"YOU ASKED FOR IT," Grayson whispered, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. "So, I will give it to you."
He didn’t move. He stayed so close that Mailah could feel the heat radiating from his skin.
His eyes searched hers, no longer cold like winter ice, but swirling with a dark, hungry energy that made her breath hitch in her throat.
He didn’t pull her into a kiss. Instead, he reached out and traced the line of her jaw with one finger. The touch sent a spark through her that felt like a tiny lightning strike.
"I will feed tonight," Grayson continued, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "But not here. Not like this. Prepare yourself, Mailah. Because I will make sure to visit your dream. I’ll take what I need from the places where you can’t hide from ."
Mailah felt a cold wave of nerves wash over her.
Through her dream?
She knew what that ant in their world. It wasn’t just a sleep-over in her head; it was a deep connection of souls. It was intimate. It was revealing. And she had just given him a gold-stamped invitation to walk right in.
Did I speak too carelessly? she wondered, her heart hamring against her ribs like a trapped bird.
She had wanted to save those innocent people they were feeding on. She had wanted to prove to herself that Grayson was still the man who loved her in Tuscany. But now, the reality was sinking in.
Was she really ready to be fed on by this version of him? This Prince who looked at her like she was a prize to be won rather than a partner to be loved?
She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind—to tell him that a "visit to her dreams" wasn’t a "take whatever you want" pass—but the words died in her throat.
Grayson had already shifted his attention.
His gaze fell to the floor, landing directly on Shadow.
The black cat was sitting perfectly still next to Mailah’s leg.
Her eyes were fixed on Grayson, and her tail gave one slow, rhythmic thump against the polished wood. She looked less like a pet and more like an ancient queen waiting for an apology.
Grayson frowned.
He stepped back from Mailah, the intensity of their mont breaking just enough for him to blink in confusion. "Where did this creature co from?" he asked, his voice sharp and suspicious. "And what is it doing in my house?"
Carson, who was currently ushering a confused-looking "guest" toward the front door, paused to laugh. "That, brother dear, is a problem with whiskers. Honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t trip you the mont you went near Mailah."
Grayson didn’t laugh. He crouched down, keeping a safe distance from the cat. "It feels... strange. It doesn’t sll like a normal animal."
"That’s because she’s a familiar, Grayson," Mailah said, her voice regaining its strength. She reached down to scratch Shadow behind the ears. "She’s Shadow. She was with us in Tuscany. You used to let her sleep on your feet."
Grayson’s brow furrowed. He reached out a hand, his fingers hovering near the cat. "I don’t rember any cat. Especially not one that looks at like I’m a servant who forgot to bring the cream."
Shadow didn’t disappoint.
As Grayson’s hand got closer, she didn’t hiss or run. She simply raised one paw and gave his knuckles a firm, declawed thwack. Then, she turned her back on him and began to wash her shoulder.
"She definitely rembers you," Carson shouted from across the foyer. "And she recognizes you’re not the sa person."
Mailah couldn’t help it; a small laugh escaped her.
The tension that had been choking the room felt lighter. It was hard to be terrified of a dark, brooding Prince when he was currently being bullied by a four-pound ball of fur.
Grayson stood up, rubbing his hand and looking offended. "This house is becoming a circus. First a heist, then a Council mber’s unwelco visit, and now a judgntal cat. Is there anything else I should know about?"
Mailah watched the brothers work.
Despite their talk of being monsters, they were being incredibly careful with the humans they were sending away.
Lucson was speaking in low, soothing tones, making sure everyone felt safe and happy. It was a strange, supernatural dance of kindness and survival.
Grayson watched them too, but his eyes kept drifting back to Mailah.
"Go," Grayson said, gesturing toward the stairs. "Take your familiar and go to bed."
"And the dream?" Mailah asked, her voice steady even though she felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff.
Grayson stepped close again, leaning down so only she could hear him. "Don’t lock your door in your head, Mailah. I’m coming later."
Mailah didn’t just walk back to her room; she practically bolted.
Shadow trotted along beside her, looking very smug.
Once inside, Mailah locked the physical door, though she knew it wouldn’t do a thing against a demon who could walk through dreams.
She took a quick shower and changed into her softest and most unattractive pajamas—an old set of cotton leggings and a giant t-shirt that had once belonged to her twin sister.
