Chapter 448: The Soft Demon 2

The ride back to the estate was filled with the rhythmic sound of rain starting to tap against the windshield and Chloe noisily rummaging through her paper bag in the back seat.

Grayson drove his matte-black sedan with effortless, relaxed precision, keeping one hand firm on the leather steering wheel while his other hand remained firmly clasped over Mailah’s fingers in the center console. In the passenger seat, Mailah was almost entirely hidden behind the massive plush wolf, resting her chin on its soft velvet ear.

"If you drop sugar crumbs on the leather, Chloe," Grayson said casually, adjusting the rearview mirror with a flick of his eyes, "you will be responsible for detailing the car tomorrow morning."

"I am eating over the bag with surgical accuracy, cousin," Chloe replied, licking cinnamon sugar off her thumb. "Besides, your car is too clean anyway. It smells like dark cedar and rich-people energy. A little cinnamon builds character."

Mailah peeked over the stuffed wolf’s head, smiling. "Did you save me a donut?"

"Of course I did," Chloe said, reaching forward to hand a warm, grease-stained paper napkin over the headrest. "Unlike Lord Brooding next to you, I actually care about your emotional need for fried dough."

Grayson didn’t even turn his head. He simply pressed his thumb lightly into the back of Mailah’s hand. "I offered to buy the entire bakery thirty minutes ago. Your emotional needs are fully covered."

"Buying a store is not romance, Grayson," Chloe groaned from the back. "That’s just abuse of liquid assets."

"It is efficiency," Grayson corrected smoothly as he turned the car onto the long, winding stone driveway leading up to the estate.

The grand house rose up out of the misty autumn night like a dark, elegant fortress. Soft yellow lights glowed behind the tall arched windows, casting a warm, welcoming light across the wet driveway.

Marcus was already waiting under the stone portico with two massive black umbrellas. The moment the car smoothly glided to a stop, Marcus opened Mailah’s door, holding the umbrella high to block the rain.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ashford," Marcus said politely, before his neutral expression faltered slightly at the sight of the giant stuffed wolf taking up the entire front seat. "...And good evening to your new friend."

Chloe burst out laughing as she hopped out of the back seat, holding her bag of pastries like a prize. "Don’t look at me, Marcus! That is Grayson’s latest major purchase. He won it by terrorizing a college student at the ring-toss booth."

Grayson stepped out of the driver’s side, completely ignoring his cousin. He walked around the hood of the car, his heavy coat flaring slightly in the damp wind, and took the giant plush toy from Mailah’s hands. He tucked it firmly under one arm and used his free hand to guide Mailah out of the car, keeping her close against his side under Marcus’s umbrella.

"Where shall I place the item, Mailah?" Grayson asked with deadpan seriousness as they stepped inside the warm, grand foyer.

Mailah shook out her wet umbrella, looking up at her husband, who was standing in his six-thousand-dollar tailored coat, holding a fluffy grey toy wolf under his arm as if it were an official piece of royal property.

"I don’t know," Mailah said, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Maybe on the armchair in the bedroom?"

Grayson considered this for a moment, his dark eyebrows pulling together in deep, analytical thought. "The armchair faces the east window. The morning sunlight will fade the velvet ears within three months."

Chloe stopped on her way up the grand staircase, turning around with an expression of pure disbelief. "Are you seriously calculating sunlight degradation on a carnival prize, Grayson? It’s a giant stuffed toy!"

"It is Mailah’s toy," Grayson corrected coolly, not bothering to look up at her. "Therefore, it requires proper care."

"You are insane," Chloe declared, shaking her head as she continued up the stairs. "I am going to my room to eat my donuts in peace before your madness infects me. Goodnight, Mailah! Goodnight, crazy shadow prince!"

"Goodnight, Chloe," Mailah called out, stifling a laugh.

Once Chloe’s door clicked shut at the far end of the upper hallway, the house settled into a deep, comfortable silence. The only sound was the steady patter of rain against the glass stained windows high above the foyer.

Grayson turned his gaze down to Mailah. The sharp, distant look he kept for the rest of the world dissolved instantly, replaced by that low, velvety warmth reserved entirely for her.

