Page 54 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I turn the vial of Avidian over in my hands, my thumb running along the smooth glass as though the motion could steady my nerves.

Inside, the liquid swirls like a living galaxy, dark and mesmerizing, pulling at me with equal parts temptation and dread…

I fear what it will show me, but I have to be ready to accept the truth.

I exhale sharply, trying to quiet the doubts rattling around my head.

There’s no turning back now. My fingers tremble as I pop the cap off.

The vapor rises immediately, shimmering like stardust before it disappears into the air.

I hesitate for a fraction of a second before I inhale deeply.

The vapor burns as it hits my lungs, sharp and bitter, but the effect is instantaneous.

My vision blurs and sharpens again, clearer than ever before, the edges of the room suddenly more vivid.

Carmen.

Her name is a chant in my mind, a beacon I focus all my energy on. I picture her face, her presence, calling her back from whatever liminal space Damien has forced her into. “Carmen,” I whisper aloud.

The room grows colder, a biting chill that raises the hairs on my arms, and then she’s there—flickering into existence like a weak signal trying to hold steady.

She’s sitting on the bed beside me, fragile and translucent, her face a mixture of relief and sorrow.

“I know it’s been hard for you to reach me,” I say softly, for fear of her disappearing on me again.

“I know Damien’s been keeping you from me, and I know…

I know you’ve been through something horrible.

” I pause, searching her face for any sign of hesitation, but she watches me, her eyes flickering with the faintest spark of hope.

“Give me your hand, Carmen. Let me see what happened. You deserve justice. You deserve peace.”

She hesitates, her form flickering in and out like a candle fighting against the wind.

Her gaze shifts to her lap, and for a second I think she’s going to disappear again.

But then she nods, her movements jerky, uncertain.

Slowly, she extends her hand, resting it lightly on her leg, her fingers trembling like she’s afraid of what I’ll find.

I don’t have time for hesitation. My heart pounds as I reach out, my fingers hovering above hers before making contact.

The moment our skin connects, the world around me implodes.

Cold crashes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under.

I gasp sharply and realize I’m no longer in the bedroom on the plane—I’m somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere darker.

And I see everything.

Damien’s voice filters through the door, muffled but clear enough to cause my skin to prickle. “In case I fall asleep, come get me before dawn.”

Carmen freezes mid-pace, her eyes flicking to the mirror. She smooths her hair, adjusts the strap of her top, and takes a steadying breath. Her hand trembles as it brushes the fabric of her skirt, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. She looks anxious, even scared.

There’s a knock at the door, and she rushes to open it, her steps hesitant despite the forced smile on her face. Damien steps inside, his movements cocky as he kicks the door shut behind him without taking his eyes off her.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he says, his voice low, laced with hunger. “I want another taste.”

The air between them feels heavy, charged. Carmen’s lips quirk upward in a nervous smile. She doesn’t back away as he closes the distance, his hands immediately finding her waist, tugging up her skirt.

The scene blurs for a moment, fragments flashing in and out like a film reel skipping frames.

Suddenly, they’re on the bed, Damien’s body pressing into hers, moving with a rhythm that feels aggressive, but she moans like she’s into it.

Carmen’s face is turned away, her gaze fixed on the door over his shoulder.

The door. It’s closed—or is it?

I whip around and see it’s ajar, a sliver of dim hallway light creeping into the room. My stomach knots as I catch the faintest movement—a shadow, someone watching. Carmen said he watched. This has to be him. This must be “Brian.”

The figure in the hallway doesn’t enter, doesn’t move closer. He stands there, a dark silhouette framed by the door. Carmen keeps glancing at him, her tension palpable even from where I’m standing. She’s not nervous—she’s terrified.

The door swings open abruptly, flooding the room with light. Damien turns, shielding his eyes with his arm. “Fuck, it’s early,” he mutters, clearly mistaking the figure for whomever was meant to wake him.

The man doesn’t answer. His head tilts slightly, and even though his face is hidden in shadow, the weight of his presence fills the room. Carmen sits up, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her wide eyes dart between Damien and the figure in the doorway.

Damien sneers, turning back to Carmen. “You came for a show? Fine. I’ll give you a show.” He thrusts into her harder, and she cries out—whether in pleasure or pain, I can’t tell, but she goes along with it, not pushing him away at all.

The man in the doorway steps forward, and my heart clenches. He’s calm, eerily so, as if none of this fazes him. The light catches the edge of a blade in his hand. He moves with precision, calculated and deliberate, as he blows out the candle on the desk.

The room plunges into darkness, and the sounds come next—a shuffle of feet, a gasp, the wet, sickening slice of a blade meeting flesh. Carmen screams, and when the lights flash back on, the scene is chaos.

Blood.

So much blood.

