CHAPTER 136: CHAPTER 136: THE PLAN

THE WARDS hummed faintly in the silence after Grayson’s phone went still. A pulse of magic rippled through the walls — protective, alert — as though the mansion itself had bristled at the name Hollow.

Mailah stood motionless, her heartbeat loud in her ears. The air felt charged, sharp as broken glass.

Grayson’s gaze remained on the dark screen of his phone. When he finally looked up, his eyes had cooled from that gray color to their usual storm-blue-gray — the color he wore when trying to keep the beast in check.

"Grayson," she said quietly. "Talk to me."

He exhaled slowly, the sound edged with restraint. "There’s nothing more to say tonight. I’ll deal with it."

"You’ll deal with it?" Mailah echoed, incredulous.

That made him glance up sharply. His tone was low, warning. "Mailah."

"No," she said, stepping closer. "You can’t keep brushing it off like I’m some mortal you need to shield. I live here. I sleep here. If someone comes for you, they’re walking straight through me."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked like he might argue — then his shoulders eased, and the faintest sigh escaped him. "I know."

It wasn’t quite an apology. But it was close enough.

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping in front of her. "You shouldn’t have answered that call."

"You’re welcome," she shot back. "Next time a creepy supernatural debt collector rings, I’ll just let it go to voicemail."

That actually drew a faint laugh from him — rough, unguarded. "You’re infuriating."

"Thank you," she said sweetly. "I try."

The small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips again. The tension in the room thinned, if only slightly.

Mailah folded her arms. "So what’s the plan? Hide here until your murder-fan club loses interest?"

"No." He was all demon again — calm, calculating, dangerous. "If they’re watching the city, we can’t stay. It’ll draw attention. And you..." He hesitated. "You deserve better than being hunted in our own home."

Something fluttered in her chest at that. "So what do we do?"

Grayson’s eyes flicked to the window, where the storm outside had started to ease into soft drizzle. "We leave."

"Leave?"

"For the wedding," he said simply.

Mailah blinked. "You mean—like, elope?"

He arched a brow. "I was thinking more relocate the ceremony, but if you’re suggesting elopement..."

"Don’t you dare twist that into a proposal pitch," she warned, though her lips twitched despite herself.

Grayson looked far too pleased. "You’re smiling."

"I’m glaring."

"That’s your smiling face."

She groaned. "You’re impossible."

"That’s," he murmured, stepping closer, his voice dropping into that dark velvet register that never failed to short-circuit her composure, "what you like about me."

Her pulse betrayed her — quick and loud. "That’s not fair."

"I’m not known for playing fair."

The words hung between them, charged and intimate. Then, as if realizing how easily he’d slipped back into flirtation, Grayson cleared his throat and looked away.

Mailah crossed her arms tighter to ground herself. "So. Where are we supposedly going to hold this impromptu wedding-slash-escape?"

Grayson’s lips twitched again. "Remember that auction months ago?"

Mailah frowned. "The one for a week at a private villa in Tuscany?"

"The very same."

"What about it?"

"We can finally go."

Mailah blinked. "We... can?"

He nodded solemnly. "A private villa in Tuscany."

Her jaw dropped. "Wait. That trip? The eighty-thousand-dollar one you said we’d never take because, and I quote, ’It’s a pity we won’t actually be going to Tuscany though. Eighty thousand dollars for a vacation we’ll never take?’"

"Correct."

She stared. "You’ve got to be kidding."

"I am entirely serious."

Mailah laughed — partly from disbelief, partly because she could not believe her life had become this absurd. "You want us to go to Tuscany now? While we’re apparently being hunted by supernatural sharks?"

Grayson gave a careless shrug. "It’s remote. Shielded. And has excellent wine."

"Wine. Great. That’ll help when the Hollow sends assassins."

"Technically," he said, tone thoughtful, "they send envoys, not assassins."

"Grayson."

He held up a hand. "All right, all right. In all seriousness, it’s a good idea. The wards there were cast by a Seraphic house centuries ago. Stronger than anything I could have someone conjure on short notice."

Mailah hesitated. He wasn’t wrong.

Still. "So your big solution to a supernatural threat is... a luxury honeymoon hideout?"

His eyes gleamed. "Precisely."

"You’re really serious."

"You’re in danger," he said softly.

Mailah’s throat went dry.

