Page 76 of Avidian
Damien releases my wrist with a sudden, icy shove. The snowy forest around us dissolves into darkness, its serenity melting away like smoke in the wind. The noise returns—voices, so many voices. It’s a cacophony of whispers and cries, spirits clawing at my mind, each one desperate for attention.
It’s like they want a piece of me, to give me a message, to take something from me. I can barely think, barely move, as the overwhelming sensation drags me down, my knees buckling beneath the weight.
As I’m about to lose myself completely, Mischka bursts into view, her glowing form leaping into my arms. Her warm, shadowy presence grounds me, and her familiar licks on my face help silence the relentless noise. I cling to her, drawing strength from her, until she wriggles free, barking sharply and darting ahead.
I follow her, my eyes snapping to where she’s heading. That’s when I see it—my window. My way back to Malachi’s living room.
Except the sight before me freezes my blood.
The window is surrounded by the dead, their translucent hands clawing and grabbing at my physical body.
My body.
They’re trying to drag it into the veil.
“What the fuck?” I gasp. This has never happened before. I don’t even know what would happen if they succeeded. Would I be trapped here, my soul severed from my body forever? The thought sends a jolt of panic through me, and I take off running, my heart pounding as I chase after Mish. She weaves through the crowd of spirits, her calls guiding me.
I can see the living room beyond the window now. Malachi has his arms wrapped tightly around my waist, focused intently, while Bash flails wildly, his movements erratic as he tries to swat at something he can’t even see. They have no idea what they’re up against—no idea how to fight off the spirits threatening to drag me into oblivion.
“Mish, go!” I shout, my voice echoing through the void. She leaps through the window without hesitation, disappearing into the room. I charge forward, shoving past the spirits. Their cold, spectral hands claw at me, some passing through me with a bone-deep chill, others dragging me down with their weight. I can barely see, barely breathe, but I throw myself into the writhing mass, pushing and clawing until I reach my physical hand.
The moment my fingers connect with my own, everything snaps back into place. I gasp awake, my lungs burning as though I’ve surfaced from deep underwater.
I’m back. I’m in Malachi’s living room.
Malachi’s arms are still around me, his grip so tight it’s almost painful, and Bash is breathing hard, his wild eyes scanning the room as if the spirits might have followed me through.
“What the fuck happened?” Bash demands, his voice loud and sharp in the silence. But all I can do is sit there, trembling, as Malachi falls to the couch with me in his arms.
He grips my face, his hands firm but careful, his wide eyes scanning me like he’s searching for something—any sign of injury.
“Kat, talk to me,” he says, his expression tight with panic.
“I’m okay,” I manage, slurring as exhaustion starts to pull me under. “That was intense, but I’m?—”
A wave of heaviness crashes over me, my body sinking like lead into the couch. My head feels too heavy to hold up, my vision blurring at the edges.
“Kat!” Malachi sounds distant now, as though it’s coming from somewhere far away. My last blurry glimpse is of him shooting Bash a look so sharp, so full of fury, it could cut glass.
“It’s not his fault,” I want to say, but the words don’t come. I try to lift my hand, to do something, but the overwhelming pull of sleep takes over before I can process another thought.
Darkness swallows me whole.
Chapter Twenty-Three
RULE 23 OF THE NEW ORDER: ANSWERS OFTEN HIDE IN THE MOST UNEXPECTED PLACES—KEEP AN OPEN MIND AND LET GO OF ASSUMPTIONS, OR RISK MISSING THE TRUTH.
Pressureon my chest pulls me from sleep, and my eyes snap open. “Time to wake up, demon.” Orin’s voice invades my senses, and I find him standing over me, shaking me awake. Confusion and a spike of horror flood my system as I sit up abruptly.
I’m in Malachi’s bed, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The blinds are drawn, cloaking in a dim, disorienting light. What time is it? What day? Panic claws at my throat. Is Marco here? Did something happen?
My breathing comes too fast, and Orin, ever the opportunist, presses his hands against my shoulders and shoves me back down onto the mattress.
“What are you doing here?” I ask before I can think it through.
He sits down beside me—too close, the mattress dipping under his weight. “I think I’ll be the one asking questions,” he says smoothly.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my gaze darting toward the doorway, my thoughts racing. Where’s Malachi? What’s going on? I force myself to inhale deeply, willing the panic to subside. I need to keep my composure. With practiced precision, I arrange my expression into a calm mask, the one I’ve spent years perfecting.