Damien’s body sprawls on the bed, his throat slit, crimson pooling beneath him. The man in the hoodie looms over him, his back to me as he pulls another blade from his waistband.

Carmen, still clutching the sheet, stumbles to the corner of the room, her hand clamped over her mouth as though she’s fighting to keep from vomiting. Her eyes are wide, glassy with shock, as she watches the man plunge the blade into Damien’s chest again and again, methodical and unflinching.

The room reeks of death, and I can’t look away from the grotesque scene. Carmen takes a step forward, her bare feet sticking to the blood-slick floor.

“Brian, what the fuck are you doing?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

The man doesn’t answer. He slices into Damien’s flesh with a precision that’s more clinical than angry, as though he’s dissecting, not killing.

“This wasn’t the plan,” Carmen chokes out, her voice rising. “You said you would stop him before it went that far. You watched him… How could you?”

The man finally straightens, turning his head enough to glance at her. His hood obscures most of his face, but the faintest hint of a jawline is visible. His voice is low, cold. “Plans change.”

I can’t tell if it’s Malachi. I need to see more.

“You used me!” Carmen yells, the sheet slipping slightly as she steps closer to him. “You?—”

“Stop.” His tone is sharp, final, and it silences her instantly.

“I know you said we had to cut him up, had to make it look like someone else—” Carmen raves. “I can’t do this. I can’t… Brian, this is wrong. It’s all wrong.” Her hands tremble as she paces.

The scene flickers, blurs like a warped film reel again, before snapping back into focus.

Time has shifted—I don’t know how much—but now Carmen stands in the corner of the room, her body rigid, her hands clenched into fists.

Brian looms in front of her, hood pulled low over his face, his movements tense, coiled like a predator waiting to strike.

“I’m going to expose you,” Carmen spits, her voice trembling but steady enough to cut through the silence. “I’m going to expose Solace. You think you’re doing good? You think this makes you better than them? Well, it doesn’t. Call it whatever you want, but murder is still murder.”

Brian freezes, his hands rising to his hood, gripping his head as if trying to physically hold back whatever he’s feeling.

For a moment, I think he’s going to argue, but the scene flickers again, the air shimmering as time skips forward.

When it clears, Carmen is on the ground, her legs kicking weakly as Brian’s hands close around her throat.

Her nails dig into his skin, clawing, but he doesn’t relent.

Her struggles grow weaker, slower, until her body stills.

I gasp, clutching my chest, the Avidian still coursing through my veins like fire. When I blink, the plane’s dim interior comes into focus, and I realize Carmen is gone. She’s not lingering like Damien, not staying to share more or explain herself. She’s…gone.

What I saw—what she showed me—it’s too much, and yet it’s not enough. Not enough to piece everything together but more than enough to know the truth is worse than I imagined.

I can’t tell if it was Malachi or not. God, I thought I’d know for sure. The voice was familiar—too familiar—but not quite his. Maybe I’ve been too rash, jumping to conclusions without enough proof. Maybe I need to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Carmen’s nails were clawing into Brian’s wrists, and I don’t remember seeing any marks on Malachi in the park. But then again, I wasn’t looking for something like that, and his suit could’ve easily hidden the evidence.

One thing’s clear now. The man Carmen was seeing killed her and Damien, and he did it for Solace.

It wasn’t random. Carmen’s murder didn’t seem planned though.

It felt messy, like he was trying to sway her to his side, but when she reacted the way she did—threatening to expose him and Solace—he panicked.

He killed her without thinking, without a plan.

Does that make it better? No. If anything, it makes it worse.

My gut is screaming that it wasn’t Malachi. It couldn’t have been. But even if he’s innocent, this throws everything I thought I knew about Solace and the Syndicate out the window. Are things really what they seem? Or have I been a pawn in some bigger, more sinister game?

“We’re about to land. Get out here,” Orin barks, banging on the door so hard the walls rattle. I practically leap off the bed, his interruption jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I stomp on the empty Avidian vial, feeling a small sense of satisfaction as it crumbles into shards beneath my boot.

Carefully, I wrap the pieces in a tissue, ensuring no trace of the shimmering residue remains, and toss it into the small trash bin.

The action feels symbolic, like I’m burying what I’ve seen, though the truth is far from gone—it’s seared into my mind.

I move back to the seat across from Orin, settling in as if I hadn’t glimpsed the ugliest parts of someone’s soul. My calm facade slides into place, practiced and steady, masking the chaos inside me. But no amount of composure can quiet the knot in my stomach, the way my pulse thunders in my ears.

I force myself to hold Orin’s gaze, or rather his smug, infuriating face. I don’t flinch. I don’t fidget. I can’t let him see even a flicker of fear, even though inside I’m terrified of what’s coming next.