Page 8 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Five

I finish scrubbing my body clean and sink back into the warm water, letting it soothe my muscles.

The tub—more like a small pool—is gigantic, easily big enough for three people.

This entire bathroom is a testament to excess, from the sleek marble floors to the gold fixtures gleaming under the soft glow of an extravagant chandelier.

It hangs in the center of the ceiling, its crystal pendants scattering tiny rainbows across the room like a private galaxy.

The events of the night replay in my mind, refusing to settle. The haunting scene with Carmen. The bruises still faintly visible on my neck. And then Malachi, Marco’s son. My stomach twists at the thought. Good thing I didn’t fucking kiss him that night. But that only raises more questions.

Why didn’t he say he knew me? Why didn’t he rat me out for being in the park? Was it all part of a plan—had he been sent to follow me from the start? Did he already know who I was back then, or was I a random piece in some game I don’t fully understand?

The questions swirl like storm clouds, heavy and unrelenting. Rest feels impossible, but I know I need it. I close my eyes, letting the heat from the water wrap around me, and try to convince myself to relax. If nothing else, I can stay here until the sun comes up.

But the peace shatters like glass.

“This is a strange turn of events,” a voice says.

My eyes snap open, and I sit up with a start, water sloshing over the edges of the tub as I jerk forward. My heart leaps into my throat as my gaze locks on the doorway.

Malachi leans casually against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, his infuriatingly calm expression betraying no sense of decency—or respect for boundaries.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I demand, heat rising to my face, though whether it’s from anger, embarrassment, or both, I’m not sure. I instinctively reach for the towel draped over the edge of the tub, ready to use it as a shield if necessary.

He smirks, and the gold flecks in his dark eyes seem to glint in the dim light. “Relax, I just came to talk but you look tense. That bath’s not working? Maybe you need me to help you unwind, little demon.”

“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, grabbing the towel and holding it strategically so I can stand without giving him a show. I wrap it around me and tuck it tightly into place.

“I can’t call you Kat, and now I can’t call you demon,” Malachi muses. “Everyone else seems to get free rein when it comes to what they call you though.”

“You may call me Miss Sinclair, if you must,” I reply, stepping out of the tub. My foot skids slightly on the marble floor, slick with puddles of water I sloshed over the edge. Before I can regain my balance, Malachi lunges forward, gripping my arms to steady me.

For the briefest moment, I catch his scent—fresh pine and crisp air, I imagine it’s what a forest after a storm smells like. My breath hitches, but I quickly shake it off.

“I’m fine,” I snap, swatting his hands away as heat rises to my cheeks.

“For a demon who bites, you sure are clumsy,” he says, his smirk widening.

I roll my eyes and head toward the bedroom, leaving him standing by the tub.

The audacity of this man is infuriating, but what bothers me more is that he’s here at all.

How did he even get in? Marco’s security is tight, especially after tonight’s murders.

I’d assumed every room in this house was guarded, but I guess being Marco’s son comes with its privileges.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask over my shoulder, not bothering to look at him as I rummage through one of my suitcases at the foot of the bed. I pull out a pair of pajamas and plan to crawl into bed the second he leaves.

“I thought you should know,” Malachi says, leaning casually against the doorframe now facing the bedroom, “I didn’t know who you were in the park, but it doesn’t change anything.”

I glare at him, motioning with a sharp flick of my finger. “Can you turn around?”

He raises an eyebrow, his devious smile infuriatingly still intact, but obliges with a slow spin to face the bathroom again.

I keep my eyes on him, making sure he doesn’t peek, then quickly slip out of the towel.

I pull on a pair of pink pajama pants and a matching tank top, the soft fabric soothing against my skin.

Grabbing the clip from my hair, I toss it onto the dresser, running a hand through the loose waves that fall around my shoulders.

“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms.

Malachi turns back around, his eyes immediately locking onto mine. He steps inside the room, leaning slightly forward like he’s testing the waters.

“What’s that supposed to mean anyway?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t change,” he says smoothly, his voice dipping into something softer, “that I still think you have the most marvelous eyes. That you’re incredibly beautiful and clearly charming, even when you’re trying not to be.”

I snort, though the compliment strikes a chord I refuse to acknowledge. “Oh, please. I can see the creepy pick-up lines weren’t an act.”

“Let me get to know you,” he presses, taking another step closer.

I force myself to stay rooted in place, even as my instinct screams to take a step back. His presence is overwhelming, like he takes up more space than his body should. I square my shoulders and tighten my crossed arms.

“What makes you think I’d let you?”

His gaze dips to my lips for a fraction of a second before meeting my eyes again. “Because you’re curious.”

“Curiosity means nothing,” I say sharply, holding his gaze. “I don’t have such luxuries. I’m not the son of a rich and powerful leader, like you. Look at me—you know what I am now. I’m nothing but property here, and not yours.”

