Page 59 of Avidian
The room feels like it’s spinning, the walls pressing closer, and I can’t focus on anything but the weight of what I saw, what I felt. The edges of my vision darken, and the exhaustion settles over me.
“Kat!” Malachi’s voice is the last thing I hear as the world goes black.
I feelthe soft graze of fingers along my cheek, the gentle touch of someone brushing strands of hair out of my face and tucking them behind my ear. I don’t open my eyes. Instead, I breathe him in—fresh-cut wood and the faintest hint of something minty.
My leg is draped over Malachi’s waist, my arm thrown across him, and my face rests on his chest. His arm cradles me firmly against him, the warmth of his hold grounding me. I know he’s awake. The way his fingers move through my hair, slow and deliberate, makes that clear. Yet I don’t stir. Something inside urges me to pause, to savor this moment—the safety of his embrace, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the quiet comfort of the dimly lit room. It feels too good, too natural.
I inhale slowly, blinking a few times before daring to peek up at him through my lashes. The hand tangled in my hair drops, and his expression falters for a second, like a guilty child caughtdoing something naughty. But it fades quickly, replaced by the more serious demeanor I’ve grown accustomed to.
“How are you feeling?” His voice is softer than usual, gentle in a way that catches me off guard.
“I feel good. Rested,” I murmur, still groggy. “How long did I sleep for? Is it morning yet?” I glance around the dim room, noticing the candle on the end table and the dark curtains drawn tightly over the window.
“The opposite, actually,” he says, shifting slightly as his gaze darts toward the clock. “You slept for an entire day. It’s already night again.” His thumb brushes lightly against the small patch of skin exposed where my shirt rides up my back, a motion so absentminded yet so tender it makes my breath hitch. “Twenty-six hours, to be exact. It’s about midnight.”
I blink, surprised. “An entire day?” I try to piece together how long I might’ve been in the veil. It hadn’t felt like I was there for more than minutes, but sometimes the toll is unpredictable. “That’s...longer than I expected, but not unheard of.”
His brows knit together slightly as he studies my face. “I know you said this happens—that projecting takes a lot out of you—and Marco warned me you’d need rest. But I didn’t expect it to hit so hard.”
He looks past me, his jaw tightening slightly as if he’s replaying the last twenty-six hours in his head. His hand, still tracing gentle lines on my lower back, seems to move without him realizing it.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he presses, his voice dropping into something more serious, more personal.
I nod, resting my chin lightly on his chest as I meet his gaze. “I’m fine, really. Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes not as bad. This was...manageable.”
He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push further, and I don’t tell him how comforting it feels to wake up like this, inhis arms, instead of in Marco’s room, him or one of his guards watching me.
I slide out of bed, Malachi’s gaze trailing me as I move, but he doesn’t stop me. He watches, his eyes tracking every step like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out yet. It makes my skin prickle under the weight of his attention.
“Why do you look at me like that?” I ask, hesitating near the bathroom door, my hand hovering over the frame.
“Like what?” Malachi replies casually despite his eyes being anything but.
“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” I say.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he leans back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. “Maybe I am,” he says, his gaze locked on mine. “Or maybe I can’t stop staring.”
The way he says it has me giggling like an idiot. “You’re ridiculous,” I mutter, ducking into the bathroom, but the warmth in my cheeks is unmistakable.
The cold water on my face helps wake me up fully, washing away the haze of sleep and the strange heaviness left behind from projecting. I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and push it back over my shoulders, wanting to feel human again after sleeping for so long.
When I crawl back into bed, Malachi lifts his arm without saying anything, inviting me to settle against him. I hesitate for the briefest moment then tuck into his side, letting his arm wrap securely around me. His hold is warm and firm, and the way my body fits against his catches me off guard. It feels good—too good—and I inhale a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.
I tilt my head slightly, my eyes finding his in the dim, shimmering light of the candle on the nightstand. The golden-brown of his gaze is more vivid up close, tiny flecks of amber scattered like shards of firelight against a backdrop of deep, endless mahogany. He’s staring right back at me.
“You know,” he says suddenly, "you still owe me a kiss.” His lips curve into a slow, teasing smile, the kind that flashes the dimple on his left cheek and makes it impossible to look anywhere else.
I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. I don’t have a quick, biting comeback. Because the truth is—I do want to kiss him. Worse than that, I want him to kiss me.
My gaze drops to his lips before I can stop myself, and I feel a rush of heat crawl up my neck. I bite the inside of my cheek, wrestling with the war raging inside me. One part of me screams to close the space, to feel the heat of his mouth against mine. The other part—the one that’s built walls and thrived behind them—warns me to keep my distance.
But then he tilts his head, his smirk softening into something deeper, more intense. His hand slides from where it rests on my back, his thumb brushing lightly against my side as his fingers press into me slightly, holding me closer. “What’s the matter, Kat? No snarky remark this time?” he asks.
I force myself to meet his eyes again, and I see the challenge there, the unspoken dare. I tilt my chin, feigning confidence I don’t feel, and murmur, “Maybe I’m waiting for you to take it.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to move. That he’s going to close the space between us, and?—
But he doesn’t. Instead, his thumb grazes my side again, sending another shiver through me. “Careful what you ask for, demon,” he whispers, his voice like a velvet caress.
