Chapter 108: Chapter 108: The Next Program

CHANDELIERS BLAZED above them, spilling fractured light across gowns, velvet, and gleaming masks. The crowd had only grown wilder, champagne flashing in crystal as if the night itself were determined to keep reveling long past its welcome.

Mailah’s lips still tingled. Her skin still burned where Grayson had touched her, seared as though he had left invisible bruises she’d never be rid of.

Every step at his side made her dizzy with the memory of his mouth, his hands, the way he’d said “that’s how” like a promise and a threat wrapped in silk.

She should have been furious. She was furious. And yet—her pulse thrummed in time with his. The bond, unspoken and unwanted, coiled tighter.

“What did you mean,” she whispered as they slipped through a cluster of guests and jeweled sleeves, “by ’costs far more than I’d ever want to pay’?”

Grayson didn’t answer right away.

His hand pressed lightly against the small of her back, guiding her through the sea of bodies as if they were one movement, one breath.

He scanned faces as they passed—sharp eyes flicking over humans, demons, and creatures wearing glamour like perfume.

Finally, his mouth curved—not a smile, not exactly. “Hugh’s little charm wasn’t an offer. It was a leash. The only question was whether you’d slip it on yourself, or let me pull it off you.”

Her stomach dipped. “And if I had taken it?”

He cut her a sidelong glance, his gaze wicked in its softness. “Then I’d be kissing you in a dungeon instead of a balcony.”

Mailah almost tripped on her skirts. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.” His lips brushed her ear as he leaned close, voice low enough to shiver down her spine. “Though I suppose I could make it one if you’d like.”

She shoved his shoulder lightly, heat rising to her cheeks. “You are—impossible.”

“Correct.” He smirked. “And still keeping you alive.”

Mailah bit back the retort clawing at her tongue, because his hand had slipped from her back to her wrist, fingers curling lightly around her pulse.

She couldn’t shake the sense that it wasn’t for control—it was for reassurance. His thumb brushed there once, twice, as though reminding himself she was real.

And alive.

They paused near the grand staircase, where the Ashford brothers scattered themselves like wolves in velvet.

Lucson leaned against the banister, his dark hair falling carelessly across his brow, a glass of dark wine turning lazily in his hand. His light gray eyes caught the chandelier’s glow in a way that made them look almost silver.

He was speaking to a woman with wings pressed close to her spine, but his gaze slid toward Mailah at the exact moment she looked his way.

Something in her chest stuttered. His smile was too knowing. Too sharp.

Grayson’s hand tightened on her wrist.

“What?” she asked, voice low.

“Don’t stare,” he muttered. “You’re unconsciously feeding him.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His gaze cut toward his brother, his jaw hardening. “And he saw it.”

Her pulse jumped. “Grayson… was it him?”

His silence was her answer.

Mailah’s skin prickled. The balcony. The note. The whisper of Trust no one else.

“Why?” she pressed, but her voice had dropped into something more fragile.

Grayson shifted, stepping slightly closer so his body blocked her from Lucson’s view. His presence was overwhelming, a wall of heat and shadow wrapping around her. It wasn’t just protection—it was a claim, though he hadn’t said the words. His nearness curled over her skin like smoke. “To see what you’d do,” he said finally, voice pitched low, each syllable sliding under her ribs. “To measure you.”

“Measure me?” Her laugh cracked sharp, brittle at the edges. “What am I—some kind of lab rat?”

His gaze pinned her, steady and unyielding. Eyes gray and storm-bright, sharper than amusement, sharper than comfort. “Exactly.”

Her throat tightened.

“Lucson set the trap,” Grayson went on, his tone a blade wrapped in velvet. “Hugh played his role. It wasn’t about protection—it was about loyalty. Yours.”

Mailah’s lips parted, but no sound came. Her thoughts collided in a rush of disbelief.

“They wanted to see if you’d bend,” he said, gaze never wavering. “If you’d take the charm, take the deal, take the bait. If you’d choose anyone but me.”

The air thinned, pressing her chest until it ached. “That’s—madness.”

“Welcome to my family,” he murmured, almost fond, as though her horror was a private joke only he understood.

Her laugh burst out, raw and jagged. “So I’m just—what? A pawn on your supernatural chessboard?”

