Chapter 239: Chapter 239: The Damage

PAIN was a patient teacher, and this morning, Mailah was its star pupil.

It wasn’t a sharp, biting pain, but a deep, throbbing ache that seemed to have settled into her very marrow. It was the kind of soreness that told a story—a long, relentless story of a night where sleep had been a forbidden luxury.

Every muscle in her body felt like it had been stretched to its limit and then asked to go just a little bit further.

Mailah didn’t open her eyes at first. She stayed very still, buried under the heavy, cool weight of the black silk sheets.

The room felt chilly, but it still held the scent of their passion and Grayson’s unique, spicy smell. Thoughts of everything they had done didn’t just return; they hit her like a giant wave.

The truth serum had been a match, but Grayson’s own buried hunger had been the gasoline.

He hadn’t just been passionate; he had been insatiable. There was a raw, primal edge to him that Mailah only caught glimpses of in the past.

He had kept her awake until the sky began to turn that pale, bruised purple of pre-dawn. Every time she thought he was finished, every time she thought her body couldn’t possibly handle another touch, he had pulled her back into the heat.

He hadn’t been cruel, but he had been relentless, moving with a speed and power that made her realize just how much he had been holding back during his time in the human world.

Finally, Mailah forced her eyes open.

The room was dim, the tinted glass of the windows keeping the morning at bay.

She tried to shift her legs, and a small, involuntary whimper escaped her lips. Her hips felt bruised, her skin felt over-sensitized, and her back was so stiff it felt like it might snap if she moved too fast.

She turned her head slowly, expecting to find him beside her. The bed was empty. The black silk was a mess of tangled waves, cold to the touch.

Then, she saw him.

Grayson wasn’t hiding. He wasn’t dressed. He was sitting on the long, velvet couch across from the bed, his back to the window. He was completely, shamelessly naked, his large frame lounging against the dark fabric like he was sitting on a throne.

His long legs were stretched out, and one arm was draped over the back of the couch.

He looked like a statue carved from moonlight and shadow. He wasn’t sleeping; he was staring at her, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes tracking her every movement.

He looked like he had been sitting there for hours, lost in a thought process that was cold, logical, and entirely focused on her.

“You’re awake,” he said. His voice was no longer rough with the serum, but it lacked the warmth he had shown her in the heights of their passion. It was the voice of a man calculating a bill he didn’t expect to pay.

Mailah tried to sit up, but the protest from her lower back was so sharp she gasped and fell back against the pillows. “I… I can’t move,” she whispered, her face heating up with a mix of shame and lingering heat.

“I am aware,” Grayson said, his gaze dropping to the visible marks on her shoulders. He didn’t look guilty. He looked… curious. “I have already called the Phoenix. He will be here shortly.”

Mailah blinked, her mind foggy. “The Phoenix?”

“The doctor,” Grayson clarified, his tone clipped. “Morrison. Lucson told me he is the only one I call to handle any kind of treatment and your… fragile constitution.”

Mailah let out a long, shaky sigh and pulled the sheets higher.

Of course.

Soren.

She realized then that this version of Grayson—the pre-exile version—didn’t actually know Soren. He only knew of him because his brothers had briefed him. He didn’t remember the times Soren had saved his or her life, or the complicated history they all shared.

To this Grayson, Soren was just a tool to be used.

And she was back in this position again. It felt like a recurring nightmare of embarrassment.

The first time she had needed Soren’s specialized help, it was after she had entered Grayson’s mind while he was in a coma.

To save him from death, she had to feed his incubus nature in a dream world. It had been hours of rough, magical lovemaking that had left her physically and spiritually drained.

She had nearly died when she woke up, her human body unable to handle the drain in her life energy.

Now, she was nearly maimed for an almost similar reason.

This wasn’t a dream. This was the real Grayson, and he was a hundred times worse than the version she had known.

Without the “filter” of his exile—the years of suffering that had taught him patience and restraint—he was a force of nature.

Every bit of the lust he had buried for centuries had come roaring to the surface last night. He had been a beast, and she had been the only thing in his path.

“Grayson,” she said, her voice a bit stronger now. “You can’t just… have people see me like this.”

“He is a doctor,” Grayson said simply, standing up from the couch. He moved toward the bed, his nakedness not bothering him in the slightest.

In his world, the body was just a vessel for power; shame was a human invention he clearly found tedious. “And you are injured because I underestimated the weakness of your species. It is a logical problem that requires a logical solution.”

He stopped at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He reached out, his hand hovering over her face before he pulled it back.

The internal conflict was visible in the way his eyes narrowed. He was trying to reconcile the logic of his mind with the strange, pull of his heart—or whatever was left of it.