I shift my weight, tapping my foot against the cold floor, the sound a steady reminder of how much I dislike where this conversation is heading. His expression hardens, but his eyes remain locked on me, unyielding.

“Is there something more going on between you and my father?” he asks, suspicious.

I scoff, “Is that what you think, that I’m not just a prisoner but a common whore too? Are you here to collect, like the rest of your family?” I’m jabbering faster than I can think, and heat floods my cheeks. I take a step back and try to get control of myself.

His expression darkens. “So someone has touched you. My father? One of my brothers? Who?”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him.

“No one has touched me,” I say firmly. “I have a job here—a purpose—when I’m needed. That’s all. Your father may be my keeper, but it’s completely platonic. I assure you.”

The fire in his gaze doesn’t dim, but his jaw tightens slightly, like he’s fighting to keep his emotions in check. I stand my ground, refusing to let his presence intimidate me any further.

He reaches out to touch me, but I react without thinking, grabbing his wrist and shoving him away—hard.

“My God,” he laughs, light but laced with something darker. “You really are a marvelously violent little demon, aren’t you?” He takes a step closer. “Please, keep touching me by all means. I might even let you bite my ear again, if you’re good.”

I scowl, shoving his chest this time, trying to force him closer to the door. “Get. Out.” My voice rises, not quite a yell but sharp enough to cut through his playful demeanor.

He freezes, his expression shifting. His eyes darken, and he tilts his head, studying me with unsettling intensity. When he reaches out to brush a strand of hair back from my face, I don’t move. The look in his eyes leaves me frozen for a moment.

“Who did this to you?” he asks quietly, his warm fingers grazing the bruises on my neck.

I flinch, stepping back as the memory of that room and those hands on me resurfaces. “No one living,” I say simply.

He doesn’t look away, his gaze lingering on my neck like he’s trying to piece together the truth. The tension between us stretches thin, and I shove him again, weaker this time, more to regain control than to actually move him. “Now go. I need to sleep.”

Malachi’s eyes finally lift to mine, and something flickers in them—a momentary softness—before he steps back toward the door.

“Fine,” he says, pulling it open, but he pauses in the doorway, his hand on the edge of the frame. “This isn’t over.”

I move to close the door behind him, but at the last second he stops it with his hand, leaning in with that infuriating smirk. “Don’t forget, Kat—you still owe me that kiss.” He winks, and before I can retort, he’s gone, disappearing into the dimly lit hall.

I glare after him, my chest tightening in annoyance.

My eyes flick down the hall, but it’s not because of him—I’m checking for the guard.

Sure enough, Gary is a couple of doors down, leaning against the wall.

His presence reassures me, though I’d never admit it aloud.

But the fact that Marco is making his son keep watch instead of one of the guards does put me a little on edge.

He must be worried—or suspicious of something.

Quickly, I retreat into my room and shut the door firmly behind me. The last thing I want is for Malachi to think I’m lingering out here for his sake. Let him think whatever he wants—I don’t care.

I trudge over to the bed, exhausted. Climbing under the covers, I let out a long breath, the tension of the night slowly starting to unravel.

Sleep isn’t going to come easy tonight. My thoughts are too tangled, too heavy.

I close my eyes and think of Mischka. Within a minute, she’s there, curling up at my side, her ghostly warmth giving me a sliver of comfort after the day I’ve had.

Her presence grounds me, but it doesn’t quiet my mind completely.

What did Malachi even come here to talk about?

He said this changed nothing, but that’s not true.

This changes everything. Not only is he a liar, but his family owns me.

I shake my head, biting back the bitterness creeping into my throat.

It had been a nice fantasy, daydreaming about some mysterious man in the park, thinking he was genuine, thinking he had good intentions.

But that illusion is gone now—shattered.

It’s not like I could ever have a relationship with anyone. Not ever. My life is this…coasting through each day, waiting for Marco to summon me for a job. That’s all I am here for, all I’ll ever be.

Most of my time is spent reading. Books are my only escape, since vacations and friendships are luxuries I’ll never have.

Sure, I talk to the other Avids, the servants, and even the guards from time to time, but to call any of them friends would be a lie.

Getting too close to anyone is dangerous.

Trusting anyone is impossible. That’s the reality I’ve accepted, the life I’ve resigned myself to.

I didn’t always feel this way. Early on, I tried to escape—a few times actually.

But severe punishment, paired with failure after failure, taught me quickly that freedom wasn’t an option.

The scars of those lessons run deep, though they’ve faded with time.

Now, I don’t fight it and don’t dream of something better.

This is my life. Marco’s tool. His property. His little demon.

And I have to keep doing the job he brought me here to do, or else.