Page 9 of Avidian (The Demon and the Savior #1)

Chapter Six

“Good morning, sunshine,” Malachi’s voice drawls from beside my bed. I jolt upright, brushing hair out of my face as I blink at him in disbelief.

“What are you doing in here?” I ask, groggy and rubbing at my eyes.

He crosses his arms, looking far too comfortable for someone invading my space.

“Turns out Dad has a lot of catching up to do with my uncle, and I’ve been tasked with supervising you while you solve this case for him.”

Fantastic. I didn’t think this situation could get worse, but apparently it can.

“Usually, a knock on the door will suffice for a wake-up call,” I mutter, pushing the blankets off and trudging toward the bathroom.

My annoyance radiates off me, but I tamp it down.

I’ve dealt with being supervised before—I can handle Malachi.

He’s no different from the others Marco’s assigned to babysit me.

“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks, following me as I grab my toothbrush and squeeze a dollop of toothpaste onto it.

I glance at him briefly in the mirror. “Isn’t it your job to tell me what the plan is?” I say before shoving the toothbrush into my mouth.

He sighs dramatically, moving to sit on the edge of my bed like he owns the place.

“Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot last night,” he says gently.

“Maybe we can be friends. I’m not here to make your life miserable.

I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.

And for the record, not everything I told you at the park that night was a lie. ”

I spit into the sink, rinse my mouth, and pop my head out of the bathroom to glare at him.

“Friends? That is something we will never be.” I pause, leveling him with a pointed look.

“And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s literally your job now to make me do the things I don’t want to do. ”

I roll my eyes for emphasis, disappearing back into the bathroom to wash my face. The cool water feels refreshing, though it does little to quell my irritation. Malachi supervising me? That’s not going to make this trip any better.

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play this, we won’t be friends,” Malachi says, the lightness from earlier completely gone. “Get dressed. I’ll be waiting outside. We’re going back to the crime scene upstairs so you can have another go at…whatever it is you do.”

He closes the door with more force than necessary. The sound echoes in the silence, and I blink, surprised at his sudden shift. Hmm. I hadn’t expected that reaction. Still, his moodiness might make things easier—less chatter, less pretending.

With a small shrug, I push the thought aside and focus on getting ready.

I pull on a pair of warm pants and a thick sweater, tucking the hem into the waistband for extra warmth.

Then I pull on my boots from last night, ignoring the blood specs on them.

Finally, I grab my beanie and stuff it into my back pocket, in case we end up outside.

Pulling my hair into a quick ponytail, I take a steadying breath and glance at the door. Time to get this over with.

I pull my bedroom door open, expecting to see Malachi, but instead there’s another man standing beside him.

Short and stocky with a completely bald head and a face that seems carved from stone, the man immediately gives me the creeps.

His eyes are dark and cold, scanning me like I’m a piece of furniture to be assessed and dismissed.

Jeez, this place is teeming with nice faces.

“This is Anton,” Malachi says, his posture a touch more rigid than usual. “One of Viktor’s men. He’s going to, uh, oversee the investigation as well.”

I nod with the least amount of effort. Great. Another babysitter.

Anton doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He turns sharply and starts walking, his heavy boots echoing against the wooden floors as he heads back toward the stairs. Malachi falls into step beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushes mine.

“Anton’s…thorough,” Malachi mutters under his breath, sounding apologetic.

“Thorough?” I reply quietly, glancing at the man in front of us. “He looks like he’d enjoy breaking kneecaps.”

Malachi’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t respond.

Anton stops in front of the door to the bloodied room and turns to face us.

“Time to see what you can do, Miss Sinclair,” he says darkly.

I don’t want to go back in here—not after last night—but I push the door open anyway, bracing myself for the metallic tang of blood. Instead, I’m hit with a sharp, stinging scent.

Bleach.

The room is spotless.

In the last several hours, someone sanitized the entire space. The floors gleam, the bed linens are crisp, and not a single trace of what happened remains. The violent scene I witnessed, both with my own eyes and through Carmen’s memory, is gone, replaced by clinical cleanliness.

“Is there a problem?” Anton asks, startling me from behind.

I shake my head, uneasy. “No,” I say, stepping inside.

I don’t need the blood and gore to reach the dead—it’s their lingering presence I rely on.

