THREE BLACK SUVS, IDENTICAL TO GRAYSON’S CENTURION, ROLLED TO A SYNCHRONIZED STOP.
Mailah watched from her concrete perch as the doors opened and Grayson’s brothers erged like they were being introduced in a very expensive cologne comrcial.
Lucson stepped out first. He surveyed the scene with the cold calculation of a general assessing a battlefield.
Carson tumbled out next, his arrival significantly less dignified. He was wearing jeans, a leather jacket, and what appeared to be motorcycle boots. His dark hair was windswept in a way that suggested he’d been riding with the windows down, and he had a grin that looked wildly inappropriate given the circumstances.
Mason erged from the second vehicle, silent and watchful. His eyes went imdiately to the twisted helicopter, and sothing dark flickered across his face—recognition, perhaps, or professional interest in the nightmare fuel.
Ravenson exited last. He looked at the wreckage with the detached interest of soone cataloging data.
"Well," Carson announced, strolling over to where Mailah sat, "this is festive. Nothing says ’family reunion’ quite like twisted aviation and creative murder."
"Carson," Lucson’s voice cut across the tarmac like a whip.
"I’m showing plenty of decorum. I didn’t make any helicopter puns." Carson dropped down beside Mailah on the barrier, close enough that their shoulders brushed. "You look traumatized. Did Gray make you look at the wreckage before I could tell you not to?"
"I saw enough before I could stop myself," Mailah admitted.
"Amateur mistake. When Gray gets that ’I need to investigate’ look, you’re supposed to find a nice wall to stare at until he’s done being all grim and detective-like." Carson studied her with the easy familiarity of soone who’d spent the past few weeks periodically showing up at the estate uninvited. "You’re getting better at the whole ’supernatural horror’ thing though. Last month you would have passed out by now."
"That’s very reassuring," Mailah said dryly.
"I’m a giver." Carson grinned. "Also, for the record, I told Gray not to take you on a weekend trip. I specifically said ’Things have been too quiet. Sothing terrible is definitely brewing.’ Did he listen? No. And now look—helicopter abstract art and a dead pilot."
"You did not say that," Grayson said, striding over with an expression that suggested he was reconsidering every life choice that involved his youngest brother.
"I implied it heavily."
Despite everything—the horror, the fear, the grotesque sculpture of violence twenty feet away—Mailah felt a startled laugh escape. This was Carson’s particular talent: making the unbearable slightly more bearable through sheer, absurd persistence.
"How was the trip before the dramatic interruption?" Carson asked, his tone shifting to sothing gentler. "Did you at least get one full day of peace?"
"We got about thirty-six hours," Mailah said. "It was nice. Quiet."
"Boring, you an. Gray’s idea of a good ti is brooding in different locations." Carson leaned closer conspiratorially. "Please tell you made him do sothing fun. Swimming? Beach volleyball?"
"We went for a walk on the beach and had a picnic," Mailah offered.
"Revolutionary. Next you’ll tell he wore casual clothes."
"He did, actually."
Carson pressed a hand to his chest in mock shock. "Linen pants? Did the man wear linen pants? Soone alert the dia. Grayson Ashford experiencing leisure."
"Are you quite finished?" Grayson asked, though there was a hint of warmth beneath the exasperation.
"Not even close. I have at least fifteen more minutes of material about your tragic inability to relax." Carson turned back to Mailah. "But seriously, you okay? I know this is—" he gestured vaguely at the helicopter, "—a lot. Even for our usual standards of chaos."
"I’m okay," Mailah said. "Or I will be."
"Good. Because Lucson’s about to launch into his ’security protocols’ speech and you’ll need your strength for that."
As if on cue, Lucson approached with his asured, unhurried stride. His eyes swept over Mailah with the sa clinical assessnt she’d learned to recognize over the past few weeks—cataloging her emotional state, threat level, and probable trajectory all in a single glance.
"Mailah," he said, his voice smooth as expensive whiskey. "I see your weekend was cut short. My apologies."
"Not your fault," Mailah said. "Unless you’re secretly orchestrating elaborate threats to ruin vacations?"
Lucson’s eyebrow arched fractionally—the closest thing to amusent she’d ever seen from him. "If I were orchestrating threats, they would be significantly more efficient. This—" he gestured at the wreckage, "—is theatrics. Wasteful and excessive."
"See, this is why no one invites you to parties," Carson interjected. "You critique the murder thods."
"I critique inefficiency in all its forms." Lucson turned his attention to Grayson. "We need to discuss imdiate security protocols. The situation is clear. Soone with significant power has just announced their presence in the most dramatic fashion possible. The logical response is to secure Mailah in a protected location until we’ve identified and neutralized the threat."
