Chapter 442: The Pang

They stayed wrapped in the velvet blanket for a long time, the quiet secret room smelling faintly of rain and sweet fruit. Mailah rested her head on Grayson’s broad, warm chest, listening to the slow, steady thud of his heart.

An ancient demon, three thousand years old, lying on a pile of cushions in a hidden pantry room, completely content simply stroking her hair.

Then, right in the middle of the peaceful silence, Mailah’s stomach let out a loud, clear rumble.

Mailah froze. Her face flushed bright pink against his chest.

Grayson’s dark eyebrows shot up. He looked down at her, his deep blue eyes lighting up with sudden, dramatic concern.

"What was that sound?" Grayson asked, his voice dropping into a grave, serious whisper. "Was that a threat? Is there a rogue shadow hiding under the sofa?"

"No, Grayson," Mailah laughed, hiding her red face in his neck. "That was my stomach. We never actually finished eating breakfast."

Grayson gasped, looking genuinely horrified. He sat up immediately, the silk blanket falling away from his bare chest. "You are starving! My wife is suffering from hunger in my own house! This is a total failure of my royal duty!"

"I’m not starving," Mailah giggled, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as she sat up beside him. "I just need some food. And we still have thirty pounds of fresh berries waiting on the kitchen counter."

Grayson paused. He looked toward the secret door, his jaw setting into a proud, determined line.

"Right," Grayson declared, thrusting his chin into the air. "The berries! We must return to the kitchen at once and begin the grand jam operation. I shall show you that my cooking skills are just as incredible as... everything else I do."

He stood up, his tall, powerful frame outlined by the soft lantern light. He gathered his white linen shirt from the floor, buttoning it up with fast, practiced fingers. He smoothed down his dark hair, though a few unruly locks still stuck out in the back from Mailah running her fingers through it earlier. He threw back his broad shoulders, standing up straight and regal, trying to look like the terrifying ruler of shadows once again.

Mailah quickly slipped her cream sweater back over her head, smoothing down her hair with a soft chuckle. "Are you ready, my lord?"

"I am always ready," Grayson said grandly.

He reached out and pressed the hidden silver button on the wall. With a low, quiet hum, the heavy oak panel slid open, bright morning sunlight pouring into their hidden room.

Grayson stepped out first, scanning the kitchen like a general entering a war zone. When he saw that the kitchen was empty, he let out a satisfied grunt and held out his hand to help Mailah step through the secret doorway.

The moment the panel slid shut behind them, Grayson walked over to the back of the kitchen chair, picked up his frilly pink floral apron, and tied it securely around his waist with absolute gravity.

Mailah covered her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud. The contrast between his sharp, terrifying demon jawline and the frilly pink borders of the apron was a masterpiece of domestic comedy.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Grayson asked, picking up his wooden spoon like a weapon. "A great chef respects his garments."

Before Mailah could reply, the heavy double doors of the kitchen swung open.

"Lord Grayson, I have the weekly reports on the clan’s real estate holdings—"

A tall, sharp-looking man in a crisp black suit stepped into the kitchen. It was Marcus, Grayson’s long-suffering chief assistant and right-hand man. Marcus was a stern human who had worked for the Ashford estate for ten years, and he was usually completely unfazed by anything.

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks.

His eyes slowly drifted from Grayson’s messy dark hair, down to his unbuttoned collar, down to the frilly pink floral apron tied around his waist, and finally to the wooden spoon held high in Grayson’s right hand.

Silence stretched across the large kitchen.

Mailah bit her lip so hard she nearly drew blood, trying her best to keep a straight face.

Grayson did not move a single muscle. He stood completely still, holding the wooden spoon in the air, his blue eyes turning cold, dark, and icy. He lowered his voice into his most terrifying, ancient register.

"Marcus," Grayson said, his voice echoing off the marble walls like thunder. "You dare enter my private domain without announcing your arrival?"

Marcus stared at his master for three long seconds. He did not blink. He slowly adjusted his glasses with one finger.

"My apologies, Lord Grayson," Marcus said in a completely flat, emotionless voice. "I did not realize you were currently engaged in... tactical dessert preparation."

"It is not dessert!" Grayson barked, throwing his head back in offense. "It is strategic preserve creation! My wife requires organic fruit preserves for her vital health!"

Marcus looked at the thirty pounds of strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries covering every inch of the white marble counters. Then he looked at Mailah, who gave him a small, helpless wave.

"I see," Marcus said calmly, not changing his tone at all. "Should I cancel your two o’clock meeting with the board of directors, or will you be attending the board meeting in the pink apron?"

