Chapter 244: Chapter 244: The Obsession

GRAYSON LEFT WITHOUT A WORD.

One second he was by the hearth, firelight gilding the sharp lines of his face, the next he was simply… gone—moving past the shelves, past the antique globes and leather chairs, his steps so quiet the room didn’t register them until the library door clicked shut behind him.

Mailah blinked, thrown by the abruptness.

Carson exhaled. “Well. That’s encouraging.”

Mason shot him a look. “Don’t.”

Carson raised both hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. I merely breathed.”

Lucson didn’t follow Grayson. He didn’t even glance toward the door. His calm was deliberate, the kind that didn’t come from a lack of emotion but from a decision to hold it down.

Ravenson’s gaze remained fixed on the empty space where Grayson had been, expression unreadable.

Mailah’s fingers curled against the armrest. Instinct told her to stand up and chase him. Instinct also reminded her of what she’d seen in the museum: his control gathering like a storm, his eyes too bright, the air around him heavy with restrained violence.

Lucson spoke first. “We’re not putting the Ember back into him.”

The words fell like a verdict.

Mason’s shoulders tightened. “Agreed.”

Ravenson nodded once. “Agreed.”

Carson’s lips pursed, the joke half-formed and then abandoned. “I hate it when you’re right,” he muttered toward Lucson. “It makes me feel like a supporting character.”

Lucson’s gaze flicked to him, unimpressed. “You are.”

Carson clutched his chest. “Cruel.”

Mailah’s attention snapped between them. “Wait—so the plan is… what? Leave it in the museum?”

“No,” Lucson said. “We retrieve it.”

“Tonight?” Mailah asked, pulse quickening.

“Not with Grayson leading,” Mason added, voice grim. “Not with him making decisions while he’s… like this.”

Mailah swallowed.

Like this.

They didn’t say unstable again. They didn’t need to.

Ravenson leaned forward slightly, tone clinical. “We move it somewhere no one can reach. Not humans. Not collectors. Not exiles. Not us.”

Mailah frowned. “Somewhere safer than a museum?”

“Somewhere inaccessible,” Lucson corrected.

Carson drummed his fingers on his knee. “We have places. Old places. Vaults that don’t exist on maps. Doors that aren’t doors. But the point is—”

“The point,” Lucson cut in, “is that Grayson doesn’t get to put it back inside himself until he’s more stable.”

The words were harsh, but the underlying reality was harsher.

Mailah felt a surge of conflicting emotions—relief that they were taking precautions, dread at what it would mean for Grayson’s pride, and a sharp, unwelcome sympathy for the man who’d just learned that his other self had hidden a piece of him away.

She stood abruptly. “I should go after him.”

Lucson’s voice stopped her like a hand on her shoulder. “No.”

Mailah paused, half turned.

Lucson rose from his chair with controlled ease, not blocking her physically, but somehow making the path to the door feel… wrong. “He isn’t in a mood that benefits from an audience,” he said. “And you are still healing.”

“I’m not fragile,” she snapped.

Lucson’s eyes softened just a fraction. “You’re human. That’s not an insult. It’s a fact we have to respect when he forgets to.”

Mailah’s jaw tightened. She hated being managed. She hated being told to sit still while men decided what danger should look like.

But she also remembered Grayson pinning her in a museum blind spot and speaking about his body like it was a problem he couldn’t solve—and then, minutes later, almost tearing glass apart with rage.

Lucson took a small step closer, lowering his voice. “Let him be,” he said, not unkindly. “If he wants you near him, he’ll come back.”

Mailah’s hands clenched. “That sounds like a gamble.”

“It is,” Lucson said. “But chasing a storm never ends well.”

The phrase settled in her chest, heavy and strange.

Lucson glanced toward the windows, then back at her. “Walk with me.”

Mailah blinked. “What?”

“It’s been a long time since you and I spoke without an emergency breathing between us,” he said. Then, as if he sensed her suspicion, he added, “And you look like you’re about to set something on fire. I’d prefer it not be my brother.”

Carson leaned back in his chair. “If you two are going for a wholesome stroll, can you at least pretend the rest of us aren’t going to commit felony-level museum crimes tonight?”

Mason sighed. “Stop calling it that.”

“Fine,” Carson said brightly. “Unlicensed artifact relocation.”

Lucson didn’t dignify him with a response. He simply turned and walked out.

Mailah hesitated only a moment before following.

The estate gardens were a different world from the library.

The air smelled of damp earth and night-blooming flowers, sweet in a way that felt almost indecent for a house full of demons.

Low lanterns dotted the paths, their light warm and restrained. Somewhere in the distance, water moved over stone—quiet, patient.

Mailah fell into step beside Lucson, trying not to show how strange it felt to be alone with him.

Lucson was… not dangerous the way Grayson was dangerous. He was dangerous the way contracts were dangerous. The way a smile could be dangerous if it hid teeth.

Still, tonight, he looked less like a demon prince and more like a man carrying too much responsibility.

He didn’t speak at first, letting the garden’s silence stretch until it became a space rather than a tension.

Then, casually, “How are you doing with him?”

Mailah almost tripped. “Excuse me?”

