Page 20 of Avidian
“I’m eating lunch,” I say, waving my half-eaten sandwich in the air. “What does it look like?”
He doesn’t look convinced, his sharp gaze flicking to my empty hand. “No, you were doing something weird with your other hand. Looked like you were trying to cast a spell or something.” He steps further into the room, closing the door behind him as if I invited him in. “Do Avids cast spells? Is that another gift you have?”
I put down my sandwich and glare at him. “I wasn’t casting a spell, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The last thing I need is Malachi sniffing around the edges of my abilities, especially when I don’t even fully understand them.
“Why are you here, Malachi?”
He leans casually against the edge of the desk, folding his arms like he plans to stay for a while. “Checking in on you. You’ve been locked away for days. Figured I’d see if you’ve cracked the case yet.”
“Why? Are you suddenly Viktor’s errand boy now?” I snap, grabbing the sandwich again and taking an angry bite.
“You’re touchy today,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “But, no, I’m not Viktor’s errand boy. I don’t trust Anton to actually keep you alive while you figure out who murdered my cousin.”
I stiffen, the sandwich forgotten in my hand. His cousin. It’s easy to forget sometimes how personal this all is for him too. “I’m fine,” I say tersely. “Anton’s annoying, but he’s not exactly failing at his job.”
“Glad to hear it,” Malachi says, but his eyes are still locked on me, like he’s trying to see into me. “Are you going to tell me what you were really doing just now, or do I need to start guessing?”
I clench my jaw, debating how much to give him. He’s already suspicious, and denying everything will make him dig deeper. But I don’t owe him an explanation. Not about Mish. Not about anything.
“You really need to work on your boundaries, Malachi,” I say, stepping away from the window and toward the tray of food Kira brought me. “Not everything I do is your business.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says, his voice low, teasing. But there’s something beneath it, something sharp and curious. “Especially if it has anything to do with this case.”
I set the sandwich down and glare at him. “Why do you even care? Don’t you have better things to do than lurk outside my door, watching for spells that don’t exist?”
He shrugs, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “You’re interesting. And if you are casting spells, I’d like a heads-up. You know, in case you accidentally summon something worse than you.”
“Get out,” I say, throwing my hand toward the door. For a moment, I half-expect him to make another snide comment or otherwise annoy me. But to my surprise, he chuckles and pushes off the desk.
He moves to the door, and I think I’ve gotten off easy. But instead of leaving, he reaches out and turns the lock.
What the fuck?
I blink, caught between irritation and surprise as he casually kicks off his boots and sprawls out on my bed like he owns it. The sheer audacity of this man is unmatched.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” I say, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms.
He leans back, folding his hands behind his head like he’s settling in for a nap. “I think I’ve gone about this all wrong. I have a proposition for you.”
He pats the empty spot on the bed next to him, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “Come on. Hear me out.”
If he thinks I’m going to sit—much less lie down—next to him, he’s lost his damn mind.
I roll my eyes, shifting my weight impatiently. “Spit it out then,” I bark, tapping my foot anxiously. I have better things to do than entertain whatever nonsense he’s cooked up.
He doesn’t budge, his gaze fixed on me with that infuriating mix of amusement and curiosity. “Relax. I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want to do. Yet.”
I narrow my eyes at him, my patience fraying. “Malachi, if this is some ridiculous attempt to flirt?—”
“It’s not,” he interrupts, sitting up slightly, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Sit down for a minute and hear me out.”
“If it’ll make you leave faster,” I mumble under my breath, giving in and sitting at the very edge of the bed, my back to him.
“I get the feeling you don’t like me much,” he says, amused. “But that’s not the vibe I got at the park that night.”
I already regret sitting down. “Call it temporary insanity,” I say, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, waiting for him to say something interesting—if he’s even capable of it.
“I’ve been watching you,” he starts, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. “And I see that you don’t have much to lose. You don’t have much of a life at all.”