"Come," he murmured softly, taking her small hand in his. "You are cold."

Upstairs in their master suite, the fire in the stone fireplace was already roaring, filling the large room with the soft orange glow of burning cedar logs.

Grayson set the giant plush wolf carefully in the corner reading nook—after determining it was safe from direct sunlight—and then immediately turned his attention to Mailah. He unbuttoned her heavy sweater, helped her out of her boots, and guided her to sit on the edge of the large bed.

He knelt on the hardwood floor right in front of her, taking her small, cool feet into his broad, remarkably warm hands.

"Grayson, you don’t have to do that," Mailah whispered, her heart giving that familiar, sweet flutter as she looked down at him.

He looked impossibly handsome sitting there at her feet—his dark hair slightly messy from the autumn rain, his dark sweater clinging to his broad shoulders, and his blue eyes glowing softly in the firelight.

"I want to," Grayson said quietly, his large hands gently rubbing her feet to restore her circulation. His voice was raspy and deep in the quiet room. "Your skin turns cold so easily. Mortals are ridiculously fragile creatures."

"We aren’t that fragile," Mailah teased lightly, running her fingers through his dark hair, tilting his face up toward hers.

Grayson stilled under her touch, leaning his cheek into her palm with a quiet, contented sigh. "You are to me," he murmured, his thumb lightly stroking her ankle. "Every time you shiver, I feel as though I have failed my only duty."

"Your only duty?"

"To keep you warm," he said simply, as if stating a fact as fundamental as gravity. "To keep you safe. To ensure that not a single second of your life is spent in discomfort."

Mailah leaned down, pressing her forehead against his. The rich scent of rain and cedarwood wrapped around her, intoxicating and warm. "You do that every day, Grayson. You care for me so much it almost scares me."

Grayson’s eyes darkened slightly, his dark blue gaze locking onto hers with breathtaking intensity. He shifted, moving up from the floor to sit beside her on the bed, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. His broad arms wrapped securely around her waist, locking her flush against his chest.

"Good," Grayson whispered against her lips, his warm breath fanning across her skin. "I want you to know that you are completely trapped, Mailah. I have spent centuries waiting for something real. Now that I have you, I will never let you go."

He kissed her then, slow, possessive, and warm, his mouth moving over hers with a deep, deliberate hunger that made Mailah’s head spin. Her hands slid up to grip his broad shoulders, holding on tight as he deepened the kiss, his broad palm pressing firmly against her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them at all.

When he finally broke the kiss, both of them were breathing softly, their foreheads resting together in the dim, warm light of the fire.

"I love you, Grayson," Mailah whispered, her thumbs brushing across his defined jawline.

A tiny, rare smirk tugged at the corner of Grayson’s lips—that handsome, swoon-worthy look that made him look like a victorious king. "I know," he murmured, kissing the tip of her nose. "And it is the best thing that has ever happened to this dark world."

The following morning arrived with a bright, crisp sun washing over the estate grounds.

Mailah woke up late, stretching lazily across the large bed. The space beside her was empty, but the sheets were still warm, smelling faintly of Grayson’s distinct cedar scent.

She slipped on a thick cardigan and walked down the grand staircase, heading toward the kitchen. As she neared the bottom of the stairs, a strange, rhythmic clinking sound echoed from the kitchen area, accompanied by the faint smell of melting butter and vanillas.

Mailah peeked around the heavy wooden door frame and froze, her eyes widening in sheer shock.

Grayson was standing in front of the modern gas stove.

He had rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, revealing his pale, muscular forearms. Tied around his narrow waist was a bright yellow apron with tiny embroidered strawberries—an apron that undoubtedly belonged to Chloe.

He held a stainless steel whisk in his right hand, staring down at a glass bowl of pancake batter with the intense, deadly concentration of a military commander planning a major siege.

Standing near the kitchen island was Chloe, wearing a silk robe, holding a mug of coffee, and silently vibrating with suppressed laughter.

"Grayson?" Mailah asked softly, stepping into the room.

Grayson immediately turned his head, his posture straightening into its usual tall, noble line—despite the strawberry apron tied around his middle.