MAILAH WOKE to sunlight streaming through the windows and the distinct absence of a brooding demon beside her.
She sat up slowly, her hand automatically reaching for the space where Grayson had been. The sheets were cool—he’d been gone for a while then. She tried not to feel disappointed. He’d stayed through the worst of the night, watching over her while she slept, and that was more than she’d expected from soone who’d spent centuries avoiding exactly this kind of intimacy.
Still, waking alone after such a vulnerable night felt... incomplete sohow.
She showered quickly, letting the hot water chase away the last remnants of exhaustion and the lingering unease from the burnt ward crystal. Her mind kept circling back to that shadow in the final monts before sleep—had she dread it? Or had there been sothing in the room with them, watching from the darkness?
Stop it, she told herself firmly. You’re being paranoid. Lucien checked the entire estate. There’s nothing there.
She dressed casually—comfortable jeans and a soft sweater that made her feel both put-together and relaxed. No makeup beyond a quick swipe of lip tint; if the day proceeded as peacefully as the morning suggested, she didn’t need to look like she was preparing for battle.
The dining room was already occupied when she arrived, the sll of coffee and Mrs. Baker’s cooking making her stomach rumble appreciatively.
Oliver sat at one end of the table, Shadow curled contentedly in the chair beside him, while Lucien occupied a spot with a newspaper that Mailah was fairly certain hadn’t existed five minutes ago. Angels and their mysterious prop departnts.
But it was Elin who caught her attention—sitting upright and alert, with actual color in her cheeks and sothing like life returning to her eyes. She looked up as Mailah entered and offered a small, genuine smile.
"Good morning," Elin said, her voice stronger than Mailah had heard it since the anniversary.
"Good morning," Mailah replied, settling into her usual chair. "You look much better."
"I feel better," Elin admitted. "Dr. Morrison’s treatnts are really working. And apparently I might have set a ward crystal on fire in my sleep last night, which is terrifying but also kind of amazing?"
"It’s definitely sothing," Oliver agreed around a mouthful of toast. "Though I’m the one who had to show them the burnt crystal, so technically I’m the hero of that story."
"You held a piece of burnt quartz and looked confused," Lucien said without looking up from his newspaper. "Truly heroic."
"I was startled!" Oliver protested. "It exploded!"
"It cracked," Lucien corrected. "There’s a difference."
Mailah poured herself coffee, letting their banter wash over her like a comfortable blanket. This was nice—this strange found family they’d accidentally assembled, sharing breakfast and teasing each other like they’d been doing it for years instead of days.
But sothing was missing.
"Has anyone seen Grayson this morning?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.
Three heads turned toward her with varying expressions of confusion.
"No," Oliver said. "I thought he’d be with you?"
"He left early," Mailah replied, which wasn’t technically a lie. Just an incomplete truth.
"Hmm," Lucien humd, still apparently absorbed in his newspaper. "How mysterious."
"Do you know where he is?" Mailah asked directly.
"I might," Lucien replied unhelpfully.
"Lucien."
"He’s handling so business," the angel said, finally lowering his paper to look at her with those knowing eyes. "Estate matters. Nothing dangerous or concerning. He’ll be back soon."
Before Mailah could press further, Mrs. Baker appeared from the kitchen carrying a fresh pot of coffee and wearing an expression that suggested she had Information.
"Mrs. Baker," Mailah said hopefully. "Do you know where Grayson went?"
"I do," Mrs. Baker replied, refilling coffee cups with practiced efficiency.
"And?"
"And he asked not to tell you," Mrs. Baker said primly. "Sothing about wanting it to be a surprise."
Mailah’s suspicion ter imdiately skyrocketed. "A surprise. What kind of surprise?"
"The kind that’s ruined if I tell you," Mrs. Baker replied. Then, with just the faintest hint of a smile, she added, "Though you might want to know that you have a guest arriving at ten o’clock. In the sunroom."
"A guest?" Mailah repeated. "What kind of guest?"
"The scheduled kind," Mrs. Baker said unhelpfully. "I’ve been instructed to ensure you’re presentable. Though given your current state of casual disarray, you might want to add so actual makeup beyond that lip tint."
Mailah looked down at her comfortable outfit, then back at Mrs. Baker with growing alarm. "Who’s coming at ten o’clock?"
"Soone important," Mrs. Baker replied. "That’s all I’m authorized to say."
"Authorized by whom?"
"By Mr. Ashford, of course."
Mailah groaned, dropping her head to the table. "I hate surprises."
Especially from Grayson.
"No, you don’t," Lucien said cheerfully. "You just hate not being in control. There’s a difference."
"I’m starting to hate you too," Mailah muttered.
The next hour passed in a strange blur of mounting curiosity and carefully suppressed panic. Who would Grayson schedule without telling her? And why did everyone seem to be in on so secret she wasn’t privy to?
