Page 46 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Do you like to hike?” Malachi asks, breaking the quiet from the driver’s seat.

I chuckle softly. “Um, let me think…at night, in the snow, in the middle of a forest? Sure, why not.”

We’ve been driving for nearly an hour, the last fifteen minutes requiring four-wheel drive as the trail grows rougher.

The forest around us is dense, the towering evergreens stretching endlessly into the dark sky above.

The moon tonight is a faint sliver, barely enough to light our way, and with thick clouds hanging low, the world outside the truck is cloaked in near-total darkness.

“Good,” he says with a grin. “Because we can’t drive all the way to the cabin. We’re going to have to hike in if we want to go unnoticed.”

I sigh. Of course. Not exactly how I envisioned spending the night, but I’d still rather be here with him than letting him do this alone.

Malachi pulls off the trail, weaving the truck deeper into the trees until we’re well-hidden.

Finally, he kills the engine and reaches into the back seat for the backpack.

He flips the bag open, rummaging through it before pulling out a small case. The vials he grabbed from the lab earlier glint in the dim cabin light.

“Are those what I think they are?” I ask, watching him closely.

“Avidian,” he confirms, holding out two small vials, one with a red cap and one with a green. “Put these in your pocket. I’m hoping we won’t need them, but you never know.”

I take the vials, turning them over in my hand for a moment before sliding them into the opposite pocket of the one where I already have something hidden. “I thought Solace wasn’t using Avidian yet.”

“We’re not,” he admits reluctantly. “These are still experimental. Only tested in the lab. I’ve never used either of them, but that doesn’t mean they won’t work.”

I press my lips together to keep from blurting out something sarcastic, like how comforting that is. Instead, I ask, “What does the red one do?”

“It boosts strength. Not only physically but overall. You’ll hit harder, throw better, run faster. Basically, you’ll be a better fighter for a short window of time, maybe twenty to thirty minutes.”

I nod, my stomach twisting slightly. “That could come in handy.”

“And the green cap?” I ask.

“It enhances healing,” he explains, slipping a green-capped vial into his pocket. “It’s not miracle-level. A fatal wound will still kill you, but a deep cut? You’d recover without even a scar.”

I let out a slow, steadying breath. “OK, great.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing. Besides, I don’t plan on letting you get hurt.”

I roll my eyes. “Avoid getting mortally wounded. Got it.”

He chuckles then slings the backpack over one shoulder and reaches for the duffel bag of gear.

I hop out of the truck, my boots sinking into the snow as I pull my jacket tighter around me.

The air is sharp, biting against my cheeks, and the forest is eerily quiet, the only sound the soft wind weaving through the trees.

“Give me a minute,” he says, opening the bags and moving a few things around.

He puts a small blade in his boot and straps several knifes to his waist. Then he moves a few things from the duffle to the backpack, throwing the duffle in the backseat of the truck and putting the backpack on.

Once ready, he turns to face me with a mask in his hand.

The mask isn’t what I expected at all. I’m not sure what I thought it would look like, but definitely not this. It’s a strange blend of something futuristic and an old gas mask straight out of my history book—like it was pulled from a scientist’s twisted imagination.

It covers the bottom half of the face, its matte black surface catching the light with a faint, oily sheen.

Two large, cylindrical filters sit on either side, vented with intricate patterns that resemble industrial fans.

Their edges are lined with small, dotted ridges with embedded LED lights.

The filters give it the unmistakable look of a traditional gas mask, but with a mechanical, almost sinister edge—as if it was built for survival in an unbreathable world.

But it’s the vials that grab my attention as he loads it full of red-capped tubes that latch into the mask.

Smaller than the potion-sized bottle of Avidian I saw in the lab, these are more like the vial Isla gave me.

Several test tubes line the front of the mask now, each filled with mesmerizing Avidian.

The contents shimmers faintly, almost alive, shifting with a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

Beneath each vial is a tiny circular button, likely meant to release the contents at the press of a finger.

Malachi turns the mask in his hands, pointing out its smaller details as he gives a quick explanation of how it works, clearly excited by what Bash has created. On one side, there’s a small dial that he can twist and press to control the release of the Avidian.

I can tell Bash was far more concerned with control than comfort.

