Chapter 440: The Berries 1

The market was crowded with local families, couples, and vendors selling fresh bread, honey, and produce under colorful canvas tents. Sunbeams filtered through the wooden stalls, and the air smelled faintly of fresh herbs, cinnamon, and ripe fruit.

Grayson stepped out of the black SUV, instantly drawing the attention of half the people in the parking lot. Even in a casual cream sweater and dark jeans, his tall stature, sharp jawline, and striking blue eyes made him look completely out of place among the regular shoppers.

He stood beside the car, looking around at the crowds with a regal, cautious stare, holding his chin high.

"Stay close to me, Mailah," Grayson instructed in a low, dark whisper, reaching out to grip her hand tightly. "These mortal crowds are chaotic. Observe how they swarm the produce tables. It is like a battlefield."

"It’s just people trying to get fresh vegetables, Grayson," Mailah chuckled, squeezing his fingers. "Come on. The berry stall is over there."

As they walked through the market, Grayson behaved exactly like a king visiting a strange, foreign village. He walked with long, measured strides, his blue eyes sweeping over the wooden stalls with intense scrutiny.

When they finally reached the main fruit vendor—a large table stacked high with wooden crates of fresh berries—Grayson stopped. He stood in front of the display, folding his arms, inspecting the strawberries with the seriousness of an art critic evaluating a priceless painting.

He reached out, picked up a single plastic container of dark red strawberries, and lifted it up into the sunlight, examining it from every angle.

"Hmm," Grayson hummed, his voice deep and dark.

The middle-aged farmer behind the table blinked, looking at Grayson with a mixture of confusion and awe. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Tell me, merchant," Grayson addressed the farmer with absolute gravity, his voice echoing across the stall. "What is the precise origin of these berries? Were they cultivated in nutrient-rich soil? Did they receive adequate moonlight during their growth cycle?"

The farmer stared at Grayson, completely speechless. "Uh... they were picked yesterday morning up in the valley, son. Just regular organic berries."

Grayson’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Moonlight exposure is critical for sweetness. However... the aroma appears acceptable." He turned his head to Mailah, leaning down to whisper dramatically near her ear. "What do you think, my love? Do these satisfy your mortal standards?"

Mailah tried her absolute best not to laugh out loud at the farmer’s bewildered face. "They look delicious, Grayson. Let’s get two boxes."

"Two boxes?!" Grayson scoffed loudly, throwing his head back in offense. "Absurd! Two boxes is an insult to our household! We shall take all of them!"

"All of them?!" Mailah gasped. "Grayson, there are twenty boxes of strawberries here!"

"Then we shall take twenty!" Grayson declared firmly, pulling out a sleek leather wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out a crisp stack of hundred-dollar bills and laid them down on the wooden table with supreme grandeur. "Merchant! I am purchasing your entire stock of strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries. Keep the change. Consider it a royal bounty."

The farmer’s eyes went wide as saucers staring at the thick stack of bills. "I... uh... yes, sir! Right away, sir! I’ll pack them in crates for you!"

"Grayson!" Mailah whispered urgently, tugging hard on his sweater sleeve. "What on earth are we going to do with thirty pounds of fruit?!"

Grayson looked down at her, a proud smirk curving his lips as he wrapped a long arm around her waist, pulling her close against his side.

"We are going to eat them," Grayson whispered smoothly, his blue eyes sparkling with victory. "We are going to make jam. We are going to bake pies. And every single time you eat a berry, you will remember that I bought them for you in the real world, and not that velvet-wearing ghost in your dream."

Mailah stared at him, caught between utter exasperation and overwhelming fondness. "You are insane. Completely, utterly insane."

"I am a man in love," Grayson corrected softly, leaning down to press a sweet, lingering kiss against the side of her temple. "Which is far more dangerous."

Just as the farmer was loading the wooden crates into paper bags, a stylishly dressed young woman carrying a tote bag walked up to the stall. She reached out, reaching for the very last small box of organic blueberries sitting near the edge of the table.

Grayson’s head snapped toward her like a hawk spotting prey.

Before the woman’s fingers could even touch the plastic container, Grayson slid his long, leather-clad hand over the box, sliding it smoothly out of her reach.

"Apologies, citizen," Grayson said, his deep voice dropping into an icy, ancient register that made the young woman freeze in her tracks. "These blueberries have already been claimed."

The young woman blinked, her mouth opening in shock as she looked up at the towering, insanely handsome man in the cream sweater. "I... what? I just wanted one box..."

"They belong to my wife," Grayson stated plainly, his face cold, unyielding, and utterly serious, as if he were defending a holy relic. "She requires them for her vital energy. I suggest you seek sustenance elsewhere."

Mailah’s face turned bright red. She quickly stepped between Grayson and the poor shopper, slapping Grayson’s broad chest with her palm.

