Page 56 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

His voice drips with false warmth, each word polished and practiced. It’s too proper, too nice—Marco always hides his most despicable intentions behind a veil of politeness, and it sets my teeth on edge.

“Can I get you a drink?” he offers, holding his own glass aloft as if it’s an extension of his charm.

I shake my head, a polite refusal. The thought of drinking anything he offers twists my stomach.

Marco chuckles softly, a sound that feels more sinister than amused. “Suit yourself.” He takes a slow sip, his eyes never leaving me, and settles into the chair across from me, his posture impossibly relaxed, like he’s completely in control. Because, of course, he thinks he is.

“Carmen’s boyfriend, Brian, killed her and Damien,” I say, keeping my voice steady, almost detached. The sooner I say it, the less time Marco has to probe. “He caught her with Damien and went on a jealous rampage.”

I meet Marco’s gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under his scrutiny. Whatever Orin has told him, I can’t let it shake me. Solace doesn’t need to be dragged into this, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep that part of the truth buried.

Marco doesn’t respond right away, his sharp eyes assessing me as he swirls his whiskey. The silence stretches, heavy and deliberate.

“Brian,” he repeats, testing the name like he’s rolling it over in his mind, trying to fit it into the larger puzzle.

I nod once.

“Viktor will be pleased,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair. “You did the job you were supposed to do.”

I keep my expression neutral, offering no response. It’s what he expects—subdued compliance. Inside, I’m screaming. Please, Marco, let this drop. Let me go back to my room so I can figure out how the hell to escape this place once and for all.

“The girl’s journal,” he says, breaking the silence. “Was it helpful?”

“Yes,” I answer, keeping my tone measured. “Without it, I would have come to the same conclusion, but it did speed up the process.”

I shift in the chair, the unease building with every second he watches me.

“I haven’t been able to reach my son to confirm yet,” Marco says before taking another slow drink of whiskey, and I know he must be talking about Malachi. “But Orin told me some alarming things.”

My stomach tightens, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting.

“Oh.” I glance at the fire, trying to stay the perfect picture of nonchalant.

“Malachi has always been my sharpest son, but he inherited too much of his mother’s heart,” Marco says.

He hasn’t asked me a direct question yet, and I won’t give him more than I have to.

“He trusts too easily,” Marco continues, swirling the whiskey in his glass before downing the last of it. He sets the glass on the side table with a soft clink, his eyes fixed on me. “I’m no fool, Katja. I know he’s been moving behind my back for some time now.”

A chill ripples down my spine, but I sit still, focusing on keeping my breathing steady.

Marco leans forward slightly, his voice dropping lower. “That’s why I took you to that warehouse, to see Boris and his Avids. A reminder of what your life could look like should I decide you are no longer useful. Should I decide I can no longer trust you.”

My stomach twists into a violent knot. I fight the urge to leap out of this chair, to grab something sharp, anything, and tear him apart with my bare hands.

The image of burning this whole place to the ground flashes through my mind—Marco, Orin, the entire rotten operation—all of it reduced to ash.

My chest heaves as the fury threatens to spill over, but I force my hands to steady and my voice to come out even.

“I have given you no reason to doubt me,” I say.

Marco studies me, the silence between us heavy and dangerous. He smiles faintly. “That is...debatable,” he replies. “You are keeping things from me, even now.”

He pauses, his hand moving to his chest, rubbing it absentmindedly. His features twitch slightly, and then it happens. He falters, his words slurring. “I know… I... I…”

Marco slumps back in his chair, his body suddenly limp, and the glass topples from the table, shattering against the floor.

I freeze, my heart hammering in my chest as I watch him sink further into the chair, his eyes fluttering shut.

Then it hits—the deep rumble of an explosion shakes the walls, followed by shouting.

For a second, everything stills. Then chaos takes over.

Marco is still breathing, and I frantically search for a weapon. Now is my chance to end him. I hear footsteps coming down the hall and quickly run to hide next to the bed.

Malachi’s voice in the hall sends a wave of adrenaline coursing through me. “Keep clearing the property. Come to me when you find her.”

I press myself flat against the side of the bed, my heart pounding as the door swings open.

His tall frame fills the doorway, but his sharp eyes zero in on Marco slumped in the chair.

