Chapter 196: Chapter 196: The Shower

“WHO DO I TRUST?” Mailah whispered, the question escaping before she could stop it.

Lucson’s gaze darkened. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his eyes glowing with an intensity that made her knees weak. “You trust the man who is standing here, Mailah. Grayson isn’t here to claim you. For now. But I am.”

It was a subtle, predatory move, and for a heartbeat, Mailah felt her resolve waver. The doubt flickered in her chest—was Grayson’s ’respect’ actually just a lack of commitment? Had he left her vulnerable on purpose?

“Don’t listen to him, darling,” Carson chimed in from the other side, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Lucson is all about ’protection’ because he wants to be the one to eventually take a bite. I’m just here for the chaos. And right now? The chaos is the only thing that’s honest.”

He pushed open the heavy steel doors, and the cold Basel night air rushed in, snapping Mailah out of her daze.

The street was empty. The boutiques were dark. The quiet was a shock after the sensory assault of the club.

“To the car,” Lucson commanded, his voice returning to its usual, disciplined clip.

As they walked, Mailah looked back at the gold emblem on the glass door. It seemed to mock her. Abstract enough to mean nothing and everything.

She was in a world where her protectors were predators, her enemies were mirrors, and the man she loved was a ghost haunting her senses.

But as Lucson opened the car door for her, his eyes softening as he made sure she was safe inside, Mailah felt a sudden, sharp pulse from her heart– a silent, frantic warning.

Grayson’s alive, she thought, her heart soaring even as the car sped away into the dark.

She looked at Lucson’s profile in the driver’s seat. He looked calm. He looked like a savior. She looked at Carson in the rearview mirror, who was whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like a funeral march.

Mailah leaned back into the leather seat, her fingers tracing her ring. She was surrounded by beauty and power, but for the first time, she realized she was also surrounded by predators who might be simply waiting for their turn at the table.

The car sliced through the winding streets of Basel, the neon lights of the city blurring into long, jagged streaks of violet and gold.

Mailah leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, her mind a dizzying carousel of images: the hollowed-out eyes of the club-goers, the silver-eyed man dissolving into quicksilver, and the terrifying, radiant heat of Lucson’s hand on her waist.

She expected the industrial district. She expected the “trap.”

She expected to face a demon princess with nothing but her wits and two predators who looked like they were still vibrating from the high of feeding.

But as the car slowed, the scenery didn’t turn gritty or industrial. Instead, they pulled into a wide, cobblestone driveway lined with manicured topiary and flickering gas lamps.

Before them stood the Grand Hotel de la Rose—a sprawling, Baroque masterpiece of white stone and gilded balconies that looked like it had been plucked from a fairy tale and dropped into the heart of Switzerland.

“Where are we?” Mailah asked, her voice raspy. She sat up, squinting at the towering foyer. “This isn’t…”

Lucson turned off the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the ticking of the cooling metal. He looked at her through the rearview mirror, his eyes no longer glowing silver but still carrying a depth that made her feel exposed.

“We are recharging,” he said simply.

“Lucson, the message said—”

“The message said Basel,” he interrupted, his voice level and unyielding. “It did not specify the hour. And even if it had, I do not take orders from a kidnapper. Carson and I have fed. Our stores are full. But you…” He turned in his seat, his gaze sweeping over her pale face and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“You are running on adrenaline and a dress that is currently the only thing holding you upright. You deserve to recharge before you meet with Grayson’s captor. A tired soldier is a dead one, Mailah.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him that Grayson didn’t have the luxury of a five-star hotel, but the words died in her throat.

Lucson wasn’t asking; he was stating a fact of their new reality. He was used to being obeyed, his authority as natural as the gravity that kept the car on the pavement.

And frankly? She was exhausted. Her bones felt like they were made of wet sand.

“Fine,” she sighed, leaning back. “But I’m arguing with you the moment I’ve had a shower. Don’t think this means I’m following your lead.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched Lucson’s lips. “I look forward to the debate.”

The foyer was a cathedral of excess. Crystal chandeliers the size of small cars hung from frescoed ceilings, and the floor was a mosaic of marble so polished it looked like standing on water.

The receptionist—a woman in a crisp navy uniform—looked up as they approached. The moment her eyes landed on Lucson, the professional mask didn’t just slip; it evaporated. She blinked, her breath catching as she took in the sheer, overwhelming symmetry of his face.

“Welcome to the Rose,” she managed to stammer, her cheeks flushing a deep, Victorian pink. “How… how can I help you, Monsieur?”