By 9:45, Mailah had changed into sothing more presentable—a deep green dress that brought out her eyes, subtle makeup that made her look polished without trying too hard, and her hair pulled back in a way that suggested elegant casualness. She’d also checked the sunroom twice to ensure it was empty, paced the library for ten minutes, and seriously considered interrogating Shadow for information.
The cat, naturally, had been entirely unhelpful.
At 9:58, Mrs. Baker appeared to collect her. "Your guest has arrived. She’s waiting in the sunroom."
"She?" Mailah repeated, following the housekeeper down the familiar corridors. "What kind of she?"
"The female kind," Mrs. Baker replied with unusual dryness. "I believe that’s typically what ’she’ indicates."
They reached the sunroom—the formal one, Mailah noted, not the cozy space where Grayson had proposed the second ti. This room was all elegant furniture and carefully arranged flowers, with floor-to-ceiling windows that flooded everything with golden morning light.
And in the center of it all sat a woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale.
She was perhaps in her forties, with dark hair twisted into an elaborate braid, warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners with laugh lines, and an outfit that managed to be both professional and whimsical—a flowing skirt paired with a crisp blazer, adorned with jewelry that Mailah could swear was faintly glowing with magical energy.
But it was what rested in her lap that made Mailah’s steps falter—an enormous leather-bound book that looked ancient and important and very, very expensive.
The woman stood as Mailah entered, her smile warm and genuine as she extended a hand. "You must be Mailah. It’s such a pleasure to finally et you. Grayson’s told so much about you."
Mailah shook her hand automatically, her brain still trying to process who this person was and why she was here. "I’m sorry, I don’t—"
"Oh goodness, where are my manners?" The woman laughed, a sound like wind chis. "I’m Liora Starwillow. I’m your wedding planner."
The world tilted sideways.
Mailah heard the words—understood them individually—but together they created a sentence that made absolutely no sense. "My... what?"
"Wedding planner," Liora repeated, apparently not noticing Mailah’s complete ntal shutdown. "Grayson contacted three days ago about coordinating your ceremonies. It’s quite an undertaking, really—combining traditions requires extensive knowledge," She paused, finally registering Mailah’s expression. "Oh dear. He didn’t tell you, did he?"
"He—" Mailah’s voice ca out as a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "No. He did not tell ."
Liora’s expression shifted from professional enthusiasm to sympathetic understanding in an instant. "Ah. Well. This is awkward." She set the enormous book down on the side table with a decisive thump. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning? With tea? You look like you could use tea."
"I look like I could use answers," Mailah managed, sinking into the nearest chair before her knees gave out entirely. "Grayson hired a wedding planner. Without telling . For weddings—plural—that we haven’t actually planned yet."
"To be fair," Liora said gently, settling back into her own seat, "he seed very concerned about doing things properly this ti. Sothing about previous proposals being ’disasters of timing and execution’—his words, not mine."
Despite her shock, Mailah felt a laugh bubble up. "That sounds like him."
"He also ntioned that you’d probably be surprised," Liora continued. "Though I’m starting to think ’surprised’ might be an understatent."
"Shocked," Mailah supplied. "Speechless. Possibly having a minor breakdown. Take your pick."
Liora’s smile was understanding. "Would it help to know that he’s been incredibly thoughtful about this?."
That made Mailah’s chest tight.
"Really?" she asked quietly.
Yes," Liora confird. "In between apparently running a business empire and dealing with supernatural politics that frankly terrify , and I once planned a wedding for a vampire clan during a blood moon."
Mailah laughed again, this ti with genuine humor. "Our life is... complicated."
"I specialize in complicated," Liora said warmly. "It’s why Grayson contacted specifically. I’ve been coordinating supernatural-human unions for thirty years."
"I like you," Mailah decided.
"I like you too," Liora replied. "Which is why I’m going to be completely honest with you. Planning a wedding that combines human and supernatural traditions is challenging under normal circumstances. Planning one while you’re apparently at the center of so kind of supernatural revolution? That’s... well. That’s unprecedented."
"Wonderful," Mailah muttered.
"But not impossible," Liora continued firmly. "If you’re willing to work with , I can create sothing beautiful. Sothing aningful. Sothing that honors both worlds you’re trying to bridge." She paused. "Though I should ntion—the supernatural binding ceremony will require so preparation on your part. Physical and ntal conditioning to withstand the energy exchange safely."
"Energy exchange?," Mailah asked, not sure if she heard it right.
Liora hesitated, her warm smile softening into sothing gentler—almost pitying. "Ah. Yes. It’s... a deeply intimate aspect of the binding. The exchange of power between partners to seal the union. You might know it by another term."
Mailah frowned. "Which is?"
Liora’s voice dropped, her tone careful now. "Feeding."
The word landed like a spark in dry air. For a heartbeat, the room seed too bright, too still.
Mailah’s pulse quickened, her thoughts spiraling back—to another feeding, another ti, another near-death she swore she’d buried.
And just like that, the sunlight felt colder.
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