Chapter 212: Chapter 212: The Trap 1

THE NEXT HOUR was a whirlwind of what Mailah could only describe as “demonic hospitality.”

While Lucson disappeared into the shadows of the suite to prepare whatever mysterious thing he had planned, Carson took charge of “Operation: Heartstring.”

“Wear this,” Carson commanded, tossing a garment bag onto the bed. “It’s midnight blue. Matches the sapphire Grayson is currently pretending he doesn’t care about. It’s also made of silk that’s been soaked in moon-lilies. To a demon’s nose, it’s basically an aphrodisiac disguised as a cocktail dress.”

“Carson, this is ridiculous,” Mailah called out from the bedroom, looking at the dress. It was stunning—a slip of silk that looked like liquid night, with a back so low it was borderline scandalous. “He hates me right now. He literally called me a ’pet.’”

“And yet,” Carson’s voice drifted in from the living room, accompanied by the sound of him opening a bottle of champagne, “he didn’t put you in a cage. He didn’t hand you to the Council. He marked you, Mailah. In our world, that’s not something you do to a ’pet.’ That’s something you do to a crown jewel. He’s just too stubborn to admit he’s a collector.”

Mailah slipped into the dress. The fabric was cold against her skin, but as it settled, it began to radiate a faint, pulsing warmth. She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked like a woman who belonged in the world of the Ashfords—dangerous, elegant, and entirely too much for any mortal man to handle.

She stepped back out into the living area. Carson stopped mid-sip of his champagne, his eyes widening.

“Well, well. If that doesn’t trigger the ’itch,’ our brother is officially broken,” he muttered. “Now, for the trap.”

“Trap?”

“He thinks he’s going to a secret meeting with a Council informant at the hotel’s private observatory,” Carson explained, checking his watch. “I told him it was about the ’asset’s’ security. He’ll show up expecting a spy and find a girl and a very expensive bottle of wine. I’ve already locked the elevator and disabled the service stairs. He can’t leave for exactly one hour without using enough power to alert the Council.”

Mailah felt a surge of nervous excitement. “You’re literally trapping him on a date with me?”

“I prefer the term ’mandatory emotional debriefing,’” Carson said, ushering her toward the door. “Now go. Be charming. Be irritating. Make him remember why he wanted to marry a creature that only lives for eighty years.”

The Baur au Lac’s private observatory was a glass-domed sanctuary that overlooked the shimmering expanse of Lake Zurich. On a normal night, it was a place of quiet reflection. Tonight, it felt like an arena.

Mailah stood by the telescope, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The table was set for two—a single white candle, a bottle of dark red wine, and a plate of something that smelled like truffles and sin.

The elevator gave a sharp, metallic ding.

The doors slid open, and Grayson stepped out. He was dressed in a suit, his expression a mask of lethal, focused intent. He looked ready to interrogate a traitor, not share a glass of wine.

His eyes scanned the room, landing on the table, then the wine, and finally—with a jolt of visible electricity—on Mailah.

He froze. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“Where is the informant?” Grayson asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

“There is no informant, Grayson,” Mailah said, her voice surprisingly steady. She took a step toward him, the silk of her dress whispering against her legs. “There’s just me. And a bottle of wine you’re apparently stuck with for the next hour.”

Grayson’s gaze swept over her, from the curve of her throat to the way the silk clung to her hips. His pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely dark gray, the silver and blue rings around them glowing with a faint, frantic light. He didn’t move.

“Carson,” he hissed, the name sounding like a curse. He turned back to the elevator and pressed the button. Nothing happened. He slammed his palm against the control panel, his hand glowing with a sudden, violent burst of blue energy. The panel sparked, but the doors remained shut.

“He disabled it,” Mailah said, leaning against the telescope. “He said if you use enough power to break out, the Council will find us. Are you really that desperate to get away from me? I thought you said I was just an ’object’ you hadn’t decided how to dispose of yet.”