She tried to sound unaffected. "You assume a lot."

Grayson stepped closer again, closing the last inch of distance between them. "Only what I’ve already felt you think."

Her breath caught.

For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. The air between them shimmered faintly, power brushing like static. Then he blinked, stepped back, and the moment broke.

Mailah exhaled shakily. "Fine," she said. "Tuscany. But we are not calling it a honeymoon."

"Whatever you say, fiancée."

"I swear I will throw something at you."

He grinned. "You’d miss."

Before she could respond, a faint crack of thunder rolled outside, low and distant. The wards flickered again, like a heartbeat stuttering.

The humor drained from her expression. "They might be out there, right?"

"Yes." His tone turned grim again. "But they won’t reach us."

Mailah studied him. "You sound certain."

"I am."

Something in the way he said it made her chest ache — a promise edged in desperation.

"Grayson..."

He looked at her, and for once, she saw the exhaustion under his control — the kind that comes from centuries of fighting, both literal and personal.

"You don’t have to protect me from everything," she said softly.

"I know."

"Then stop trying to."

"I can’t."

It wasn’t arrogance. It was confession.

Before she could reply, he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was barely there, but it burned.

"I’ll have Lucien arrange the villa," he said after a moment. "We’ll leave by dawn."

"Lucien?" she echoed. "You trust him with travel plans?"

Grayson’s mouth curved wryly. "No. Which is why I’ll make him think it was his idea."

Mailah snorted. "You two are absurd."

"Necessary evil."

They stood there in the soft, humming quiet — both knowing this peace was temporary.

Finally, Mailah said, "If we’re leaving at dawn, I should probably pack."

"I already did."

She blinked. "You what?"

"Packed. For both of us."

"You packed my clothes?"

He nodded. "Mrs. Baker to be exact."

Her voice rose. "Grayson, you don’t even know which—"

"I included the green dress you like," he interrupted smoothly.

She paused. "The one with the—"

"Backless cut, yes."

Mailah’s cheeks warmed. "You remembered that?"

He gave a faint, smug smile. "I remember everything about you."

Oh, that was unfair. Entirely, criminally unfair.

She tried to find her voice again. "You’re incorrigible."

"I prefer devoted."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you do."

He leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush her skin.

It was ridiculous how easy he made her forget the danger. The Hollow, the clients, the threats—all of it blurred in the haze of his nearness.

When he finally stepped back, she had to take a steadying breath. "Fine," she muttered. "But if I find one single cursed item in that luggage, you’re sleeping outside."

"Duly noted."

The storm broke fully around midnight, rain whispering against the glass as Mailah tried to sleep. She couldn’t. The phone call replayed in her mind, the distorted voice echoing over and over: The Hollow remembers.

Next to her, Grayson was a silent shadow — awake, though pretending not to be. She could tell from the tension in his breathing.

"Grayson?" she whispered.

A pause. Then: "Hmm?"

"Do you ever regret any of this?"

He turned his head, his profile faintly outlined by moonlight. "Define this."

"Us," she said softly. "The bond. The danger that follows."

He was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful. "Every immortal carries a ledger of regret. But you’re not on mine."

Her chest tightened. "That’s a very poetic way of saying no."

"Would you rather I recite an oath of eternal devotion?"

"Don’t tempt me."

He smiled faintly, then reached for her hand under the covers. Their fingers intertwined, quiet and certain.

For a while, they just lay there, the storm fading into the steady rhythm of rain.

Mailah closed her eyes. "Tuscany," she murmured. "Do you think it’ll be quiet there?"

"As quiet as we allow it to be."

"Then we’re doomed."

Grayson’s low chuckle vibrated through her hand. "Probably."

It was absurdly comforting.

Eventually, her breathing slowed, the pull of sleep gentle and warm.

Grayson watched her for a long time — until he was sure she’d drifted off. Then, quietly, he reached for his phone.

One unread message blinked on the screen.

Unknown Sender:Tell her not to look at the stars tonight. The Hollow isn’t the only one that remembers.

Grayson’s jaw clenched. He turned off the phone, slipped it under the pillow, and looked at Mailah one last time.

Then, softly—almost a vow—he whispered, "Don’t even dare touch her."

Outside, the rain fell harder.

And for a heartbeat, the stars above flared—too bright, too brief—before winking out.