MAILAH KEPT CLOSE BEHIND GRAYSON, glancing over her shoulder every few minutes, expecting another shadow to erge from the mist.
But nothing ca. The only sounds were their own breaths, the soft churn of mud, and the distant hum of crickets that had sohow survived in this godforsaken part of the world.
After a while, Grayson broke the silence. "You did well back there," he said without looking at her. "Most people would’ve panicked."
Mailah let out a strained laugh. "Who says I didn’t?"
He gave a short, amused sound—more breath than laugh—but it ward her all the sa. "You hid it well enough."
The path rose gradually, leading them out of the marsh and into a slope lined with wet grass.
In the distance, beyond a break in the trees, Mailah saw the faint shimr of light.
Not moonlight—sothing warr, steadier. The soft glow spilling from the upper windows of Grayson’s estate.
Relief unfurled in her chest like the first deep breath after surfacing from cold water. "We’re almost ho."
"Not yet," Grayson murmured, scanning the dark line of trees ahead. "Keep moving. I don’t want to test our luck tonight."
Behind them, Chen guided Elin gently through the mud, one arm braced around her waist as she stumbled, still pale and weak.
The swamp had given way to firr ground, the soft squelch of earth turning into the muted crunch of gravel under their boots.
For once, the night was still. No creatures. No whispers. Only the rhythmic beat of their footsteps and the slow return of Mailah’s heartbeat to sothing close to normal.
When the gates finally ca into view, Mailah almost wept with relief.
The familiar silhouette of the estate rose out of the mist—solid, dark stone frad by climbing ivy and lit by the faint orange glow of lanterns flickering along the balcony railings.
It looked like safety. Or at least, the closest thing to it they had left.
Grayson pushed the gates open with one hand, the hinges groaning in protest. "Co on," he said quietly, motioning for Chen and Elin to go ahead.
Inside the grounds, the air felt different—cooler, cleaner, tinged with the faint scent of rain-soaked earth and old stone.
The front steps glead faintly under the light as they climbed, and the heavy doors opened without resistance when Grayson turned the handle.
The mont they stepped inside, warmth t them.
The chandelier overhead flickered as if recognizing its master’s presence, scattering soft light over the marble floor and high archways.
Elin, trembling but conscious, was guided by Chen up the grand staircase and down the east corridor toward the guest wing. The faint sound of their footsteps echoed and faded, leaving the hall wrapped in stillness.
Mailah stayed near the entrance, her body aching from exhaustion, but her mind was still humming with the echo of fear and adrenaline.
Grayson stood nearby, shrugging off his coat. Blood had dried in a dark line down his forearm where the creature’s claws had grazed him.
"You’re hurt," Mailah said, stepping toward him.
"It’s nothing," he said dismissively, but she was already reaching for him.
"Sit," she insisted, nodding to the table by the foyer window.
Moonlight spilled through the glass, tracing silver over the polished surface. Mailah found a cloth, dipped it into a bowl of water, and moved closer to where Grayson sat. The cut on his arm looked dark and raw in the low light, the dried blood stark against his pale skin.
Grayson said nothing at first. His gaze followed her hands, every movent asured and precise. The silence between them wasn’t cold—it pulsed, full of things neither could quite bring themselves to say.
She reached out carefully, pressing the damp cloth to his forearm.
But when the water touched the wound, she stilled.
There was no torn flesh. No open gash. Only a faint scarlet line where the blood had dried—and beneath it, smooth skin. The injury that had looked deep monts ago was now nothing more than a mark, already closing, almost gone.
Her brows drew together. "Wait... how—?"
Grayson glanced at her hand, then at his arm, as if only now noticing her surprise. "It’s already healed," he said simply, voice low.
"That fast?" she breathed. "I thought—"
"You thought demons couldn’t nd themselves?" He gave a faint, almost amused huff. "Not all can. Depends on the bloodline. But mine... we recover quickly."
She stared at the fading mark, the disbelief softening into sothing else—curiosity, awe. "I’ve never seen anything like that," she murmured.
"You weren’t supposed to," he replied quietly. "Most people don’t live long enough to."
The words hung between them, edged with dark humor, but sothing tender glimred underneath.
Mailah lowered the cloth, setting it aside, though her fingers lingered against his skin a second too long.
"You shouldn’t worry about ," he said after a mont, his tone gentler now.
"Soone has to," she replied, not looking up. "You don’t exactly make it easy not to."
His lips curved faintly. "Maybe I just like giving you sothing to scold for."