Lucson glanced at her, expression faintly amused. “That was a question.”

“It’s just…” She searched for words. “You don’t usually ask me how I’m doing. You usually tell me what I shouldn’t do.”

“That’s also concern,” he said. “Just poorly packaged.”

Mailah huffed, unable to help it. “You’re really leaning into the ’terrifying calm’ family brand.”

Lucson’s mouth twitched. “We try.”

They turned down a path lined with hedges trimmed into sharp, elegant shapes—like someone had trained nature into obedience.

Mailah crossed her arms. “I don’t know how I’m doing with him,” she admitted. “Because he’s not… him.”

Lucson’s gaze stayed forward. “No. He’s the hardest version of Grayson.”

Mailah shot him a look.

Lucson’s expression didn’t change, but his tone carried something like dark humor. “There’s Grayson who learned restraint the slow way. There’s Grayson who learned it the painful way. And then there is this one—Grayson with power intact and memory missing.”

Mailah swallowed. “And you think that’s the most difficult.”

Lucson finally looked at her fully. “It’s the most volatile.”

The word settled between them like a warning sign.

Mailah’s pulse quickened. “He’s been… intense,” she said carefully.

“That’s one word for it.”

Mailah stared at the path ahead. “Why are you asking me this? Now?”

Lucson’s gaze flicked toward a stone bench near a fountain, then back to her. “Because Grayson is supposed to be obsessed with Seryn.”

Mailah’s stomach dipped at the name.

“And because,” Lucson continued, “I told him the truth about what she did.”

Mailah kept quiet.

“Because he would have found out anyway,” Lucson said. “And I’d rather he hear it from me than from her.”

That chilled her.

They reached the fountain. Water slid over black stone, catching lantern light in thin ribbons.

Lucson stopped beside it, hands behind his back, posture too composed for the darkness in his words.

“He can temper his feelings toward her,” Lucson said. “He can force himself into disgust. He can choose anger instead of longing. But that doesn’t erase the imprint.”

Mailah’s throat tightened. “Imprint.”

Lucson looked at her. “Grayson’s obsession doesn’t disappear. It relocates.”

Mailah’s heart kicked hard. “You’re saying—”

“I’m saying you’re standing beside him,” Lucson replied. “You’re the one he can see. Touch. Smell. You’re the one who speaks back to him without flinching.”

Mailah’s face warmed despite the cold warning. “That doesn’t mean he’s… transferring anything.”

Lucson’s eyes sharpened, and for a moment he looked every bit like the brother who could manipulate entire rooms with a sentence. “You think obsession is romantic,” he said softly. “Because humans have made it poetic.”

Mailah’s mouth tightened. “I don’t think it’s romantic.”

“Good,” Lucson said. “Then hear me clearly.”

Mailah stilled.

Lucson’s voice lowered. “Grayson’s mind is trying to anchor itself. He’s missing centuries of context and coping mechanisms. If he latches onto you the way he latched onto Seryn—”

“He won’t hurt me,” Mailah said quickly, instinctively.

Lucson didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. His silence did it for him.

Mailah felt her anger stir. “You make him sound like a predator who can’t help himself.”

Lucson’s expression tightened. “He is not a predator to you,” he said. “He’s your mate.”

The word made her breath catch. She hadn’t heard that for a long time.

Lucson continued, voice steady. “But he is also a demon prince with a history of obsession that nearly destroyed him. A man whose love can become possession if he’s not careful.”

Mailah’s hands clenched at her sides. “So what do you want me to do?”

Lucson’s gaze softened just slightly. “Be careful with him,” he said. “Don’t mistake intensity for devotion. Don’t feed his fixation just because it makes you feel chosen.”

Mailah’s chest tightened. “That’s… unfair.”

“It’s survival,” Lucson replied.

They stood in the garden’s hush, the fountain’s water whispering like a secret.

Mailah stared at Lucson, searching his undeniably handsome face for cruelty and finding something worse—genuine worry.

“You’re telling me to guard myself from him,” she said quietly.

Lucson held her gaze. “I’m telling you to guard him from himself,” he corrected. “Because if he turns his obsession toward you, it won’t look like hatred.”

Mailah’s pulse jumped.

“It’ll look like hunger,” Lucson finished. “And he’ll call it love.”

A cold shiver slid down her spine.

She thought of the museum blind spot. The way Grayson had looked at her like she was the only real thing in the room. The way his restraint had felt like a choice he was forcing his body to obey.

Mailah swallowed. “Then why don’t you just… keep me away from him?”

Lucson’s mouth twitched, almost humorless. “We tried keeping him away from what he wants once,” he said. “It ended in exile.”

Mailah’s breath caught.

Lucson turned his gaze toward the manor. “He will decide what he wants,” he said. “And then he will fight himself for it. That’s Grayson.”

Mailah’s voice was small but firm. “So you’re warning me.”

“Yes,” Lucson said. Then, quieter, “And I’m asking you to trust your instincts more than his promises.”

The night stretched, thick with roses and danger.

Mailah opened her mouth—she didn’t even know what she meant to ask—and then movement flickered at the edge of the garden.

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