He didn’t love her. He couldn’t. Not yet.

This version of him viewed love as a weakness, a chain. But as he looked at her, he seemed to be trying to understand why his “other” self would have given up a kingdom for this girl.

“I find,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “that I cannot stop looking at you. Even now, when you look like you are made of porcelain that has been dropped. It is… inefficient.”

Before Mailah could respond, a firm, polite knock sounded at the heavy oak doors. It was a measured, respectful sound—the kind that belonged to someone who understood boundaries, even in a house of monsters.

“Come in,” Grayson commanded. He didn’t bother to reach for a robe or even check if Mailah was covered. He stood there, completely and shamelessly naked.

Mailah let out a small, strangled sound and dove under the silk sheets, her face burning a deep, hot red.

The bedroom door opened to reveal the tall, impeccably dressed doctor with his medical bag.

Dr. Soren Morrison stepped into the room, and his eyes immediately swept over the scene.

He saw the naked prince, the wrecked bed, and the mortified girl hiding under the covers. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on Grayson.

He had seen Grayson at the wedding that never was, but he could tell instantly that this wasn’t the same man. The aura was different—colder, more regal, and entirely lacking the warmth of the man who had loved Mailah.

Grayson didn’t greet him. He didn’t even look like he recognized him. He looked at the doctor as if he were a servant sent to fix a broken chair.

“The human is damaged,” Grayson said, his voice flat and clinical. “She is fragile, and I overestimated her limits. Repair her while I take a shower.”

Without waiting for a response or glancing back at the bed, Grayson turned and strode toward the bathroom, his powerful form moving with the predatory grace of a king who had never known the meaning of shame.

Soren watched him go, his jaw tightening just a fraction. Once the bathroom door clicked shut, he turned to the bed. His expression softened from professional distance to genuine kindness as he looked at the bundle of sheets that was Mailah.

“I see the ’new’ Grayson is even more of a handful than the old one,” Soren said softly, walking to the side of the bed and setting his bag down. “Don’t be embarrassed, Mailah. I’ve seen far worse than a naked prince with an ego. Let’s see what he’s done to you.”

Mailah groaned and pulled more of the sheets over her already covered face. “Soren, please. Just kill me now.”

“Can’t do that. I’m a doctor, not an assassin,” Soren said, setting his bag on the nightstand. He looked at where Grayson disappeared to. “I need to examine the ’fragile human’ he has managed to nearly break.”

“I need to go to my own room,” Mailah insisted, her voice muffled by the thick fabric. “I need to get dressed. I can’t… I can’t do a check-up here or in this state.”

Soren let out a small, patient sigh as he began to open his medical bag. “Mailah, you can barely breathe without wincing. Trying to walk across this wing in your current state would be like a toddler trying to climb a mountain. You aren’t going anywhere on your own.”

“Then I’ll crawl,” she muttered, though even the thought made her muscles scream in protest.

“I could carry you,” Soren offered, a playful spark in his hazel eyes. “Though I suspect if Grayson heard you squeal, he’d forget he was in the shower and come out here to tear my head off. And I quite like my head where it is.”

“No! No carrying,” Mailah blurted out, her face heating up even more. “Isn’t there another way? Can’t you just… treat me like this? Under the sheets?”

Soren paused, looking at the stubborn lump under the covers. He saw the sheer exhaustion in the way she lay, the tiny tremors in her shoulders that told him just how much Grayson had taken from her. This version of the prince was a hunter who didn’t know how to stop, and Mailah was the one paying the price in bruised skin and depleted spirit.

“Fine,” Soren said softly, reaching into his bag and pulling out a small crystal vial. “If the damage is just surface-level soreness and muscle strain, the elixir will do most of the work. It will be enough to knit the small tears in your muscles and soothe the ’burn’ his energy left behind.”

He handed her the vial under the edge of the sheet. Mailah fumbled for it, her fingers brushing his. The liquid was warm, vibrating with a gentle, healing hum.

As she swallowed it, a wave of heat washed over her, followed by a blissful, numbing coolness that made her finally relax into the pillows.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as the pain began to dissolve into a dull hum.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Soren said, his voice turning grave. “The elixir heals the body, Mailah, but it can’t fix the situation.”

Mailah lay silent, the warmth of the potion spreading through her veins like a gentle sun, but her mind remained in the dark.

Soren’s words were a wake-up call she didn’t want to hear. She looked at the closed bathroom door through a small opening in the sheets, hearing the steady spray of water and picturing Grayson—the version of him that was all edges and cold power.

Was this really her future?

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