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "Cancel the meeting! Tell them I am handling a matter of national security!"

"Handling jam," Marcus corrected flatly.

"Handling jam!" Grayson agreed loudly, before realizing what he had just said. His eyes narrowed into dark slits. "Do not correct me, Marcus! Or I shall turn your office chair into solid ice!"

"Understood, sir," Marcus said, completely unbothered. He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and made a quick note on his clipboard. "I shall tell the board of directors that the ancient Lord of the Ashford Clan is currently busy battling a crate of strawberries. Have a pleasant afternoon, Mrs. Ashford."

Marcus gave Mailah a polite bow, turned on his heel, and walked out of the kitchen, shutting the heavy double doors behind him.

The moment the door closed, Grayson let out a heavy, dramatic huff, crossing his broad arms over his chest.

"That man lacks proper respect for dark lords," Grayson grumbled, tossing his messy hair back. "I should fire him. I should banish him to the outer mountains."

"You love Marcus, and he manages your entire life," Mailah pointed out sweetly, walking over to stand beside him at the stove. "Now, are you going to help me wash these strawberries, or are you just going to glare at the door?"

Grayson looked down at her, his stern posture melting instantly into a warm, swoon-worthy smile. "I am going to wash them. But only because you asked nicely."

For the next hour, the kitchen turned into a scene of pure chaotic joy.

Grayson took the jam-making process far too seriously. He stood over a large copper pot on the stove, holding a small paper recipe card Mailah had found in a drawer, reading the simple instructions as if they were ancient magical spells.

"Add four cups of sugar," Grayson read aloud, his eyebrows pulled together in intense focus. He picked up a cup of sugar and dumped it into the crushed strawberries. "Now... the recipe says to stir gently over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. But why is it taking so long? The sugar is resisting my command!"

"It takes time, Grayson," Mailah laughed, leaning against the counter beside him as she chopped fresh lemons. "You can’t intimidate sugar into melting faster."

"I can intimidate anything," Grayson claimed proudly. He leaned over the pot, glaring down at the bubbling red liquid. "Listen to me, sweet crystals. Dissolve at once, or I shall pour cold water over you!"

"Grayson, stop threatening the jam!" Mailah giggled, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

She reached up, grabbing a tiny bit of red strawberry pulp from a bowl, and lightly dabbed it onto the tip of Grayson’s nose.

Grayson froze. He slowly turned his head to look at her, blinking his dark lashes.

"Did you... just mark my face with fruit?" Grayson asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, playful whisper.

"Maybe," Mailah teased, stepping back with a mischievous grin.

Grayson’s eyes flashed with dark, sparkling light. He set the wooden spoon down with a loud click.

"You dare attack your husband with preserves?" Grayson gasped dramatically. "This is war, Mailah!"

He reached into a bowl of raspberries, picked up a single soft berry, and lunged forward. Mailah squealed in laughter, trying to duck behind the marble island, but Grayson was far too fast. In one smooth, effortless motion, he wrapped his long arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

He leaned down, lightly pressing the raspberry against her cheek, leaving a sweet red mark.

"A strike!" Grayson declared victoriously, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I have conquered the queen!"

"You cheated!" Mailah laughed, turning in his arms to face him, her hands resting flat against his chest. "You used your fast demon speed!"

"I used tactical superior skill," Grayson corrected with a swoon-worthy, breathtaking smirk, his blue eyes shining down at her with endless warmth. He reached up with his long thumb, gently wiping a smudge of flour off her cheek. "Besides... I win every battle when the prize is holding you."

Mailah felt her heart give that familiar, sweet flutter. She leaned up on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, right over the red strawberry spot she had made earlier.

Grayson’s breath caught in his throat. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his body. All his dramatic pride and silly posturing melted away in a single second, leaving only the pure, deep devotion that made her world feel completely safe.

"You really are sweet, you know that?" Mailah whispered softly.

"Do not spread rumors," Grayson grumbled softly against her forehead, though his lips curved into a gentle, helpless smile. "If the dark clan finds out I am sweet, my reputation will be ruined forever."

"Your secret is safe with me," Mailah murmured, pressing her face into his neck, inhaling the wonderful scent of dark oak, rain, and fresh strawberries.

Right at that moment, Grayson’s cell phone—a top-of-the-line, sleek black smartphone sitting on the counter—began to ring loudly.

Grayson let out a long, dramatic sigh of annoyance, resting his forehead against Mailah’s for a brief second before pulling back to grab the phone.