Chapter 275: Chapter 275: The Target

THE AIRFIELD LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A FEVER DREAM.

Mailah had expected wreckage. Maybe fire. The smell of fuel and burnt metal.

She did not expect art.

The helicopter—what used to be a sleek corporate aircraft—had been transformed into a grotesque sculpture. The rotors weren’t just bent; they were braided together like a child’s friendship bracelet, each blade woven through the others in an impossible lattice. The tail boom had been twisted into a perfect spiral, like someone had wrung out a wet towel made of titanium.

And the pilot—

Mailah’s stomach lurched.

She turned sharply, burying her face in Grayson’s chest before her brain could finish processing what she’d glimpsed inside the cockpit.

His arm came around her immediately, solid and unyielding. His other hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair with surprising gentleness.

“Don’t look,” he murmured, his voice rough. “There’s nothing useful for you to see.”

Mailah felt his jaw click above her head. His entire body had gone rigid, vibrating with a fury so profound it felt like standing next to a live wire.

“This is…” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice sounded enraged. “This is a taunt.”

Mailah pressed closer, trying to block out the twisted metal and the smell—God, the smell—that was starting to reach her even from this distance.

“Stay here,” Grayson said, his hand moving to cup her face, tilting it up so she had to meet his eyes. “I mean it, Mailah. Do not move from this spot. Do not look at the aircraft. Do not—under any circumstances—approach the hangar. Am I understood?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

He held her gaze for another moment, as if memorizing her face, then released her and strode toward the wreckage with the purposeful gait of a man walking into battle.

Mailah watched him go, her arms wrapped around herself. The airfield suddenly felt vast and empty. The wind whipped across the tarmac, carrying with it the acrid scent of something that definitely wasn’t aviation fuel.

Grayson circled the helicopter slowly, his movements precise and controlled. He crouched down near the landing skids, examining something on the ground. Then he stood, pulled out his phone, and made a call.

Even from twenty feet away, Mailah could see the way his free hand clenched and unclenched at his side—the only outward sign of the rage he was barely containing.

She couldn’t hear what he was saying. The wind carried his words away, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the horrible understanding that someone—or something—had done this as a message.

To Grayson.

The thought made her knees weak. She sank down onto a concrete parking barrier, hugging herself tighter. What kind of being could bend steel like ribbon? What kind of monster killed a pilot just to send a warning?

And more importantly—what would they do next?

Grayson finished his call and stood there for a long moment, his back to her, staring at the twisted helicopter. Then his shoulders shifted, and he turned.

His eyes found her immediately.

She must have looked pathetic—small and hunched on the barrier, probably pale as a ghost. Because something in his expression shifted, softening from cold fury to something closer to concern.

He walked back to her with long, purposeful strides.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

Mailah stood on shaky legs, and then she was in his arms again. This time, it wasn’t just comfort—it was a promise. His arms wrapped around her completely, one hand spanning her back, the other cradling her head against his chest.

She could hear his heartbeat. It was slower than a human’s, steady and strong like a war drum.

“You promised me a hug,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“I am aware,” he said, and she could hear the faintest trace of dry humor in his voice. “I am a demon of my word. Even when my word involves… hugs.”

He said it like the word was foreign to him.

Despite everything—the horror, the fear, the twisted metal monument to violence twenty feet away—Mailah felt a small laugh bubble up.

“You’re doing great,” she said.

“This is as tight as I go,” Grayson replied seriously. “Is this correct?”

“It’s perfect.”

They stood there for another moment. Grayson’s chin rested on top of her head, and Mailah could feel the tension slowly draining from his shoulders.

“My brothers are en route,” he said finally. “They’ll be here within the hour. I need to document the scene before anyone else arrives but I wanted to ensure you were…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Stable.”

“I’m okay,” Mailah said, pulling back to look up at him. “Or I will be. Are you okay?”

The question seemed to surprise him. “I am not the one traumatized by the visual of—”

“He was your pilot…or er…the Grayson’s pilot,” Mailah interrupted. “But someone just sent you a very graphic death threat.”

Grayson stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You are asking about my emotional state. In the middle of a crime scene. While you’re the one who nearly fainted.”

“Well, someone should.” She reached up and touched his face, her palm against his cheek. “You don’t have to be all stoic demon prince right now. Not with me.”

His jaw worked. For a moment, she thought he might pull away, retreat back into that cold, controlled persona he wore like armor.

Instead, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to her palm—brief, but devastatingly tender.