"Here we go," Carson muttered. "Operation Bunker Down has comnced."
"A safe house," Mailah said, already knowing where this was heading.
"A very secure safe house," Lucson confird. "Warded, guarded, and completely isolated from any connection to Grayson or this family. The safest possible—"
"No," Mailah said, repeating what he said to Grayson when he brought up the suggestion.
"—option for your..." Lucson paused, his verbal rhythm disrupted. "Mailah, we’ve discussed this contingency before. You agreed that in the event of a credible threat—"
Mailah stood, which put her at a significant height disadvantage to Lucson but at least made her feel less like she was being lectured. "Soone just killed a man and destroyed a helicopter to send a ssage to Grayson. Hiding away doesn’t change that. It just makes an isolated target."
"She already made this argunt," Grayson said, and there was a note of sothing almost like pride in his voice. "I agreed with her logic."
Lucson’s head swiveled toward his brother. "You agreed. To keeping Mailah in an active threat zone."
"I agreed to keeping her at the estate, with , where I can actually protect her. Your safe house would separate us, eliminate my ability to respond imdiately, and broadcast to whoever did this that they’ve successfully disrupted our pattern." Grayson’s voice was calm, but there was steel underneath. "We don’t run. We reinforce."
"The estate has been secure for centuries," Lucson argued. "But it was designed to keep out supernatural threats operating within known paraters, not to withstand a direct assault from sothing that can twist titanium like taffy. You’re not just making her a target, Grayson—you’re making yourself predictable."
"Good."
The single word hung in the air like a challenge.
Lucson stared at his brother. "Good? You want to be predictable?"
"I want them to know exactly where to find when they’re ready to have this conversation face-to-face instead of through murdered pilots."
Grayson’s expression was cold, but his hand found Mailah’s, fingers interlacing with hers in a gesture that was both protective and possessive. "And when they co—and they will co—I want to be sowhere I control every variable. The estate. My territory."
"Which can be reinforced," Carson interjected cheerfully. "I an, if we’re going full fortress mode, I know a guy who specializes in layered ward systems. Highly discourteous to uninvited guests."
"Carson, we are not using your ’guy’ for estate security," Lucson said sharply.
Grayson’s grip on Mailah’s hand tightened fractionally—reassurance or possibly a warning not to encourage Carson. "The point stands. We reinforce the estate’s existing protections, add additional layers, and ensure Mailah is never alone or unguarded. It’s a better tactical position than hiding her away where I can’t reach her if sothing goes wrong."
"If sothing goes wrong at the estate, you’ll both be trapped," Lucson countered.
"If sothing goes wrong at a safe house, she’ll be trapped alone while I’m trying to break through whatever supernatural red tape you’ve wrapped around her location." Grayson’s voice dropped dangerously low. "That is not acceptable."
The brothers stared at each other in a silent battle of wills that made the air feel thick with pressure.
Mailah had witnessed this particular dynamic before—Lucson’s thodical control versus Grayson’s immovable determination. Usually about sothing mundane or supernatural. Never about her safety.
Finally, Lucson exhaled—a controlled, asured sound. "You’re certain about this."
"Completely."
"And you, Mailah? You understand that staying at the estate makes you visible. Accessible. A clear and obvious target for whatever entity decided to redecorate that helicopter."
Mailah swallowed hard, but her voice was steady. "I understand. I’d rather be sowhere with five demon princes than alone in a ’secure location’ with guards who probably can’t do much against sothing that powerful."
Carson let out a low whistle. "She’s getting good at the logical argunts. You’ve been training her, haven’t you Gray?"
"Charming," Lucson said dryly. But after a long mont, he nodded. "Very well. But the estate gets a complete security overhaul. No argunts."
"Agreed," Grayson said.
"And—" Lucson’s eyes fixed on Mailah with unsettling intensity, "—if at any point I determine the threat level has escalated beyond the estate’s defensive capabilities, this conversation is over and you go to the safe house imdiately. Non-negotiable."
Mailah opened her mouth to argue, but Grayson squeezed her hand gently. "Agreed," he said. "If Lucson makes that determination and can justify it with evidence, we’ll comply."
Lucson’s eyebrow arched. "Since when do you trust my judgnt?"
"Since you stopped trying to set up with succubi and started actually acting like a brother," Grayson replied evenly.
For the first ti since arriving, Lucson’s expression shifted into sothing that might have been the distant cousin of a smile. "How novel. We’ll discuss the security upgrades once Mason and Ravenson finish their initial assessnt."
As if summoned by the ntion of their nas, Mason erged from behind the helicopter, his expression darker than usual.
Ravenson trailed behind, making notes on a tablet, an ominous look on his face.
"We might have an idea who or what did this."
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