Page 75 of Avidian
I focus on the cold, electric hum of the dead—the constant, grating vibration that surrounds me—and attempt to shut it out completely. Normally, I’d lean into it, tuning in to each thread of energy to pull the answers I need. But this time, I push back, trying to create some semblance of peace in this cacophony.
When I open my eyes, it’s barely better. The dead still swarm, flickering and murmuring like static-filled apparitions, their voices blurring together into an unbearable din.
“Want to take me somewhere quieter to talk?” I ask as I glance at Damien. He tilts his head and takes the bait. His hand grips my wrist, and the world around me shifts.
The suffocating darkness melts into the snowy forest I’ve come to associate with him—Damien’s haunting reflection of home. The skeletal trees, their black branches heavy with snow, stretch endlessly, casting jagged shadows over the pale ground. The murmuring dead thin out, their flickering forms still visible but distant now. For the first time since I crossed into the veil, I exhale.
I don’t pull my wrist away, even though the chill of his touch makes my flesh prickle. If he lets go, I might get dragged back into that overwhelming nightmare. For now, I’ll tolerate it.“Thanks,” I say carefully, keeping my tone light. No need to poke the bear when I need answers.
“You certainly know how to draw a crowd for someone who’s supposed to be invisible,” Damien says.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You Avids,” he says snidely, “you’re supposed to be the untouchables. The pets no one wants to play with but that everyone wants to own.”
That puts a sour taste in my mouth. He would see us that way. After all, I’ve seen how his father treats people like me. I want to snap at him, to tell him where he can shove his twisted perspective, but I hold back. Losing my temper won’t get me the answers I need.
“Carmen said something before,” I say. “She said, ‘He’s not dead. He’s alive.’ Who was she talking about?”
Damien’s expression barely changes, but there’s something behind his eyes—something smug. “Fuck if I know. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” he says lazily, shrugging as if the thought of Carmen bores him.
“I’ve tried. She’s not exactly easy to reach. Either someone’s keeping her away, or she doesn’t want to talk to me.”
He lets out a sharp laugh, cold and humorless. “Maybe she’s got her reasons. Ever think of that?” He licks his lips. “But I’m more fun to talk to anyway. You keep coming back, playing my games, hoping I’ll throw you a breadcrumb. Maybe if you keep being entertaining, I will.”
He’s already getting under my skin, but I force a smile, knowing I need to keep him talking. “If you want me to keep showing up, you’ll have to give me more than breadcrumbs.”
He leans closer. “I have enough to keep you wanting more.”
I steel myself, meeting his gaze head-on. “Your father, did he know? Did Viktor have anything to do with your murder? Didyou do something to piss him off, something you couldn’t come back from?”
Damien’s smile falters, his expression darkening. “He’s innocent—if you think being uninvolved makes him innocent. Do you really believe something like that could go down under his roof and he wouldn’t know?” His thumb brushes over my wrist, causing goosebumps to spread up my arm. “My father’s no saint. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he’s never clean.”
Damien’s right—Viktor’s reaction to his son’s death was cold, calculated. A party mere days after Damien’s murder, blood still staining the walls upstairs? That’s not the grief of an innocent man. I already knew that. But Damien’s certainty that Viktor didn’t directly order the kill throws me off.
“Oh, Kitty Kat,” Damien says, mocking affection. “You are going to be so surprised when you find your killer.”
A chill creeps down my spine. “Why don’t you tell me?” I ask, exasperated. “You know who did it. Why play these games?”
“Because it’s fun,” he says simply, his smile widening. “And because watching you figure it out is so much more satisfying. Careful who you trust out there. Us Volkov men can be very resourceful—all of us. Killing is in our blood.”
I stiffen. It feels like a jab at Malachi, but I can’t tell if it’s meant to rattle me or if there’s truth hidden in his taunt. Either way, I don’t like it.
I narrow my eyes, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite the unease creeping into my chest. Damien thrives on reactions, I remind myself. Don’t give him one.
“Good to know,” I say. “Not that I’d expect anything less from you.”
He grins, taking a step closer, “You really should be careful who you trust. Not everyone has your best interests at heart. If only you could see what I see.”
I retort, my voice cold, “I don’t take anything you say at face value, not anymore.”
“Smart girl,” he says, something dark lurking in his gaze. “But even the smartest fall for the wrong person sometimes.”
I swallow hard, refusing to let his words shake me. “Is that what you think this is? Some cheap attempt to scare me off?”
Damien’s laugh echoes through the trees, hollow and haunting. “No, Kitty Kat, it’s a warning. Trust is a fragile thing, and you’re in a world where even the closest bonds can shatter like glass.”
He’s not going to get under my skin, and I sure as hell won’t let him turn me against Malachi. Damien loves screwing with me, twisting everything he says into a barbed threat or a cryptic taunt. His games may have been mildly interesting at first, but now? They’re exhausting.