“I am not okay,” he admitted quietly. “I heard Thomas flew for my family for fifteen years. He had a daughter. She just started university. I might not remember him but it is an unnecessary death.” His eyes went dark. “And whoever did this made sure he suffered. The coroner will call it quick, but I can see the signs. This was not merciful.”

Mailah’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be careful.” He took her hand from his face, holding it between both of his. “This is not about Thomas. Not really. He was a means to an end. Whoever did this wants me to know they can reach the people I protect.”

“So it’s about me?”

“It’s about power,” Grayson corrected. “You are simply the most visible variable in my recent pattern changes. A new element. Something that makes me…” He grimaced. “Unpredictable.”

“I make you unpredictable?”

“Wildly so.” He released one of her hands to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I should have already called in a tactical team, filed seventeen formal complaints with the supernatural authorities, and possibly started a minor war. But, I’m standing in an airfield giving hugs and attempting to regulate a human’s emotional state.”

Despite herself, Mailah smiled. “This side of you is much more interesting.”

“This side of me is a liability,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. “My brothers are going to have opinions.”

Mailah squeezed his hand. “I can wait here while you investigate. I promise I won’t look at the helicopter or wander into any dark hangars or do anything else that would require a rescue.”

Grayson studied her face, clearly trying to determine if she was serious.

“You’ll stay exactly here,” he said finally. “On this barrier. Not five feet to the left. Not three feet to the right. Here.”

“Here,” Mailah confirmed. “I’ll even sit down so you can check on me and make sure I haven’t moved.”

“That is…” He paused. “Actually quite helpful. Yes. Do that.”

She sat back down on the concrete barrier, arranging herself in what she hoped was a non-traumatized-looking pose. “See? Very stationary.”

He shook his head, but she caught the faint warmth in his eyes before he turned back toward the wreckage. “I’ll be ten minutes. If anything moves, makes noise, or looks at you suspiciously, you scream. Understood?”

“Understood.”

Then he was gone, striding back to the twisted helicopter with renewed purpose.

Mailah watched him work. He moved around the wreckage with careful precision, taking photos with his phone, crouching to examine specific details, occasionally reaching out to touch the warped metal with bare hands.

Every so often, he’d glance back at her.

Checking.

Making sure she was still there, still safe, still following instructions.

It should have felt patronizing—this constant surveillance, the way he treated her like she might shatter at any moment.

Instead, it felt like being the center of gravity in someone’s universe.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that someone out there had killed a man just to send Grayson a message.

Tried not to think about what other messages they might send.

Tried not to wonder if the next time Grayson looked back to check on her, she’d still be there.

Because the truth was becoming increasingly clear: whatever this was—this thing between them, this partnership they have—it had painted a target on both their backs.

And somewhere out there, something ancient and powerful and utterly merciless was taking aim.

Grayson finished his documentation and returned to her, his expression grim. “Lucson wants you in a safe house.”

“Absolutely not.”

His eyebrow arched. “That was not a question.”

“Good, then it doesn’t need an answer.” Mailah stood, brushing concrete dust from her jeans. “I’m not hiding while you deal with this. We’re a team. You said I was a priority.”

“Priorities get protected.”

“Priorities also get informed and included.” She stepped closer, poking him in the chest. “Besides, whoever did this clearly already knows where I am and what I mean to you. Hiding won’t help. It’ll just separate us, and that seems like exactly what they want.”

Grayson caught her finger, holding it captive against his sternum. “Your logic is sound. I hate it.”

“You love it.”

“I’ll tolerate it but with reservations.” But his grip softened, his thumb brushing across her knuckles. “If you stay, you follow protocol. No arguments. If I say jump, you ask ’how high’ on the way up.”

“Deal.” She paused. “Though I reserve the right to ask ’why’ after I land.”

His laugh was short and sharp—surprised out of him. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“Statistically unlikely. I’m the one who needs protecting, remember?”

“From external threats, yes.” He pulled her close again, this time with less urgency and more intention. “From my own poor decision-making regarding your safety? That remains to be seen.”

Mailah leaned into him, breathing in his scent—something like winter and expensive cologne and, underneath it all, something ancient and not quite human.

“We’re going to figure this out,” she said. “Together.”

“Together,” Grayson echoed, the word sounding strange in his mouth. “What a novel concept.”

In the distance, Mailah heard the sound of approaching vehicles—multiple engines, moving fast. Grayson’s brothers, probably, along with whatever supernatural cleanup crew handled situations like this.

But she didn’t pay them much attention. Somehow, wrapped in Grayson’s arms with his heartbeat steady against her ear, Mailah felt almost safe.

Almost.

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