Page 78 of Avidian
“Orin,” she says evenly.
“Auntie, it’s been far too long since I graced you with my presence,” Orin says smoothly, stepping further into the kitchen and dragging me along with him like a prop. “I could smell your cooking all the way from the driveway. Thought I’d come see what you’re spoiling my brother with these days.”
Irina doesn’t miss a beat, her smile polite but strained. “You must join me for dinner then. I’d love to hear all about what you’ve been up to,” she says, turning her back to stir whatever is simmering on the stove. “Your brother should be along shortly. He had to run an errand.”
An errand. Malachi isn’t here, and I don’t need him to be. Not for this. If Orin thinks he can get under my skin, he’s in for a surprise.
I pull away from Orin’s hold, stepping into the kitchen ahead of him. The warmth of the room and the scent of whatever Irina is cooking wrap around me, as I breath in through my nose. Irina busies herself at the stove, and though she masks it well, I catch the way her shoulders stiffen ever so slightly as Orin moves closer.
“Smells amazing, Irina. What are we having?” I ask, leaning casually against the counter. My demeanor is steady, calm—everything I know Orin isn’t expecting. His little games don’t intimidate me, and I want him to see that.
Irina glances back, her lips curving into a small smile as she sets a stack of bowls on the counter. “A stew. Something hearty for a cold day.”
“Perfect,” I say, grabbing the bowls and moving to set the table before Orin can make a show of offering to help. He watches me, his arms crossing as he leans against the wall, a smug grin forming.
“Always so helpful, aren’t you, Katja?” he says, and I notice the seedy gleam in his eyes—like he’s waiting for me to snap.
“It doesn’t hurt to lend a hand,” I reply, matching his grin with one of my own. “Something you might want to try sometime.”
Irina hides a half-smile behind her hand as she pretends to adjust the flame on the stove. Orin’s icy blue eyes narrow slightly, the first crack in his composed facade. Good.
I move to the chair closest to Irina, deliberately putting the table between Orin and me.
He grabs my arm, tugging me down into the chair next to him before yanking my jacket off and tossing it carelessly over the back of the chair. The bastard does it to get under my skin,to remind me he can invade my space whenever he pleases. I clench my jaw, refusing to give him the reaction he’s looking for.
“Oh, Orin dear, won’t Katja get cold?” Irina’s voice is light, but I hear the edge beneath it. She knows exactly what he’s doing, trying to defuse the situation without escalating it.
I give her a subtle shake of my head, hoping she’ll let it go. I don’t need her stepping in—not when I can handle him myself.
Orin chuckles, the sound as grating as nails on a chalkboard. “This tough little Avid? She likes the cold.” His hand slides under the table, squeezing my knee hard enough to make a point.
The urge to fling the bowl of stew in his thick bearded face is strong, but I won’t let him get to me. I pick up my spoon and take a bite, focusing on the warm, savory flavors. The stew is good—chunks of tender steak, potatoes, carrots, and peas swimming in a rich broth. I think this might even be real meat, and Irina must have a special greenhouse to grow vegetables that taste this fresh—or maybe they were cultivated in the Depths. My stomach growls, and I focus on eating, hoping he’ll lose interest if I don’t engage.
Of course, it’s Orin, so that’s wishful thinking.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Kat,” he says. His hand doesn’t move from my knee, the pressure a constant reminder of his presence. “My aunt here has taken you into her home, treating you far better than you deserve and even letting you eat at her fucking dinner table. I don’t think I’ve heard a thank you yet.”
And there it is. His power play. I set my spoon down gently, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral. “Thank you, Irina,” I say, turning to her with genuine warmth. “The stew is lovely, and I’m very grateful you’re such a kind host.”
Irina gives me a small smile, but her attention shifts to Orin, her features hardening. “You’re very welcome, Katja,” she says before fixing her stern gaze on her nephew. “Orin, you know Idon’t believe in mistreating Avids in this house. They’re like us. I’m not my brothers.”
I admire her for saying it so plainly. Irina might live out here in isolation, but she’s not afraid to stand her ground, even with Orin looming over her.
He snorts, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “Mistreating them?” he echoes. “I don’t think you believe in them at all, Auntie. That’s the problem. You want to sit out here in the middle of nowhere, playing house, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”
I take another slow bite, keeping my eyes on the bowl, refusing to engage. Let him argue with Irina if he wants. I’ve got no interest in playing his games tonight.
“You don’t have to believe in the world’s darkness to know it exists, Orin,” Irina says sharply. “But I also don’t have to invite it into my home.”
His laugh is cold, humorless. “And yet here I am. Since I’m here, maybe I can show you how entertaining an Avid can be. Consider it a token of my appreciation for this fine meal.” His tone is sharp, laced with the threat of something sinister. My chest tightens, my spoon hovering over the bowl.
“That won’t be necessary,” Irina cuts in quickly.
Orin waves her off like she’s said nothing of importance, the glint in his eyes sharpening. “Nonsense. If my father thought Kat should stay here, she might as well make herself useful.” His gaze slides to me. “You know, I miss Uncle Jamie. Why don’t we have Kat here translate a little chat for us?”
My stomach tightens as I glance toward Irina, catching the unease on her face. I didn’t even know she had a husband—let alone that he’d died. The sadness that tugs at my chest is immediate, the urge to help her strong. But the look she gives me isn’t one of someone asking for help. It’s a warning.
“Thank you, but I’ll pass for now,” Irina says tightly, her polite veneer cracking enough to show the tension simmering beneath.