“So, you're not just experimenting with Avidian tonight, but you thought you’d try out this new mask too. It looks and sounds amazing, but what if it doesn’t work?” I ask skeptically.

“Bash wouldn’t let me take it if he thought it would fail,” he says, making sure it’s adjusted properly on his face. “Hopefully, I won’t have to use it at all. But if I do, it's the perfect opportunity to see how it holds up in a real-world situation—not a lab.”

I nod, uncertain whether it's a good idea or not, but there’s no arguing with his reasoning.

Malachi moves around to my side, his eyes hardening into something more serious. “Stay close to me. We’ll keep to the trail for as long as we can, but once we get closer to the cabin, we’ll need to go off-road. I don’t want to risk being seen.”

I nod, swallowing the lump of nerves gathering in my throat. “Lead the way.”

The hike starts off manageable, the packed snow on the trail making it easier to move without sinking too much.

Malachi is silent, scanning the trees as we move, his sharp focus making it clear he’s done this a hundred times before.

Me? Each step feels heavier than the last as my legs fight the resistance of the snow.

“Remind me to work out more,” I mutter under my breath, my boots catching on a root buried under the snow. Malachi glances over his shoulder, grinning despite the tension in his shoulders. “You’re doing fine. Keep up.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, coach. I can see why you’re the Solace team leader.”

After another twenty minutes, Malachi slows, his hand lifting to signal me to stop. I come up beside him, my breath fogging in the freezing air. “What is it?” I whisper.

He tilts his head, listening. “Thought I heard something,” he murmurs, scanning the tree line ahead. “Probably an animal, but stay quiet.”

Wild animals. As if this wasn’t already creepy enough.

We press on, veering off the main trail. The snow here is untouched, the ground uneven and riddled with hidden obstacles. Malachi’s movements are fluid, silent, while I feel like every step I take is a disaster waiting to happen.

Suddenly, he stops again, his hand reaching for mine to pull me behind him. “Do you see that?” he whispers.

I squint, following his line of sight. In the distance, past a break in the trees, a faint light flickers. It’s not bright, but it’s unmistakable—someone is out here.

“Could be the cabin,” I say quietly.

Malachi shakes his head. “The cabin doesn’t have electricity, and that’s not a fire. That’s a portable light, like a lantern or?—”

“Or someone’s here,” I finish, the weight of the realization hitting me. My stomach knots as Malachi gestures for me to crouch. We stay low, moving through the trees with more caution now. My heart pounds louder with each step, every crunch of snow beneath my boots making me wince.

As we get closer, the light becomes clearer, and so do the voices. Two men, maybe three. They’re speaking in low tones, their words muffled by the wind, but it’s enough to confirm we’re not alone.

Malachi motions for me to stay put as he edges forward, his movements deliberate, his hand resting on the hilt of a knife strapped to his thigh. I crouch lower, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I keep my eyes on him, waiting, watching.

He creeps closer to the light, disappearing behind a thick tree trunk, and for a moment all I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears.

A branch snaps behind me.

I whip around, my pulse leaping into my throat, but it’s too late. A rough hand clamps over my mouth, and a strong arm wraps around my waist, dragging me back. I kick and thrash, panic surging through me, but the man’s grip is iron. His hold is too strong. I hate being trapped.

Desperate, I bite down hard on the hand over my mouth, tasting sweat and dirt. He curses, his grip loosening enough for me to elbow him in the ribs. He stumbles back, and I turn, catching a glimpse of his face—a bearded, rough man with unfamiliar eyes.

Before he can recover, Malachi appears like a shadow out of nowhere, slamming into the man with enough force to send them both to the ground.

The man doesn’t stand a chance. Malachi’s knife glints in the faint light as he presses it to the man’s throat, his voice low and deadly. “How many of you are there?”

The man grits his teeth, glaring up at Malachi. “Enough to bury you,” he spits.

Malachi’s jaw tightens, and he presses the blade harder, drawing a thin line of blood. “Wrong answer.”

Before he can push further, another figure emerges from the forest charging toward Malachi. I act on instinct, grabbing the nearest branch off the ground and swinging it with everything I have. It cracks against the man’s head, and he drops like a stone.

“Kat!” Malachi barks, but there’s no time to argue. More movement in the trees catches my eye, and I realize how outnumbered we are.