Mailah exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You’re impossible."
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You’re still shaking," he murmured.
She froze, realizing he was right. Her hands trembled faintly, no longer from fear but from the rush of everything that had caught up to her—the chaos, the near-death, the way he had looked at her in the dark, as if she was sothing he couldn’t afford to lose.
"I’m fine," she said quickly.
But when she looked up, he was closer. Too close.
His hand ca up slowly, almost hesitantly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers lingered, tracing the edge of her jaw—warm and steady, in stark contrast to the cold that still clung to her skin.
Mailah’s breath caught.
Before she could think, before reason could interfere, Grayson leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was raw and unrestrained—a collision of relief, fear, and sothing dangerously close to hunger. A desperate reminder that they were both still alive.
For a heartbeat, Mailah froze. Then she kissed him back.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as the world outside—the swamp, the monsters, the dread of what might co next—fell away. All that remained was heat and heartbeat and the dizzying relief of survival.
When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, breaths still uneven.
Grayson’s voice ca out rough. "I’ve wanted to do that all day."
Mailah blinked, her heart hamring against her ribs. "And now?" she whispered.
He gave a faint, crooked smile, sothing unguarded flickering through his eyes. "Now I wish I hadn’t waited so long."
For a long, fragile mont, neither of them spoke. The estate around them was silent except for the faint hum of lanterns and the sigh of wind through the open balcony doors.
Mailah didn’t know what to say. What to do.
For the first ti in hours, she wasn’t thinking about danger—or Varrow—or the strange, deadly world she’d fallen into.
She was thinking about him.
About this mont.
And about the terrifying realization that she didn’t want it to end.
Her pulse hadn’t slowed. The warmth of Grayson’s lips still ghosted against hers, even as he drew back, his expression caught sowhere between restraint and regret.
Finally, Grayson exhaled and looked away, breaking whatever thread had tangled between them.
"You should rest," he said, his voice softer now. "You’ve had enough for one night."
Mailah blinked, trying to steady herself. "Rest?" She gave a quiet, shaky laugh. "After all that? You think I can just close my eyes and forget we were nearly torn apart in a swamp?"
His lips quirked, not quite a smile. "You could try. This place will hold. You’re safe here."
That word—safe—lodged in her chest like a splinter.
Her gaze drifted to the tall windows. Beyond the glass, the mist pressed close against the estate grounds, muting the world in silver-grey. For the first ti, she noticed how quiet it was. Too quiet.
"Grayson..." she started carefully. "Is it really safe? What if Varrow sends soone? Or worse—what if he cos himself?"
He turned toward her, the faintest hint of amusent in his eyes. "Varrow won’t dare."
"You sound awfully sure for soone who’s been trying to kill us for days."
"I’m sure," he said firmly. "He won’t cross that line."
Mailah frowned, searching his face. "Why not?"
Grayson moved to the window, resting one hand against the cold fra. The night pressed around them—heavy, waiting.
"Because he knows what it would an," he said. "Each demon’s estate, their domain—it’s sacred. Even he wouldn’t desecrate it. Not unless he’s prepared to start a war."
"Sacred?" she echoed, disbelief creeping into her tone.
"It’s old law," Grayson explained. "Older than either of us. The place where a demon resides is bound by blood and oath. No one trespasses without invitation. You saw what happened at Ashford Manor," Grayson continued quietly, his gaze fixed on the glass.
"Varrow ca close, but he didn’t overstep. He might be ruthless, but he’s not a fool. Breaking that boundary would be an open declaration of war—and demons value power, not chaos."
Mailah’s brow furrowed. "So he’s... afraid of you?"
Grayson’s mouth lifted at one corner. "Afraid? No. But he respects the old rules. For all his arrogance, Varrow knows the cost of dishonor. The mont he violates another demon’s sanctum, every House will turn against him. He wouldn’t risk that for ."
Mailah crossed her arms, glancing around the dimly lit hall. "I’m still not convinced. You said yourself, he’s unpredictable."
"That’s true," Grayson admitted, finally turning to her. "But unpredictability has limits when pride and power are at stake. The estate’s protections are old, reinforced by my blood. Varrow can’t touch it—not without paying a price he isn’t ready to pay."
His tone was steady, but Mailah still couldn’t shake the unease curling low in her stomach.
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to let herself exhale. But after everything—the screams, the claws, the swamp—trusting safety felt like tempting fate.
A soft sound behind them drew her attention.
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