CHAPTER 147: CHAPTER 147: THE SECRETS 2

"HE SAID HE ALREADY KNEW."

Mailah shot Grayson a surprised look at Oliver’s revelation.

"I’ve known since the beginning," Grayson said quietly, meeting Mailah’s surprised gaze. "I can sense surveillance. But Oliver was competent, and he didn’t interfere, so I let him stay."

"You let him stay?" Elin’s voice rose. "He was sent to spy on you!"

"And he stopped. That takes integrity."

"Or better strategy," Elin countered, but her voice lacked real heat.

"It wasn’t strategy," Oliver said firmly. "It was a choice. To be loyal to the person I’d come to respect rather than faceless employers who clearly had their own agenda."

A heavy silence settled over the room. Shadow chose that moment to saunter in, licking chicken grease from her whiskers with absolute satisfaction, completely oblivious to—or more likely, uncaring about—the tension.

"Anyone else want to share?" Lucien asked, his tone somewhere between genuine curiosity and desperate deflection.

No one responded to him.

"My turn, I suppose," Lucien said, dragging both hands through his hair until it stood in wild angles. "I’m not just here because I enjoy your company—though I do. I’m here because I’m hiding. From responsibilities I don’t want. From a role I’m supposed to fill in the celestial hierarchy."

"What role?" Oliver asked.

"The kind that comes with expectations. Power. Influence." Lucien’s voice dropped. "The kind that requires sacrificing who you are for what you represent."

"And the dreams?" Grayson prompted, his focus absolute.

Lucien’s hands trembled slightly as he clenched them together. "They started three months ago. Always the same theme—watching everything burn while I stand there and do nothing. Watching people I care about destroy each other while I’m frozen, unable to intervene." His voice cracked. "What if they’re not warnings? What if they’re prophecies? What if I’m meant to fail you all?"

"You won’t," Mailah said immediately, surprising herself with the conviction in her voice.

"You don’t know that."

She leaned forward. "You stole sunflowers for an old woman and overpaid for wine you couldn’t taste properly and nearly cried laughing when Shadow stole that cheese. That’s who you are. Not some frozen observer in a nightmare."

Lucien looked at her like she’d offered him something precious and fragile. "I hope you’re right."

"I am."

The certainty in her voice seemed to steady something in the room. Even Shadow, who had been grooming herself with feline indifference, paused to blink slowly at them—her version of approval.

"Well," Grayson said after a long moment. "Since we’re purging secrets."He stood, moving to the window, his back to them all. The set of his shoulders was rigid, defensive.

"I’ve been pretending I’m fine since the full feeding."

Mailah froze. "Pretending?"

He nodded once, still facing the dark glass. "Everyone keeps saying I survived it. That I came out of it stronger. But I didn’t."

His reflection flickered faintly, silver in the windowpane. "Since that night, I can’t stop feeling them—every want, every pulse of desire, every whisper of longing around me. It’s like being trapped in a storm of hunger that isn’t mine, and I’m the lightning drawn to it."

The words sent a shiver down her spine.

"I thought feeding once would steady me," he continued quietly. "But it only reminded my body what it’s been starved of for centuries. I’ve been fighting it every hour since—not the need itself, but the craving to take. To pull warmth, joy, pleasure—life—from anyone who feels too much near me."

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight. "The worst part? When I’m with you, it all goes quiet. The noise, the hunger, the pull—it fades. For a few seconds, I remember what peace feels like."

He turned then, his eyes catching the faint light, molten silver. "But that peace terrifies me. Because I know it’s not human comfort I’m responding to—it’s my demon recognizing the source it wants most."

Mailah’s pulse fluttered. "You mean me."

He gave a small, fractured laugh. "Yes. You. You silence the hunger, but you also feed it. Every time you laugh, every time you touch me, I feel it stir. You’re both the cure and the trigger."

Silence pressed between them, thick and trembling.

"So I tried to stay away," he went on, voice low. "Not because I didn’t want you, but because I do. Too much. Because that night of the full feeding, when I nearly lost control, a part of me didn’t want to stop. And that thought has been rotting inside me ever since."

Her breath trembled. "You were saving me."

"I was consuming you," he said softly. "Saving you was the story I told myself so I wouldn’t see the truth."

The confession hung heavy in the air, fragile and terrible.

Mailah took a small step closer, her voice barely a whisper. "So all this time, you’ve been afraid of yourself."

He met her gaze then, and the raw desperation there made her heart ache.

"I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see what I’ve become. Since that night, every dream I have is soaked in you—your energy, your warmth. I can’t even touch someone’s hand without feeling the pull. Every day, I’m fighting to remember what restraint feels like, and every day, I fail a little more."

