Chapter 253: Chapter 253: The Ice Bucket

THE MOMENT GRAYSON’S EYELID FLUTTERED in that playful wink, Mailah felt a dizzying surge of affection.

Here was the man who had shielded her from a supernatural predator, the man whose head had just been resting comfortably in her lap. The heist was over, the Sigil was secure in its lead-lined pouch, and for a heartbeat, the world felt like it was finally tilting in their favor.

Then, the “battery” ran out.

The silver light that had been simmering deep in Grayson’s irises didn’t just fade; it flickered and died like a blown bulb.

A grey, ghostly pallor washed over his features, and his hands, which had been warm and steady against her neck, suddenly turned clammy.

Beside them on the rug, Carson groaned, his theatrical sprawl turning into a genuine collapse. “I’m seeing spots,” he wheezed, clutching the edge of the coffee table. “And not the fun, disco kind. The ’I’m about to shrivel into a raisin’ kind.”

“you both overextended. Your essences are hollowed out.”,” Lucson observed, his voice tight as he set his tea down.

Mason stood up, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed the fireplace. “You need to replenish. Immediately. A victory like this deserves a celebration anyway.”

Carson’s head snapped up, a spark of his usual mischief returning to his eyes. “A celebration! Exactly! We dodged the High Council’s lapdog and stole back the Ember. We should toast with something vintage. Something… vibrant.”

Grayson rubbed his temples, his breathing shallow. “Agreed. I feel like I’ve been drained by a pack of leeches.”

Carson turned his grin toward the door. “Let’s call the ’catering’ service. Tell them we need five… no, let’s make it six. We’ve had a long night, and Grayson needs a double helping to get his color back.”

Mailah froze, her teacup halfway to her lips.

The term “catering” sounded innocent enough, but the way Carson’s tongue darted out to lick his lower lip sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She looked at Grayson, expecting him to protest, to suggest a heavy steak or a long nap or Dr. Morrison’s elixir—the things the Grayson she knew would use to recover.

Instead, Grayson leaned back, a dark, predatory hunger sharpening his jawline. “Six sounds like a start,” he murmured.

“Wait,” Mailah said, her voice sounding small in the vast, wood-paneled room. “Catering? You mean… people?”

The brothers went silent.

It was the kind of silence that reminded Mailah she was the only one in the room who was actually human.

Carson winced, his expression a mix of guilt and “oops.”

He had made an effort of helping hide this side of their life from Mailah, shielding her from the darker mechanics of their survival. But the adrenaline of the heist had made him careless.

“Ah, Mailah. Right. You’re still here.”

“I am still here,” she said, her voice gaining a hard edge. She turned to Grayson, her eyes searching his. “Grayson….”

Grayson looked at her, and for the first time since he’d woken up with amnesia, he looked at her with the blank, regal indifference of a Prince who had never known a human’s moral compass.

The “sweet” Grayson, the one who had tucked her hair behind her ear and whispered promises of protection, felt like a ghost.

“What is it?” Grayson asked, his voice cool. He stood up, though he swayed slightly from the effort. “I’m not in penance anymore, Mailah. I’m a Prince of the Ashford line, and I am hungry.”

“It’s not like the movies, Mailah,” Carson added, trying to soften the blow with a cheeky grin that failed utterly. “You’ve witnessed me and Lucson before. We don’t leave bodies in the hedges. It’s more like… a very intense party. They leave with a bit of a headache and a story about a dream they can’t quite remember. Think of it as a very high-end spa treatment for them, and a battery recharge for us.”

“A ’party’?” Mailah stood up, her tea sloshing onto the rug. The heat she’d felt for Grayson only moments ago had curdled into a cold, sick knot in her stomach. “You’re talking about using people like batteries. You’re talking about taking their life force because you had a long night.”

“It is our nature,” Ravenson rumbled, crossing his arms. “You don’t ask a lion to apologize for the gazelle.”

“I’m not a gazelle!” Mailah snapped.

Grayson stepped toward her. He reached out, his fingers ghosting near her cheek, but Mailah flinched away.

The movement seemed to hurt him—she saw the flash of irritation in his silver eyes—but he didn’t stop.

