Chapter 436: The Duty 2

’Mrs. Baker made vegetable soup for dinner. It’s very good. Please eat something too! Don’t rush, take your time. I love you.’

Grayson stared at the tiny screen, his thumb gently tracing over her name. A tiny, bittersweet smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

He quickly typed back:

’Eat well, my love. Do not wait up for me. I am finishing the work properly so I can come home to a safe house. I love you.’

He set the phone down, took a deep breath, and picked up the next thick folder.

By nine o’clock, he was personally questioning Kaelen inside the holding van.

Grayson didn’t yell. He didn’t raise his hand. He simply leaned against the wall of the van, his blue eyes glowing silver in the dark, and asked five precise questions about the dark market suppliers. Kaelen was crying and confessing within three minutes, giving up every name, location, and storage vault in the eastern region.

By eleven o’clock, the last human police cruiser had cleared the perimeter road, completely satisfied with the official report. The shadow artifacts were securely locked inside heavy lead crates, stamped with the official Ashford seal.

Finally, at eleven-forty-five PM, Grayson slammed the red ink pad down onto the final containment order. He pressed his heavy metal seal onto the damp paper, leaving a deep, dark crest in the wax.

He stood up so fast his chair fell backward onto the grass.

"It is done," Grayson declared, his voice cold and flat. He grabbed his coat from the chair and threw it over his shoulders.

Lucson looked up from his ledger, checking his pocket watch. "Impressive work, Grayson. You managed to catalog thirty-two illegal items and secure a full confession in less than eight hours. The sanctuary is safe."

Grayson didn’t boast. He didn’t make a grand joke. He just stared at Lucson with heavy, dark eyes.

"Never make me do this again," Grayson said quietly.

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, strode out of the tent, and got into his black SUV. He slammed the door, revved the powerful engine until it roared through the quiet night, and sped down the mountain road like an arrow shot from a bow.

The drive home felt like an eternity.

Grayson pushed the SUV to its absolute limit, taking the sharp mountain curves with reckless grace. The dark trees blurred past his windows, but his mind was already miles away, sitting in a quiet, sunlit room, breathing in the soft scent of jasmine and tea.

At precisely twelve-fifteen AM, the heavy iron gates of his private estate swung open automatically.

Grayson pulled the vehicle into the cobblestone driveway, stopping so hard the tires kicked up loose gravel. He didn’t even bother turning off the headlights properly before he threw the driver’s door open and stepped out into the cool night air.

The massive estate was silent and dark. Most of the lights in the grand windows were turned off, except for a soft, warm yellow glow emanating from the second-floor master bedroom.

Grayson walked up the wide stone steps. He didn’t use his dark magic to teleport. He wanted to feel every step. He wanted to ground himself after a long, miserable day of dealing with rogues, police officers, and endless sheets of paper.

He unlocked the grand front door, stepping into the quiet foyer.

The house was warm. The faint scent of Mrs. Baker’s vegetable soup and fresh lavender lingered in the air.

Grayson stripped off his heavy coat, letting it fall carelessly onto a wooden chair in the hallway. He pulled off his shoes, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled his sleeves up his forearms.

He walked up the grand staircase with quiet, heavy steps, his long legs taking two stairs at a time.

When he reached the master bedroom door, he paused.

He stood in the dimly lit hallway for a brief second, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. All the exhaustion, all the annoyance from his brothers, all the anger toward the rogues—he pushed it all away. He didn’t want any of that dark energy near her.

Grayson softly turned the brass doorknob and pushed the heavy door open.

The room was bathed in the warm, gentle light of a single bedside lamp.

Mailah was lying in the middle of their massive bed, propped up against a pile of plush white pillows. She was wearing a soft, oversized gray sweater that belonged to him, her long dark hair falling messily over her shoulders. A paperback book was resting open on her stomach, and her eyes were half-closed, heavy with sleep.

She had tried so hard to stay awake for him.

At the sound of the door opening, Mailah blinked slowly, turning her head toward the entrance. A soft, sleepy smile instantly spread across her sweet face.

"Grayson?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "You’re home..."

Grayson felt something inside his chest crack wide open.

All his strength, all his grand pride, all his terrifying demon authority instantly collapsed into dust.

He didn’t say a word. He walked straight across the room, discarded his watch onto the nightstand, and climbed directly onto the bed.

"Grayson—" Mailah started to say, but her words were cut short as Grayson gathered her into his long arms, pulling her small body tightly against his chest.

He collapsed sideways onto the pillows, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face deep into the crook of her neck. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of her skin, her hair, her warmth.

"Grayson?" Mailah chuckled softly, her sleepiness fading as she felt the immense weight of his body leaning heavily against her. She reached up, running her warm fingers gently through his messy dark hair. "Are you okay? How did it go?"

"It was terrible," Grayson muffled against her collarbone, his deep voice sounding utterly miserable and needy. "It was the worst day of my three-thousand-year life."