He gave a quiet, humorless laugh. "So there it is. The great Grayson Ashford—pretending to be human while fantasizing about the woman who keeps him alive."

Mailah’s chest ached. "You think I don’t already see that fight? You think I don’t feel it every time you stop yourself from touching me?"

His eyes widened slightly, the mask slipping.

"You’re not a monster, Grayson," she said, voice shaking. "You’re resisting what you were made to be. That’s more human than most people ever manage."

He stared at her, something breaking open in his expression—relief, disbelief, and raw longing. "Mailah..."

"I should have told you I understood," she whispered. "That I was afraid too. Afraid you’d lose control. Afraid I’d want you anyway."

His laugh came out rough and breathless. "We’re a disaster."

"We really are."

The space between them felt charged, electric. Mailah was acutely aware of his hands on her face, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones, the way his eyes had gone molten silver.

"So," Lucien said loudly, breaking the moment with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, "we’ve established that we’re all liars with complicated pasts. What now?"

Grayson didn’t step back immediately. For a heartbeat longer, he held Mailah’s gaze, something unspoken passing between them. Then he released her and turned to face the group, though his hand found hers and held on.

"Now we figure out who that woman was and what she really wants," Grayson said. "Because none of this—the shop, the vial, the warnings—none of it was random."

"Agreed," Oliver said. "Someone with that much power doesn’t just appear in a market for fun."

"Could she be connected to whoever sent Oliver to watch you?" Elin suggested.

"Possibly," Grayson said. "Or she could be playing a completely different game."

"Either way," Mailah said, finding her voice, "she knew things she shouldn’t have known. About all of us."

The vial pulsed again, brighter this time.

"We need to secure that thing," Oliver said, eyeing it warily. "Before it decides to do more than glow ominously."

"I have a safe in my study," Grayson said. "Warded. It should hold."

"Should?" Elin asked.

"Nothing is certain with supernatural artifacts."

"Comforting."

They spent the next hour establishing protocols—who had access to the safe, what signs they should watch for if the vial’s power grew, how to contact Dr. Soren Morrison for guidance.

It was practical, methodical work that helped ground them all after the emotional devastation of their confessions.

But Mailah kept catching Grayson watching her with an intensity that made her skin heat and her pulse race. Every time their eyes met, something electric passed between them—acknowledgment, promise, heat.

By the time they’d finished, exhaustion had settled over the group like a weight.

"I need sleep," Lucien declared, stretching dramatically. "My delicate constitution can’t handle this much honesty in one day."

"Your delicate constitution," Grayson said dryly, "has survived celestial wars."

"Doesn’t mean I have to enjoy emotional warfare too."

Oliver stood, collecting empty wine glasses with efficient movements. "We should all rest. Tomorrow we can figure out next steps."

They dispersed slowly—Lucien heading upstairs with a theatrical yawn, Elin disappearing to her room with her camera, Oliver to the kitchen to clean up properly despite everyone telling him to leave it.

Then Elin paused, her hand on the doorknob, and turned back. "Wait," she said, voice quieter but sharp, catching everyone’s attention.

Grayson raised a brow. "What is it?"

Elin’s gaze swept across them—Oliver, Lucien, Mailah, Grayson—all suddenly alert, none expecting her to say anything more.

"I... have something to confess," she said, taking a slow step back into the room. The weight in her tone made it impossible to ignore.

Mailah’s brow furrowed. "You? Confess what?"

Elin swallowed, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Lord Varrow isn’t gone. He knows where we are, and he’s coming. I may have... underestimated him."

A cold silence fell. Even the vial’s glow seemed to dim under the tension.

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "What do you mean, underestimated?"

Elin took another step forward, eyes fierce but haunted. "I mean he knows. He’s powerful. And he won’t stop until he has me—or all of us. I thought I could stay ahead... but I was wrong. And now we’re all at risk."

Mailah’s hand instinctively went to her chest. Oliver’s expression hardened. Lucien’s usual theatrics fell away, replaced by a rare seriousness.

"And that’s not even the worst part," Elin continued, voice trembling just enough to make it terrifyingly real. "Because he’s not just coming for me. He wants you too, Grayson. And if he finds a way... he’ll take what he wants—no matter what."

The words hit like a blade. The group froze, the villa suddenly feeling far too small.

Grayson’s eyes darkened, molten silver flaring briefly, his hand tightening over Mailah’s without thought. "Varrow..." he said, low, dangerous, and sharp enough to slice the tension like steel.

Elin swallowed again, gaze flicking nervously to each of them. "I should have told you sooner... but I didn’t know how to say it without putting everyone in immediate danger. Now... I have no choice."

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what would come next.

And in that suspended moment, every heart understood: the danger that had been stalking them from shadows was now a storm heading straight for the villa.