Page 42 of Avidian
I press my hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh. “As far as I know, Avids don’t cast spells, and wizards don’t exist,” I say, peeking over my shoulder at him.
Malachi’s eyes narrow, though his expression softens when he sees the smile on my face.
I roll over to face him, and Mischka hops over my body, settling herself perfectly in the space between us. I watch her, and Malachi follows my gaze, his brow furrowing slightly.
“You’re going to have to fill me in on what’s going on here,” he says.
“If I tell you, do you promise never to share it with anyone?” I ask.
His lips curl into a faint, teasing smile as he shifts, propping himself up to face me more comfortably. “I promise, Kat,” hesays, and somehow I believe him. After tonight, I feel like I can trust him—something I never thought possible.
“My childhood dog, Mischka, died in the same car accident as my family.” I pause, reaching out to pet her, and his eyes follow the motion, though he says nothing. “She was the first spirit I ever saw. When I woke up in the hospital, there she was, sitting by my bed like she hadn’t left my side. Before her, I had no idea I was an Avid. No clue I could see the dead.”
His brows lift slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“All I have to do is think about her, and she materializes. A piece of her is always with me, but I can only see her when I will it. She’s here now, cuddled between us.” My hand strokes her oddly warm fur, and his gaze drops to follow the motion.
“Why don’t you want anyone to know?” he asks, his hand moving tentatively toward where mine rests. His fingers graze the empty air, searching as if he might feel what I see. “It’s not like they could hurt her. She’s already dead, right?”
I smile faintly, shaking my head. “No one could hurt her, but I like knowing it’s something special only I have. She’s comforted me through some really dark times, and keeping her a secret is my way of keeping her safe, even though she doesn’t need protecting.”
He tilts his head. “Makes sense,” he murmurs. His fingers hesitate in the space between us, and I realize he’s not mocking or dismissing me. He’s trying to understand.
“What will happen to Aurora and the boy?” I ask.
Malachi glances at me. “We have a safe house not far from here. My team will keep them there, protect them until I give the all-clear for them to move on. After that, we’ll help them find a real place to call home—a life where they can live without fear of being hunted or exploited.”
“I want to see her again. When can we make that happen?”
“I’ll figure something out soon,” he says, and I beam at him, the prospect of reuniting with my only real friend filling me with a small, fleeting joy.
“One of these days, you’ll have to tell me how you know her,” he adds, his fingers grazing mine, but I don’t move away.
“That’s a long story,” I admit. “A story about a really dark time in my life—one I don’t want to relive tonight. But one day, I’ll tell you...I promise.”
He studies me for a moment. “Alright. I look forward to it,” he says. In a gesture so simple yet oddly intimate, he reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
The touch makes my chest tighten in a way I can’t explain.
“One of these days, you’re going to have to tell me more about this team of yours,” I say, shifting the conversation. “How it works, how you got into the business of saving people who are trafficked.”
His lips curl faintly at the corners, but his eyes hold something heavier. “Yes,” he says, “one day soon, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
I don’t push for answers now. The exhaustion in my bones outweighs my curiosity. “Good,” I murmur, leaning back against the pillows, Mischka curling against me.
Malachi shifts, sliding under the covers beside me, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight as he repositions. I glance over at him as he settles in, his arm brushing mine for a fleeting moment before he folds his hands behind his head and stares up at the ceiling.
I try to focus on the firelight dancing across the walls, but the warmth radiating from his side of the bed is distracting.
It’s ridiculous—the odd urge to inch closer, to let my head rest against his chest like this is something normal, somethingsafe. I grip the edge of the blanket tighter instead, willing the feeling to go away.
“Goodnight, demon,” Malachi mutters.
“Goodnight, savior,” I reply sarcastically. It’s a fitting nick name after his actions tonight. He chuckles lightly before silence falls over us, and I shut my eyes.
Chapter Thirteen
RULE 13 OF THE NEW ORDER: A KIND TOUCH CAN HIDE A CRUEL HAND. ALWAYS QUESTION WHY THEY REACH FOR YOU.