“A suite,” Lucson said, leaning slightly over the mahogany counter. He didn’t use a hypnotic suggestion, but he didn’t have to. The residual energy from the feeding hung around him like a pheromone. “The Imperial. Highest floor. South-facing.”

“Of course,” she breathed, her fingers flying across the keyboard with uncharacteristic clumsiness. “I… I believe we have the Royal Suite available. It’s our most… private.”

While Lucson handled the logistics, Carson was busy being a menace. He had hopped onto the edge of the counter, leaning in toward the second receptionist, a young woman who was currently staring at Carson with a mix of terror and fascination.

“Is the mini-bar stocked with anything that isn’t overpriced sparkling water?” Carson asked, winking. “Because I’ve had a very long night, and I’m in the mood for something that tastes like a mistake.”

The young woman gulped. “We… we have a full selection of vintage spirits, sir.”

“Excellent,” Carson grinned, his light gray eyes dancing. “And tell me, do the pillows feel like clouds, or am I going to have to come down here and haunt you in the morning?”

Mailah stood behind them, feeling like an interloper in a world of beautiful monsters. She watched as the staff scrambled to fulfill their every whim, not out of duty, but out of a desperate need to please. It was the “admiration” Lucson fed on, manifesting in real-time. It was intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

“Here is your key, Monsieur,” the woman said, handing Lucson a heavy gold card. Her hand lingered against his for a second too long. “Will you be needing… anything else? Anything at all?”

Lucson took the key, his expression cool. “Sleep. That will be all.”

The Royal Suite wasn’t a room; it was a territory.

When the doors swung open, Mailah gasped.

The main living area was a sea of crushed velvet, antique oak, and silk drapes the color of a midnight sky. A massive stone fireplace dominated the far wall, already crackling with a pre-set flame.

“Three bedrooms,” Lucson announced, gesturing to the hallway. “Carson, you take the right. I will take the center. Mailah, the left is yours.”

Without another word, the two brothers walked toward their respective doors, their movements synchronized and weary. They didn’t check on her. They didn’t ask if she needed help. They simply retreated into their private sanctuaries, leaving her standing in the middle of the opulent room.

Mailah shook her head. Demons. Absolutely zero hospitality.

She pushed open the door to the left-hand bedroom and froze. It was larger than her entire apartment in the city. A king-sized four-poster bed draped in cream-colored lace sat in the center of a room floored in dark walnut.

To the side, a set of French doors led to a balcony overlooking the Rhine, the river shimmering like a black ribbon under the moon.

But it was the bathroom that truly beckoned.

She walked toward the arched doorway and found herself in a temple of white marble and gold fixtures. A clawfoot tub sat on a raised dais, surrounded by jars of salts and thick, plush towels.

Mailah stripped off the dark, fluid dress—the “weaponized” outfit Carson had picked for her—and let it fall to the floor.

She felt exposed, her skin prickling in the cool air of the suite. She quickly turned on the water, letting the steam fill the room until the mirrors were clouded with white mist.

The shower was a waterfall. She stood under the spray, letting the heat soak into her muscles, trying to wash away the scent of the club and the memory of the silver-eyed man.

She closed her eyes, letting the sound of the water drown out her thoughts.

She had just finished soaping her hair when she heard it.

A distinct click. The sound of a door opening.

Then, the sound of a second shower starting—not far away, but seemingly inside her own bathroom.

Mailah froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She wiped the water from her eyes and peered through the frosted glass of her walk-in shower. On the other side of the massive bathroom, past the clawfoot tub, was another glass partition. And through the steam, she could see a silhouette.

A tall, broad-shouldered, undeniably masculine silhouette.

She realized with a jolt of pure panic that this wasn’t a private bathroom. It was a Jack-and-Jill setup—a shared space between her room and the center room. Lucson’s room.

She stood paralyzed as the water from the second shower began to hiss. She could see the blur of his movements as he stepped under the spray. He was right there. Inches away, separated only by two sheets of frosted glass and a few feet of marble.

The intimacy of it hit her like a physical blow. She felt a sudden, frantic self-consciousness, her skin flushing a deep red that had nothing to do with the hot water. She reached for the handle to turn off her shower, but her hand stopped.

The steam, the heat, the sound of the water… it triggered a memory so vivid it felt like she was being pulled back through time.

She had wandered into what she thought was a guest wing, desperate for a shower since the one in her own room stopped working. She had found a bathroom that looked like it belonged to someone. She hadn’t notice the personal items, no sign that the room was occupied.

She had been halfway through her shower, her eyes closed as she hummed a song Lailah loved, when the door had groaned open.

Mailah had gasped, grabbing a towel and clutching it to her chest as the steam parted. Grayson had stood there.

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