arrange that,” I say, my hands slipping under his shirt, fingertips grazing the warmth of his skin. I press a kiss to his neck, savoring the way his breathing quickens under my touch.