Grayson turned back to her, his face a mask of cold fury. He strode toward her, his movements fluid and predatory, stopping only when he was inches away. The scent of him washed over her, making her head spin.

“You think this is funny?” he growled, leaning down until his face was level with hers. “You think playing games with a creature like me is a ’romantic’ endeavor? I could break this entire dome with a thought. I could make you forget your own name before the candle burns out.”

“Then do it,” she challenged, tilting her chin up. “If I’m so pathetic, if my ’delusions’ are so insulting to your blood, then erase them. Why let me keep the memories of the man who loved me if they’re so ’rotten’?”

Grayson’s hand shot out, his fingers gripping the back of her neck. It wasn’t a violent move, but it was possessive, his thumb tracing the same line he had earlier in the study. His touch was like ice and fire, sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated longing through her.

“You are testing a patience you do not understand,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek.

“And you are fighting a heart you pretend you don’t have,” she countered.

He let out a sharp, frustrated sound—half-growl, half-sigh—and released her. He paced the length of the observatory like a caged tiger, his jacket discarded on one of the chairs. “I do not have a heart, Mailah. I have a core of essence that has existed since the dawn of your civilization. What you call ’love’ is merely a temporary misalignment of my priorities.”

“Then misalign them again,” she said, walking over to the table and pouring two glasses of wine. “Just for an hour. Is that so terrifying for the Great Prince of the Third Circle?”

Grayson stopped his pacing. He looked at the glass she held out to him. For a long, silent moment, the only sound was the wind howling against the glass dome.

Slowly, almost as if his hand were moving against his will, he reached out and took the glass. His fingers brushed hers—a brief, electric contact that made his jaw tighten.

He took a long, slow sip of the wine, his eyes never leaving hers. “It’s too sweet,” he muttered, though he didn’t put the glass down.

“It’s human wine, Grayson. It’s supposed to be sweet. It’s not meant to be ’efficient’ or ’powerful.’ It’s just meant to be enjoyed.”

He sat down across from her, his posture stiff, as if he were waiting for an ambush. “Enjoyment is a luxury for those who do not have a realm to defend. My brothers are fools to think this… this ’date’ will change anything.”

“They aren’t doing it for you,” Mailah said, taking a seat. “They’re doing it for them. They miss their brother.”

Grayson’s lip curled in a ghost of a smirk—the first sign of the Grayson she knew. “Carson has always had a flair for the dramatic. He once tried to start a war with the Seventh Circle because they insulted his choice of footwear.”

Mailah laughed, the sound bright and clear in the still room. Grayson’s eyes tracked the movement of her throat, a strange, haunting softness flickering in his gaze before he extinguished it.

“Tell me about him,” Mailah said softly. “The Grayson before the exile. Was he really so terrible?”

“He was perfect,” Grayson said, his voice turning flat and clinical again. “He was a weapon. He didn’t feel the ’itch.’ He didn’t wonder if the human he was marking was ’comfortable.’ He simply was. He was the Sovereign.”

“He sounds lonely,” Mailah observed.

Grayson paused, his glass halfway to his lips. “Demons do not get lonely. We endure.”

“I don’t believe you. I saw the way you looked at that ring, Grayson. You looked like you were searching for a ghost. If you were so ’perfect’ before, why did you buy it? Why did you choose me?”

Grayson set the glass down with a sharp clack. He leaned across the table, his eyes burning with a sudden, desperate intensity.

Mailah reached across the table, her fingers covering his. This time, he didn’t pull away. His hand was large, his skin radiating a strange, humming heat that felt like a hidden furnace.

“You can still be that man, Grayson,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, his voice a ragged rasp.

He stood up abruptly, pulling her with him. He didn’t kiss her this time. Instead, he pulled her into a tight, crushing embrace, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He held her as if she were the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth, his entire body vibrating with a suppressed, violent energy.

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers for an answer he didn’t want to hear. “If you were wise, you would take the ring and run as far from the Ashford name as you could.”

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