“Mailah, you’re being emotional,” Grayson said, his voice dropping into that smooth, persuasive tone that usually made her melt. Now, it just sounded manipulative. “Why let this dampen the mood? Join us. You can watch. You’ll see it’s quite… beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” Mailah whispered. She looked around the room—at Lucson, who was already checking his watch; at Mason, who was sharpening a decorative letter opener; at Carson, who was humming a tune.

They were monsters.

Polished, handsome, witty monsters, but monsters nonetheless.

And Grayson was one of them.

“I was a fool,” she said, her eyes stinging.

Grayson’s face hardened. The tenderness she had glimpsed in the museum, the “swoon-worthy” hero who had spun her around in a hug, was being paved over by the cold stone of his past self. “Perhaps you didn’t know me as well as you thought.”

“Clearly,” Mailah said.

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and marched out of the library, her boots clicking sharply on the hardwood, mimicking the sound Valerius had made earlier.

She didn’t head for her room. She headed for the gardens, needing air that didn’t smell like ancient books and impending predatory feasts.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

Mailah stood by the stone fountain, her hands braced against the cold rim as she tried to steady her breathing.

The water whispered over carved stone, soft and relentless, like it was determined to keep moving no matter what shattered beside it.

In the darkness of the garden, the lanternlight caught on her knuckles, pale and tight.

She stared at her reflection in the black water and barely recognized the woman looking back—eyes too bright, mouth pressed thin with hurt she didn’t want to name.

“You really know how to ruin a moment,” she muttered to her reflection. “If that was the goal, congratulations.”

A footstep crunched on the gravel behind her.

She straightened, wiping at her face just in time to see Carson stop a few paces away.

For once, he wasn’t grinning. The usual mischief had drained from his expression, leaving something tired and worn in its place.

“He didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Carson said quietly.

“Yes, he did,” Mailah shot back. “He meant exactly what he said. He’s a Prince, and humans are just… expendable.”

Carson leaned against the fountain, staring up at the night sky as if the answers might be written there. “Grayson is… in a state of flux,” he said. “The Old Grayson? He was kind of a disaster. Okay, a full disaster. But he’s also starving, Mailah. When we’re this low on essence, hunger messes with your head. It’s like trying to think while you’re drowning.”

“Does drowning make you lie to people you claim to care about?” she asked.

“We didn’t lie,” Carson said. “We… edited. We wanted you to like us. We wanted you to like him. We were hoping the worst parts wouldn’t show up so fast.”

“I did like him,” Mailah said, her voice breaking despite herself. A tear slipped free before she could stop it. “That’s the problem.”

Carson winced. “He still likes you,” he said gently. “More than he should.”

Before Mailah could answer, the distant purr of engines cut through the quiet.

Three black town cars rolled up the long driveway, discreet and glossy, their headlights sweeping the garden paths in slow arcs.

“The caterers,” Carson said under his breath.

Then his eyes flashed faintly, an unsettling, hungry shade.

“Go to your room, Mailah,” he said, suddenly all business. “Tonight isn’t for you.”

Mailah went to her room, but sleep never came.

She sat by the window and watched the lights flicker across the estate grounds, the glow of lanterns shifting as people moved below.

Somewhere beneath her, music drifted upward—slow, mournful, threaded with celebration. A victory song, she thought bitterly, paid for with the lives of others.

She pressed her forehead lightly against the glass. She thought about Grayson’s crooked wink in the museum, the way his gaze had lingered on her as if she were the only thing in the room that made sense. Had that been real? Or had she mistaken hunger for warmth?

She should leave, a voice in her head whispered. Walk away before this place teaches you how to bleed quietly.

She could go back to her life. Back to being the ordinary twin. Back to a world where demons were myths and heartbreak had clean edges.

But then she remembered the tunnel, the way Grayson’s hand had closed around hers in the dark, not as a command but as a plea.

Don’t let go, he’d said, like the words cost him something.

He was lost.

And even when he wore the shape of a monster, some part of him was still reaching.

Mailah stood, resolve tightening her spine.

She stood up. Her jaw was set. She wasn’t going to hide. If Grayson wanted to be a Prince, she would remind him what it felt like to be a man.

She crossed the room toward the door.

Scratch.

The sound was soft, almost tentative.

Scratch. Scratch.

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