Page 12 of Avidian

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“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.”