She sat on the bed, her back against the headboard.
Shadow hopped up and curled into a tight circle right against Mailah’s hip.
"What am I doing, Shadow?" Mailah whispered into the quiet room. "He’s different now. What if I go into that dream and he really does drain ?"
Shadow opened one eye. She didn’t ow, but she stretched out a paw and rested it on Mailah’s hand.
The warmth of the cat’s paw seeped into Mailah’s skin, calming her racing heart. It was a reminder that she wasn’t alone.
She had a familiar. She had a soul-bond.
"I have to go to him," Mailah decided, her jaw setting. "If I wait and hide, he wins and gets to control the dream. But if I find him in the dream... maybe I can be the one in charge of the dream."
She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind.
She pictured the garden in Tuscany. She pictured the sll of lemons and the sound of Grayson’s real laugh. She focused on the feeling of his hand in the tunnel—the desperate don’t let go.
Slowly, the sounds of the estate faded away. The music from downstairs beca a distant hum, and then, silence.
When Mailah opened her eyes, she wasn’t in her bedroom anymore.
She was standing in a place that looked like a blurred version of Grayson’s gardens.
The trees were taller, their leaves shimring with a silver light that didn’t exist in the real world. The air tasted like blackberries and rain.
"You’re late," a voice said.
Mailah turned. Grayson was leaning against a stone archway. He wasn’t wearing tonight’s clothes anymore.
He was in a simple white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked younger, softer, but his eyes were still glowing with that intense hunger.
"I had to get the cat settled," Mailah said, walking toward him. Her feet didn’t make a sound on the grass. "She’s very demanding."
Grayson straightened up. He looked around at the dream garden. "This is a quiet place. Peaceful. Is this what your mind looks like?"
"Usually it’s more of a ss," Mailah admitted with a small smile. "But I wanted to make sure you felt welco. Since I did offer myself up as a ’snack’ and all."
Grayson stepped into her space. In the dream world, everything felt magnified. The scent of him was overwhelming—like cedarwood and stormy nights.
He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders.
"You’re a fool, Mailah," he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "You should never trust . Especially not like this."
Grayson’s grip tightened on her shoulders. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. "Maybe this is not your first ti to be fed on by , Mailah. But this will be different. Maybe you won’t want to leave. Are you sure you’re prepared for that?"
"Yes," she breathed. She reached up and touched his chest, right where his heart was. In the dream, she could feel the pulse of his energy. It was a deep, rhythmic thrumming that felt like music. "I’m ready."
Grayson groaned, a low, frustrated sound. He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. It wasn’t a "feeding" move. It was a hug—the kind that makes you feel like the rest of the world has disappeared.
"I’m starving," he whispered into her hair. "But not for essence."
"Then what for?"
Grayson pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were no longer silver or black; they were his original bright blue one. "I’m starving for the mory of you. Every ti I look at you, I feel like I’m standing in front of a door I don’t have the key to. It drives mad."
Mailah felt a surge of hope so strong it almost made her dizzy. "Then let give you the key."
She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his.
In that mont, she opened her mind. She let him see everything—the way she felt when they first t, the fear of the Council, the joy of the museum heist, and the pure, unadulterated love she had for the man he used to be.
Grayson gasped.
He didn’t pull away. He drank in the mories like a man dying of thirst.
Mailah felt her own energy being drawn out—a gentle, rhythmic pulling that didn’t hurt. It felt like sharing a secret. It felt like coming ho.
As he fed, his entire aura began to change. The grey pallor disappeared. His skin regained its warmth. The sharp, predatory lines of his face softened into the Grayson she knew.
"Mailah," he choked out.
But just as the dream began to glow with a brilliant, golden light, a dark shadow swept across the garden.
The silver trees turned black. The blackberry scent turned to the sll of burning silk.
Grayson’s eyes snapped open, turning a sharp, defensive silver once again. He pushed Mailah behind him, his body tensing for a fight.
"What is that?" Mailah cried, clutching the back of his shirt.
From the darkness of the dream-woods, a voice erged—a voice that sounded like a thousand dry leaves skittering across a grave.
"The Prince is eating..." the voice hissed, "but he is still hungry."
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