But this? Viktor scrubbing the place clean before collecting every shred of evidence?

It feels wrong. He either has unshakable faith in what I can do or is hiding something. Both possibilities make my skin crawl.

“Usually, Marco waits outside,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at Anton and Malachi, who have followed me in.

Malachi raises his hands in mock surrender, a shit-eating grin on his face. Anton doesn’t move right away, his dark eyes fixed on me like he’s assessing whether I’m worth his time. Finally, with a grunt, he steps out, Malachi following after him. The door closes with a soft click, leaving me alone.

I walk over to the bed, its stark white sheets a cruel contrast to what I know happened here.

Sitting on the edge, I close my eyes and let out a slow breath, trying to push away the exhaustion weighing down my limbs.

The memory of last night—the bruises, the chaos, the overwhelming presence of Carmen—lingers like a shadow.

But I push past it.

I focus on the cook, her image sharp in my mind. The long blonde braids, the freckled face, the soft smile from her photo. Almost instantly, I feel her presence, stronger than before. She’s here.

But Damien isn’t. Again.

I open my eyes, turning toward the faint figure of Carmen now sitting beside me on the bed. Her translucent form glows faintly, her expression solemn but clearer than before.

“Tell me who did this to you,” I say.

She turns her head slowly, her pale eyes meeting mine. For a moment, she says nothing, but her mouth opens slightly, and the air around me drops a few degrees.

Her lips move, forming words I can barely hear. “He…was…waiting.”

“Who? Who did this?” I ask again.

Carmen’s form flickers, her translucent glow dimming slightly. Her hands tremble as they rest on her lap, and when she looks at me, her expression is a mix of fear and heartbreak.

She whispers, but I can’t catch it, like it costs her something to say it.

I lean in closer, my pulse quickening. “He? Who, Carmen? Who did this to you?”

Her lips part again, but this time they tremble, as though the words are too painful to release. Her form begins to blur at the edges, and I think she’s about to vanish completely.

But then she says, “He promised. He lied.” Her hands move, clutching at her throat. “I loved him. He said I wouldn’t get hurt. He said I only had to lure him away, but then he…” Her voice cracks. “He…watched.”

The air grows colder, the frost biting at my skin. My heart pounds. Watched? Who watched? Lure him away?

“Damien?” I ask before I can stop myself. But she doesn’t answer—doesn’t even flinch. Instead, her head snaps to the side, her attention drawn to the door as though someone is standing there, listening.

“No,” she whispers, the word trembling as her entire form begins to waver.

Her presence flickers violently, and she twists to face me, her translucent hands reaching out but stopping short. Her eyes, wide and filled with terror, bore into mine. “Run,” she says, “before he knows…”

And then she’s gone, the glow fading entirely. The room is silent, the air heavy and cold, leaving her cryptic warnings burning in my mind.

I pull the door open, and Malachi and Anton are both standing right outside, tense and expectant.

“What did you see?” Malachi asks immediately, his gold-flecked eyes narrowing as they search my face.

“Nothing,” I say automatically, my voice hollow, the words spilling out before I’ve even thought them through. My mind is too busy racing, trying to piece together Carmen’s fragmented revelation. He promised. He lied. He watched.

“That didn’t sound like nothing,” Anton rumbles, stepping closer, his bulk making the narrow hallway feel suffocating.

I shake my head, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I need air,” I mutter, trying to sidestep him.

“Air can wait,” Anton grunts, moving to block my path with his broad frame. “We need answers. Viktor needs answers.”

“I need air,” I repeat, louder this time, straightening my shoulders as I meet his cold, unyielding stare head-on. “Unless you’d like me to pass out on your boots, I suggest you let me through.”

Anton’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a hard line. His eyes flick to Malachi, who shrugs. Finally, with a muttered curse, Anton steps aside.

I push past him, relief washing over me as I leave the room behind. Malachi, of course, falls into step behind me like a fucking shadow, his presence as persistent as ever. At least Anton doesn’t follow. He’s probably already back in that room, poking around.

I make my way to the double doors at the front of the mansion. Thankfully, I don’t pass anyone on the way. The last thing I need right now is another confrontation or curious stares.

“Where are you going?” Malachi calls as I push the heavy doors open and step outside.