Page 4 of Avidian
“If you don’t leave now,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath warm against my cheek, “you’ll have to kiss me.”
I freeze. His lips are close, so close, that I could tilt my head slightly and?—
No, I can’t.
But I don’t pull away.
Malachi watches me, eyes flicking from my mouth to my eyes, waiting. His hand lingers on my wrist, thumb brushing softly against my skin, like he’s memorizing the feel of it.
“If I kiss you…” I whisper, not sure what I’m even trying to say, “it changes nothing.”
His breath hitches enough for me to notice, and the world around us narrows down to the weight of his stare, the warmth radiating off his body, and the tension hanging in the air. He’s waiting for me to make the first move, giving me the choice.
I close the distance between us, slow enough to feel his breath mix with mine but fast enough that I don’t give myself time to overthink it.
Before our mouths have a chance to meet, I let my tongue glide across his bottom lip. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat, but before he can make a move, I turn my head, biting his earlobe.
My breath brushes against his skin as I whisper, “If you want a taste, Malachi, you’ll have to earn it.”
When I pull back, I catch the surprise in his eyes, and the desire simmering beneath the surface. For a heartbeat, the air between us crackles, heavy with anticipation. I take a deliberate step back, leaving him rooted in place before he can act on anything.
“Goodnight, Malachi,” I manage to say, my voice breathier than I intended. I give him a weak smile, turning on my heels and picking up my pace, putting as much distance between us as possible.
I don’t hear his footsteps following. Good. I don’t look back, not even when he calls out, “Goodnight, Kat.”
The sound of my name on his lips makes me falter for a second, but I keep walking. I have to. Once I leave this park, this moment—it will only be a memory. One I might cling to but can never repeat. I don’t have the luxury of kissing cute men in parks.
Behind me, his voice cuts through the air. “Wait?—”
But I don’t turn back.
I never turn back.
Chapter Two
RULE 2 OF THE NEW ORDER: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE VALUE OF AN ENEMY’S LOYALTY—IT’S EARNED IN FEAR AND MAINTAINED THROUGH LEVERAGE.
I’mcareful not to be followed on my way back to Marco’s compound. The roads are deserted this time of night, and anyone with half a brain knows to keep their distance from the Volkov estate.
Marco Volkov—head of the Volkov family and ruler of the Western District—holds all the power here, like a king in the ruins of what was once a kingdom. We live in what used to be called California, though that name holds little meaning now. That was long before viral outbreaks, climate disasters, and total political collapse carved the world into what it is today. What was once the United States is now a bunch of fractured districts known as Sunderlands.
The population is a shadow of what it was, the billions who once lived here. At least, that’s what we’re taught. The history books in our schools paint a grim picture of the past, but when the curriculum is dictated by a monarchy that seized control in a time of chaos—one that rules with an iron fist—it’s hard to knowwhat’s true. They rose to power when everything fell apart, and now they tighten their grip on what’s left of this broken nation.
Fear keeps people in line. Fear of the unknown, of what lies beyond the realms of our borders, and of the Volkov family’s reach. They say the monarchy saved us, but when the truth is written by those who rule, trust becomes a luxury none of us can afford.
At least this compound is perched on the cliffside. Even though few plants manage to grow here, I can still enjoy the ocean breeze. I breathe in the salty air and turn up the paved driveway to the place I call both my home and my prison. Sometimes I wonder if Marco chose this island deliberately, as if the isolation wasn’t punishment enough. It makes escape that much harder. Too bad California fractured into the ocean, forming a series of islands, history screwing me over long before I ever had a chance.
I’ve learned the hard way that there’s no point trying to run. The Volkov family has eyes everywhere. After so many failed attempts, I’ve finally accepted this as my life. The large iron gates come into view, looming in the distance. I stay close to the edge of the road, hugging the cliffside. The darkness hides the ocean beyond, but the sound of waves crashing below always resonates deep within me.
Banks steps out of the small guard post as I approach. He’s one of Marco’s many security personnel, but one of the few who actually fears me. Most of the men working for Marco have heard rumors about what I can do, but Banks knows the truth.
“I was starting to worry about you, Miss Sinclair,” he says, sighing in relief as I approach the gates.
He was on the team that escorted me to a job a few years ago. A wealthy family from the Southern District hired me to find out what happened to their murdered daughter. They paid Marco for my services, and I was able to contact the girl, uncoveringexactly how she died. One of her father’s enemies kidnapped her and tortured her for information about his company, since she was a valued stakeholder. The whole experience rattled Banks, who started letting me take walks without question or sneak off to the park when I need to clear my head.
“You know I’ll always come back,” I reply, flashing him some teeth.
Banks gives me a half-smile, his usual stoic expression softening. “One of these days, you might not. Marco doesn’t take kindly to people disappearing.”