His jaw worked, the faintest tension betraying him even as his touch was deliberate, precise. His thumb brushed along her wrist, dragging fire into her veins. “Not a pawn. A piece every player wants to control. That makes you dangerous.”

Her breath stumbled. “To you too?”

His mouth curved, deliberate and devastating. “Especially to me.”

The traitorous flutter in her stomach turned sharp and wild, coiling low until she almost swore it was hunger. She wanted to hate it. Instead, she wanted him.

And she hated that even more.

The orchestra’s song shifted before she could gather her thoughts. Violins cut into the air with darker edges, sharp enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. Laughter spiked across the room—too high, too loud, too brittle—as if everyone had suddenly swallowed something potent and wicked.

Across the room, Lucson lifted his glass. He tapped it once against the banister. The crystalline sound rang like a bell, reverberating far too long, sinking into her bones.

The ballroom changed.

It was subtle at first—the tilt of a laugh that lingered too long, the way shoulders brushed closer, the sudden hush that fell like silk over the crowd. But then the glamour bent, rippling like water disturbed, and Mailah saw flashes—teeth too sharp, irises burning like embers, skin catching the chandelier light in scales or shadows.

The room pulsed with a heavy heat, sultry and suffocating. Breaths grew shorter. Conversations dissolved into low murmurs, curling around her ears in words she couldn’t make out but felt all the same, like whispers dragged across her skin.

Mailah swallowed hard. “Grayson…” Her voice broke, panicked. “Something’s—wrong. Everyone’s acting—different.” Her cheeks flamed hot, the sensation climbing lower, shameless and humiliating. “I feel—”

“I know.” His voice, low and rough, steadied her even as it unsettled her more. “Stay calm. If you panic, you’ll feed it. You’ll heighten it.”

Her eyes widened. “Heighten what?”

He hesitated. Then leaned close, breath burning against her ear. “Lucson just opened the next part of the program.”

Her heart skittered. “Program?”

His mouth twisted with a dark amusement that was half smirk, half warning. “An orgy.”

Mailah froze. The word landed like a thunderclap. “I—what?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean—” her voice shot higher, desperate and horrified, “you didn’t think to mention that before dragging me here?”

His brow arched, maddeningly calm. “Would you have come?”

“No!”

“Exactly.”

She gaped at him, heat rushing up her neck. “So what happens now? I’m just—what—supposed to start sleeping with random guests like it’s part of the catering menu?”

His chuckle was low, wicked, utterly unhelpful. “Not unless you want to. And you won’t.”

“Not funny!”

His hand slid with casual authority from her wrist to her hip. The touch seared, firm, anchoring her in place. “You’ll stay by me. That’s all you need to do.”

She hated the way her lungs loosened at those words. Hated the way her body leaned subtly into his. Hated most of all that she needed him—this infuriating, smug demon with his smoke-dark voice and impossible eyes.

She tried to laugh it off, but the sound cracked. “Great. Fantastic. So I just stand here and hope no one decides to—what—invite me into some supernatural pile-on?”

His grin was sharp and wicked. “If anyone tries, they’ll regret it.” His thumb pressed lightly against her hip, sending a shiver through her. “I don’t share well.”

Mailah’s face went scarlet. “That’s—not—ugh! You’re impossible.”

His expression shifted, though—the grin fading into something hungrier. His gaze dipped to her mouth for a fraction of a second too long.

Her stomach flipped.

And then she saw it.

His eyes.

Not blue-gray. Not storm-dark. But flickering pale silver, gleaming like molten moonlight.

Her breath snagged in her throat. “Grayson… your eyes.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. The hand on her hip pressed harder, not enough to hurt, but enough to hold her exactly where he wanted her.

Her pulse slammed. The heat of the ballroom folded in on itself, collapsing until there was only him—Grayson, too close, too sharp, too dangerous.

His smile curved slow, a predator’s smile masquerading as charm.

His thumb dragged lazily across her hip, each stroke deliberate, claiming.

Her body betrayed her with a shiver, caught between terror and reckless hunger.

Then his gaze flared—bright, inhuman, undeniable.

And that was when Mailah realized—whatever Lucson had unleashed, the real danger wasn’t across the ballroom.

It was right beside her.

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