Mailah let out a sweet, quiet laugh, her heart melting at his dramatic tone. "Was it really that bad?"

"Worse," Grayson grumbled, tightening his grip on her waist as if she might vanish if he let go for even a second. "I had to sit on a wooden crate. I had to talk to human police officers. I had to sign two hundred yellow papers. Lucson threatened me. Mason yelled at me. And Carson made me drink tea that tasted like grass."

Mailah gasped softly, playing along with his grand tragedy. "Not the grass tea!"

"Yes! The grass tea!" Grayson pulled back slightly, looking up at her with dark blue eyes that were wide, pouty, and brimming with petty sadness. "I was trapped in a cold tent in the middle of a smoky forest while my brothers lectured me about duty! I wanted to burn the whole forest down and fly home to you!"

"I’m glad you didn’t burn the forest down," Mailah smiled warmly, reaching out to gently trace the sharp line of his jaw. "My husband is a hero. You protected the sanctuary."

"I am not a hero," Grayson grumbled softly, pressing his forehead against hers. "I am just a very tired husband who was kept away from his wife for thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes."

Mailah’s heart swelled with pure affection. She cradled his cheek in her warm palm, feeling the slight stubble along his jaw. "Thirteen hours and twenty-two minutes, huh? You were counting?"

"Every second," Grayson rasped, his voice dropping into a low, breathless murmur. "Every single second felt like a punishment."

He shifted his weight, hovering over her gently, taking extra care not to put any pressure on her healing leg. He looked down into her eyes, his gaze so intense, so full of raw, unshielded devotion that Mailah felt her breath catch in her throat.

"Did Ethan handle your therapy properly?" Grayson asked quietly, his blue eyes searching her face. "Did he hurt you at all?"

"He’s a specialist, Grayson," Mailah reminded him gently with a small smirk. "And no, he didn’t hurt me. He was very careful. He said my mobility is improving much faster than expected."

Grayson pouted again, though his eyes softened. "I still don’t like him touching you."

"He’s a physical therapist, you big baby," Mailah giggled, gently tapping his nose. "And besides... he was terrified of you. He kept checking the door every two minutes like he expected you to burst through the wall."

"Good," Grayson said with supreme satisfaction, adjusting his posture so he could lie down beside her, pulling her close against his side. "He should be terrified. You are mine."

Mailah rested her head comfortably on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart. She wrapped one arm over his ribs, feeling the deep rise and fall of his chest.

"Mason was right about one thing, though," Grayson murmured softly into the quiet room, his hand gently stroking her long hair.

Mailah tilted her head up to look at him. "What do you mean?"

Grayson stared up at the dark ceiling, his expression turning thoughtful and quiet.

"I was rushing," he admitted softly, his voice carrying a rare moment of honest humility. "I was so angry about being kept away from you that I was making sloppy mistakes. Mason stopped me and reminded me that if I made a mistake, it could put you in danger."

He turned his head, looking down at her with a look of terrifyingly soft devotion.

"I paused," Grayson whispered. "I sat back down and did every single paper properly. Because I realized... protecting the sanctuary isn’t just about rules or council duties anymore. It’s about keeping this home safe for you. If I have to spend ten hours writing boring laws to make sure no harm ever reaches you, I will do it every single day."

Mailah felt a warm, golden prickle of tears behind her eyes.

In the beginning, when she had first met this arrogant, dramatic, thousands-of-years-old demon, she had thought he was nothing more than a moody, grand-standing creature who lived in a world far beyond her understanding. But over time, behind all his grand speeches, his childish petty rants, and his terrifying dark power, she had found a man whose entire universe revolved around keeping her safe, cherished, and loved.

She leaned up on her elbow, pressing a soft, tender kiss against his lips.

Grayson gasped softly against her mouth, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, deepening the kiss with slow, breathtaking sweetness. It wasn’t rushed or fierce; it was warm, lingering, and full of quiet relief.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were glowing silver in the dim lamp light, shining with a light so warm it could melt winter snow.

"You look exhausted, my lord," Mailah murmured playfully, resting her thumb against his cheekbone.

"I am," Grayson admitted, letting out a soft, contented sigh as he pulled the soft duvet up over their shoulders. "My dark soul is completely drained. The only cure is to sleep for twelve hours while holding my wife."

"What about your grand council duties tomorrow?" Mailah teased softly, snuggling closer into his warm chest.

"If Lucson calls my phone tomorrow," Grayson said with absolute finality, "I will throw it into the dark lake. Mason can go fight the next rebellion himself."

Mailah laughed softly, a sweet, bubbling sound that filled the dark room with pure warmth. She closed her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling completely safe, warm, and adored.

Grayson wrapped both his long arms securely around her, pulling her small frame as close to his heart as physically possible. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the quiet, peaceful air of their home.