"Grayson! Stop being weird!" Mailah hissed in embarrassment, before turning to the young woman with an apologetic smile. "I am so, so sorry! Please, take the blueberries! He is... he is recovering from a very strange sleep condition!"

Mailah handed the box of blueberries to the bewildered woman, who quickly took them and hurried away, glancing back over her shoulder as if she had just encountered a beautiful alien.

Grayson watched the woman leave, his eyebrows knit together. "Mailah! You surrendered our beries! Those were organic!"

"She was just a normal person buying fruit, Grayson!" Mailah laughed hysterically, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the car. "You cannot threaten people over blueberries!"

"I did not threaten her! I simply informed her of royal priority!" Grayson argued, though he dutifully carried three heavy paper bags stuffed with boxes of berries, following behind her like a giant, grumbling bodyguard.

By the time they returned to theestate, the kitchen counter looked like a produce distribution center.

Dozens of clear plastic containers filled with bright red strawberries, dark purple blackberries, plump blueberries, and delicate raspberries were lined up in neat rows across the white marble surface.

Mailah leaned against the counter, surveying the vast mountain of fruit, holding her forehead with one hand. "We have enough fruit to feed a small army. What are we actually going to do with all of this?"

Grayson stood on the other side of the island. He had already taken off his jacket, rolled his linen sleeves back up, and put his frilly pink apron back on. He was holding a wooden spoon with a look of quiet, solemn pride.

"First," Grayson declared, pointing the wooden spoon at her, "we shall wash them. Second, I shall research a human recipe for strawberry preserve. Third, you shall sit on that barstool, eat as many fresh berries as you desire, and praise my superior husband instincts."

Mailah let out a soft, helpless laugh, shaking her head as she walked over and sat down on the barstool. "You really are incorrigible, Lord Grayson."

"I am dedicated," Grayson corrected smoothly.

He picked up a large, perfectly ripe strawberry, washed it thoroughly under the cold tap water, and dried it gently with a clean cloth. He walked around the island, standing right in front of her.

Mailah looked up at him.

The morning sun streamed through the tall kitchen windows, washing over his dark hair and casting a warm glow across his sharp features. The dramatic, arrogant posture he always wore like armor had melted away completely, leaving only a quiet, gentle warmth in his blue eyes as he looked down at her.

Grayson held the strawberry up to her lips.

"Taste it," he whispered softly, his deep voice thick with genuine, quiet tenderness. "Tell me if it tastes better than a bitter turnip."

Mailah smiled, her eyes softening as she leaned forward and took a small bite of the ripe fruit. It was sweet, juicy, and perfect.

"It’s sweet," Mailah whispered back, looking directly into his eyes. "It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted."

Grayson’s gaze darkened with a deep, swoon-worthy intensity. He didn’t look away from her eyes as he brought the remaining half of the strawberry to his own lips, eating it slowly.

"Good," Grayson murmured, his hand reaching out to gently cup the side of her face, his warm thumb resting against her cheekbone. "Then my dark work here is done."

Mailah reached up, leaning her cheek into his warm palm. "Grayson?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Thank you," Mailah said quietly, her voice full of real, unshielded emotion.

Grayson looked down at her, his broad chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. The playful, competitive banter melted away completely, leaving behind the true, ancient soul of the man who had waited centuries just to hold her in his arms.

He leaned down slowly, resting his forehead against hers, his warm breath tickling her lips.

Grayson wrapped his long arms tightly around her waist, lifting her easily off the barstool and pulling her body flush against his chest. He held her close, surrounded by the bright morning sunlight, the quiet house, and the sweet scent of fresh berries filling the air.

For an ancient demon who had lived three thousand years in cold, dark isolation, this simple, noisy, mundane human life—standing in a kitchen, wearing a ridiculous frilly apron, holding the woman he loved—was the only realm he ever wanted to rule.

When the kiss finally ended, Grayson pulled back just an inch, a playful, handsome smirk returning to his sharp lips.

"Now," Grayson whispered against her mouth, his eyes sparkling with swoon-worthy mischief. "Shall we begin making the jam, or shall I demonstrate a few more reasons why I am the superior husband?"

Mailah burst into a bright, happy laugh, resting her hands against his broad chest. "The jam can wait, Lord Grayson."

Grayson’s dark eyes flashed with an intense, burning heat. He didn’t carry her toward the stairs. Instead, his playful smirk softened into a deep, heavy gaze that made Mailah’s breath catch in her throat.

"Then why leave the kitchen at all?" Grayson rasped, his deep voice thick with sudden desire.

With effortless strength, he lifted her off the barstool and set her down on the edge of the marble island. Her legs parted naturally around his waist, and he stepped right between them, pulling her body flush against his chest.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off her face, Grayson reached behind his back and untied the frilly pink apron, letting it drop to the floor.