Chapter 184: Chapter 184: The Vision

MAILAH JOLTED AWAKE with a gasp, her heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape her chest. The nightmare clung to her consciousness—Grayson’s eyes completely silver, no recognition in them, just hunger and something ancient and terrifying. His hands had been reaching for her, but not in tenderness. In the dream, he’d looked at her the way a predator looks at prey.

“You’re a useless guard,” Lucson’s voice cut through her disorientation. “Completely unreliable. Fell asleep within the hour.”

Mailah blinked, trying to orient herself.

The hunting lodge. Right.

The fire had burned down to embers. Morning light filtered through the windows, weak and gray.

And Lucson stood at the kitchen counter doing something that looked suspiciously like… cooking?

“What time is it?” Her voice came out rough, throat dry.

“Seven thirty-two.” He didn’t look up from whatever he was doing. “You were supposed to wake me for my shift. Instead, I woke to find you passed out in that chair with your phone still clutched in your hand like a security blanket.”

Mailah rubbed her face, the nightmare still vivid behind her eyelids. Her head throbbed with the kind of headache that suggested her brain was staging a protest.

She stood on wobbly legs and made her way to the table, collapsing into a chair. The smell of whatever Lucson was cooking should have been appealing, but her stomach churned with anxiety.

“I had a nightmare,” she said quietly.

“Clearly. You were muttering in your sleep.” Lucson cracked an egg into a pan with unnecessary force.

“It was about Grayson.” Mailah wrapped her arms around herself. “He was… different. Changed. There was nothing left of the man I know. Just this creature that looked like him but wasn’t him. His eyes were completely silver, and he didn’t recognize me. Didn’t see me as anything except—”

“Food?” Lucson supplied helpfully.

He flipped something in the pan with more skill than any demon should possess. “Describe it in detail.”

Mailah hesitated, then walked through the nightmare—the way Grayson had moved, predatory and fluid. The complete absence of warmth in his expression. The feeling of being hunted by someone who wore her fiancé’s face.

When she finished, Lucson was quiet for a moment, plating what turned out to be a surprisingly competent-looking omelet.

“It was probably just a nightmare,” he said finally, setting the plate in front of her with a fork.

Mailah stared at him. “Probably?”

“Grayson is the incubus. Mason is the nightmare demon.” Lucson returned to the stove, apparently making a second omelet for himself. “If one of my brothers was going to infiltrate your dreams, it would be Mason. And trust me, you’d know if Mason was involved. His nightmares are significantly more creative than ’scary demon boyfriend.’”

“That’s… surprisingly reassuring?” Mailah poked at the omelet. It looked perfect. She found this deeply suspicious. “Wait. Can you feed from humans through dreams? Like some of your brothers?”

Lucson’s back went rigid. He turned slowly, and the expression on his face was one Mailah had never seen before—pure, unadulterated offense.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, Grayson feeds through dreams, and Mason obviously does, so I’m just wondering if—”

“If I creep into people’s subconscious like some kind of supernatural peeping tom?” Lucson’s voice dripped with indignation. “If I lurk in the shadows of human REM cycles waiting to snack on their sleeping minds?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds—”

“I feed on influence and admiration,” Lucson interrupted, gesturing with his spatula like a sword. “Direct. Honest. Face-to-face interaction. I don’t skulk around in dream realms like Mason or Grayson, whispering suggestions and manipulating subconscious desires.”

Despite everything—the nightmare, the headache, the crushing worry about Grayson—Mailah felt laughter bubbling up. He seemed genuinely offended.

Lucson returned to his omelet with wounded dignity. “Dream-feeding is cowardly. It requires no skill, no finesse, no actual engagement with the person you’re feeding from. It’s just…” He made a dismissive gesture. “Lazy.”

“Grayson does it.”

“Grayson does it out of necessity. It’s a survival mechanism, not a preferred method.” Lucson plated his own omelet and joined her at the table. “And he hates every second of it because it feels like violation. As it should.”

Mailah took a bite of the omelet. It was delicious, which somehow made everything more surreal. “How are you good at cooking?”

“I’ve told you. I had three centuries to master various skills.” Lucson ate with the same precise efficiency he applied to everything. “Cooking is chemistry and timing. Both are logical. Unlike dream-feeding, which is just—” He made another dismissive gesture.

“You’re really offended by this.”

“I have standards,” Lucson said primly.

Mailah found herself smiling despite the lingering anxiety. There was something absurdly endearing about watching a demon get righteously indignant about the ethics of supernatural feeding methods.

“So you’re certain it was just a regular nightmare? Not Mason messing with me?”