His jaw tightens, the flicker of rage barely contained beneath his calm exterior.

Then his gaze shifts to me, crouched by the bed, and everything in him changes.

“Kat.”

He strides across the room in several quick steps, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. His hold is crushing, fierce, like he’s been fighting the entire world to get here.

Before I can say anything, his mouth is on mine, desperate and consuming.

All the tension, the fear, the anger—it all melts away in the heat of him.

My hands clutch his shoulders, and I kiss him back like I’ve been starving for this.

Malachi pulls back enough to meet my eyes. “You’re okay?” His voice is rough, strained.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but my voice trembles with everything I need to say. Relief, anger, the questions. He looks at me like I’m the only thing that matters.

He moves quickly, lifting me and setting me on the edge of the bed. His hands roam over my body, pulling me closer, fingers tangling in my hair as his lips crash against mine. The kiss is so fierce, so consuming, that I forget to breathe. My chest tightens, desperate for air.

“Malachi,” I gasp when he pulls back, my lungs burning but my heart racing for more.

“When I got back to the cabin and you weren’t there…” He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms tightly around me, and his lips press to the top of my head. “You don’t know the hell I went through, the things that went through my head.”

I melt into his embrace, taking in the sight of him—fully dressed in black tactical gear from head to toe, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his breaths. He looks like a soldier, a man ready to face war. The image sends a pang of something sharp and unfamiliar through me.

“I know,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I’m sorry?—”

“Don’t.” He cuts me off, his grip tightening. “You don’t have to apologize. Not for this.”

“I know,” I say, nodding as my eyes scan over him. I’m torn, debating whether this is the right time. “I saw what happened to Carmen. I saw who killed them, and I read Carmen’s journal. Her boyfriend was in Solace. Why did you keep all of that from me? Why did you want Damien dead?”

I immediately realize that wasn’t the most tactful way to ask, but the questions are burning in me.

His eyes soften, and I can see the conflict in him. He’s wishing we could talk about this another time, but I can’t hold back anymore. I need to know. At least the short version.

“You’re right,” he says, running a hand over his face. “I haven’t told you everything, and that’s because, in the beginning, I didn’t know if I could trust you. And once I could... Well, there are things we haven’t talked about yet. Things we need to talk about, but not like this.”

His hands gently cup my face, and I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat.

Sighing, he continues, “I thought I could trust Damien. He hated his father, wanted to make a difference. I thought I could recruit him into Solace, make him a double agent, get intel on Viktor. He was being shady. I had to send one of my men in undercover. He saw a girl who worked there and used that as an in.”

“Carmen,” I say.

He nods, his face drawn. “Yeah, he posed as her boyfriend. Used her to get close to Damien, to find out if we could trust him. And it turns out...we couldn’t. Damien was playing both sides, planning to sell us out to Viktor. I had to make it look like an accident, and I?—”

The truth hits me like a freight train. “So you didn’t do it. You sent one of your men, Brian, to kill them that night, and all this time Damien’s been toying with me because he knew the truth and hates all of you.”

“Brian—no.”

A faint rustling pulls our attention to Marco. He stirs, his head rolling to one side before his eyes flutter open. Malachi moves instantly, striding over to him with purpose, pulling thick rope from his bag.

“Come on, we’ll finish this conversation later,” he says, motioning for me to follow as he starts binding Marco to the chair.

“How is he like this?” I ask, still reeling from the breakneck turn of events.

“We drugged his whiskey. Then we watched and waited.” His voice is clipped, leaving no room for further explanation. There’s more to this—so much more—but now isn’t the moment for follow-up questions.

Marco’s eyes slowly regain focus, roaming the room until they land on us. His expression hardens, his gaze settling on Malachi with a disarming calm.

“Son,” Marco wheezes, “you didn’t have to go through all this effort to get my attention. If you wanted my pet so badly, you could have asked.”

I don’t bother hiding my disgust. I let him see exactly how I feel about him. His gaze lingers on me, assessing, calculating, before his lips curl into a slow, sinister smile.

“Isn’t this a pretty picture? My demon falling for my son. And you,” he adds, addressing Malachi, “what do you think you are? Her savior? Do you even know what you’re doing?”