Lucson set down his fork, his expression turning serious. “If Mason were involved, there would be layers. Symbolism. Psychological torture specifically tailored to your deepest fears. What you described sounds like your own anxiety manifesting—which, given current circumstances, is completely understandable and requires no supernatural explanation.”

“That’s…” Mailah paused. “Actually helpful?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m capable of being helpful when it serves a purpose.” He resumed eating. “Your nightmare about Grayson losing his humanity is a valid fear. He’s in a vulnerable state, potentially being held by people who may not have his best interests at heart. Your subconscious is processing this through dream imagery. Perfectly normal.”

“But?”

“But?” Lucson raised an eyebrow.

“You said ’probably just a nightmare.’ Not ’definitely.’ There’s a but coming.”

Lucson studied her for a moment. “You’re more perceptive than I initially credited. Fine. Yes, there’s a small possibility that what you experienced was a form of precognitive dreaming. Though the link between you is not that strong, you might be able to sense him in your dreams.”

Mailah’s stomach dropped. “So it could be a vision? Of what’s actually happening to Grayson?”

“Could be. Unlikely, but possible.” Lucson’s tone remained clinical. “However, even if it were precognitive, dreams are symbolic, not literal. If Grayson is currently losing himself to his demon nature, it wouldn’t look exactly like what you saw. The subconscious translates complex supernatural phenomena into imagery the conscious mind can process.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is.”

“I’m not trying to reassure you. I’m trying to give you accurate information so you can make informed decisions.” Lucson finished his omelet and stood, collecting both plates. “We should leave within the hour. The weather window is closing.”

Mailah watched him move around the kitchen. “Lucson?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For the food. And for not… I don’t know, being more of an asshole about the fact that I asked if you were dream-stalking me.”

“The day is young,” Lucson said dryly. “I’m reserving full asshole behavior for when we’re actually tracking Grayson and you inevitably do something impulsive and dangerous.”

“I’m not impulsive.”

“You walked into a forest at three in the morning.”

“That was strategic rage-walking. Completely different.”

“Of course.” Lucson’s mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. “My mistake.”

Mailah stood, testing her legs. The headache had faded to a manageable throb, and the food had helped settle her stomach. “I should get ready then.”

“There’s a bathroom down the hall. Basic supplies in the cabinet. Whoever stocked this place was thorough.” Lucson moved to the fire, beginning to bank the embers.

“You really think we can find him today?”

Lucson paused, considering. “I think we’ll find something today. Whether it’s Grayson or information leading to him remains to be seen. But yes, we’re close. I can feel it.”

“Feel what?”

His light gray eyes met hers. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Mailah nodded, trying to feel encouraged. “And if we find him and he’s… not himself? If he’s like he was in my nightmare?”

Lucson’s expression shifted, the clinical detachment sliding into something harder. More truthful. “Then you need to understand something, Mailah. Grayson spent three centuries fighting his demon nature. Three centuries denying what he fundamentally is. That kind of suppression doesn’t just vanish—it compounds. It festers.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if Grayson has truly embraced his demon nature, if he’s stopped fighting it…” Lucson set down the fire poker with deliberate care. “He won’t just be like us. He’ll be worse. Exponentially worse. Three hundred years of pent-up hunger, three hundred years of denied instincts, all unleashed at once. He could be more dangerous than me and the rest of my brothers combined.”

The air seemed to leave the room. Mailah felt the words land like physical blows.

“But the real question isn’t whether you’d still want to be with him despite that,” Lucson continued, his light gray eyes pinning her in place. “The question is whether a full-demon Grayson would still want to be with you.”

Mailah opened her mouth, then closed it. No words came. Her throat felt tight, constricted by a fear she hadn’t fully acknowledged until this moment.

Because Lucson was right.

The Grayson she knew—the man who fought his nature, who chose humanity over power, who looked at her with warmth and recognition and love—that Grayson wanted her. Needed her.

But a demon Grayson? One who had finally stopped fighting? Who had embraced everything he’d denied for three centuries?

Would he even see her as anything more than food? Would there be anything left of the man she loved, or just an ancient creature wearing his face?

Lucson watched her process this, his expression unreadable. “Something to think about while you get ready,” he said quietly. “We leave in an hour.”

He turned back to the fire, effectively ending the conversation.

Mailah stood frozen in the doorway, her earlier smile completely erased. The nightmare suddenly felt less like anxiety and more like premonition. Her hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles white.

She wanted to argue. To insist that Grayson would never lose himself completely. That their connection was stronger than his demon nature. That love could overcome anything.

But the words wouldn’t come.

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