CHAPTER 148: CHAPTER 148: THE CONFESSION

"NOW... I HAVE NO CHOICE."

The silence after Elin’s confession stretched like a wire pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Grayson’s hand remained wrapped around Mailah’s, his grip the only thing tethering her to reality as the weight of Varrow’s impending arrival settled over them like a shroud.

"We’ll discuss this tomorrow," Grayson said finally, his voice carrying an authority that left no room for argument. "When we’re all rested and thinking clearly. Right now, we need sleep."

"Sleep?" Lucien’s laugh was hollow. "After learning we have a supernatural warlord still coming for us?"

"Especially after that," Grayson countered. "Exhaustion makes us vulnerable. We need to be sharp."

Oliver nodded slowly. "He’s right. We can’t strategize effectively like this."

Elin looked like she wanted to protest, guilt written across her features, but she simply nodded and retreated to her room without another word.

The group dispersed with considerably less levity than before. Even Shadow seemed to sense the shift, padding upstairs with uncharacteristic solemnity.

Which left Mailah and Grayson alone in the dimly lit living room, the vial secure but the threat very much not.

"I should—" Mailah started.

"I’ll walk you to your room," Grayson said, not a question but a statement of intent.

She didn’t argue.

They climbed the stairs in silence, the old villa creaking around them like it was settling in for the night. The hallway stretched long and shadowed, moonlight filtering through tall windows and painting everything in shades of silver and blue.

Mailah was hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of Grayson’s hand still loosely holding hers, the soft sound of their footsteps on the hardwood, the way her pulse hammered against her ribs with every step closer to her door.

When they reached it, she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob but not turning it.

"Grayson," she said quietly, not quite ready for this moment to end despite the exhaustion pulling at her bones.

"Mm?"

She turned to face him, searching his expression in the low light. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his eyes caught the moonlight—silver and intensely blue and fixed entirely on her.

"About what you said earlier," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "About the feeding, about losing control—"

"Mailah, you don’t have to—"

"I want to know something," she interrupted gently. "Last night. The dream I had." She paused, gathering courage. "Was that real? Were you... there?"

Grayson’s jaw tightened, and for a moment she thought he might lie or deflect. Then his shoulders dropped slightly, resignation bleeding through his control.

"Yes," he said simply.

Her breath caught. "So I didn’t imagine it. The garden, the roses, the way everything felt so—" She stopped, heat creeping up her neck as memories of the dream flooded back.

The kiss. The way his hands had felt on her skin. The raw intimacy of it.

"Real," Grayson finished for her, his voice rough. "It was real. Or as real as dreams can be when an incubus is involved."

"Were you feeding?" The question came out steadier than she felt.

He held her gaze, and she saw the war happening behind his eyes—the desire to protect her versus the need to be honest.

Honesty won.

"Yes and no," he said carefully. "I was in your dream, which means there was some exchange of energy. But Mailah—" He stepped closer, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture achingly gentle. "I controlled it. The narrative, the intensity, the duration. I made sure you could wake up whenever you needed to."

She blinked, processing. "That’s different from before."

"Very different." His hand lingered near her face, not quite touching but close enough that she could feel the heat of him. "Before, during the full feeding, I couldn’t control anything. I could barely think, let alone manipulate the dream space. But last night—" He paused, his expression shifting to something between wonder and concern. "Last night I was in complete control. I knew exactly how much to take, exactly when to stop."

"How?" Mailah asked, her voice breathless. "How did you learn to do that?"

"I don’t know." The admission seemed to cost him. "That’s what terrifies me. Either I’m finally adapting to feeding after centuries of abstinence, or—"

"Or what?"

His eyes darkened. "Or being around you is changing something fundamental in how my demon side operates."

Mailah’s mind raced, trying to understand what that meant. "Is that... bad?"

"I don’t know," he repeated, and she could hear the frustration in his voice. "It could mean I’m learning control. Or it could mean I’m becoming more efficient at taking what I want." His jaw clenched. "And what I want, Mailah, is you. In every way that matters and several that probably shouldn’t."

Her pulse jumped, heat flooding through her at the raw honesty in his words. "In the dream, right at the end. You told me to wake up. Why?", she asked, remembering.

He was quiet for a moment, his jaw working. "Because you needed to wake up. It was part of controlling the narrative—creating urgency, making your mind believe there was a reason to resist staying."

"Wait." She blinked, processing. "So there wasn’t actually someone coming?"

"No." His expression was almost apologetic. "But if I’d simply asked you to wake up, your subconscious would have fought it. The dream was too pleasant, too real. You would have wanted to stay." His voice dropped. "And I would have wanted you to stay. Which is exactly why I couldn’t let that happen."

Understanding dawned on her. "You manufactured the threat."

"I created an exit strategy," he corrected. "One that would make you act on instinct rather than desire. The urgency forced you to wake up before—" He stopped, his hands clenching at his sides.

"Before what?"

"Before I took too much. Before the dream became a trap instead of a visit." His eyes met hers, raw and honest. "I told you I learned to control the narrative. That includes knowing when to end it, even when every part of me wants to keep going."

She stared at him, a mix of frustration and admiration warring in her chest. "So you lied to me. In the dream."

"I protected you," he countered. "There’s a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes." He stepped closer, his voice fierce. "Because the alternative was letting you stay until I’d drained you dry, and I’d rather lie a thousand times than risk that."

The intensity in his words stole her breath.

"Your world is exhausting," she said finally, her voice softer than before.

"I know." He stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "I’m sorry you’re caught up in it."

"I’m not," she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "I mean, yes, it’s terrifying and complicated and I have no idea what I’m doing half the time. But Grayson—" She reached up, her hand resting against his chest where she could feel his heartbeat. "I’m not sorry I’m here. With you. Even with everything."

His hand covered hers, pressing it more firmly against his chest. "You should be."

"Probably. But I’m not good at doing what I should."

"I’ve noticed."

They stood like that for a long moment, caught in the space between what they wanted and what they knew was wise.

The villa was quiet around them, everyone else presumably asleep or at least pretending to be.

"The dream," Mailah said softly, returning to the topic that had been burning in her mind. "You said you controlled the narrative. Does that mean everything that happened—"

"Was what I wanted to show you," he finished, his voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous. "Yes."

"And what you wanted to show me was—" She couldn’t quite finish the sentence, the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, too vivid.

"What it would be like between us if I wasn’t constantly fighting myself. If I could touch you the way I want to. If I could—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "I shouldn’t be telling you this."

"Why not?"

"Because it’s not fair to you. You deserve someone who isn’t a constant danger. Someone who won’t drain your life force every time they get too close."

"What if I don’t want fair?" she challenged, her voice steady despite her racing heart. "What if I want real?"

His eyes flashed silver, and she felt the barely restrained power radiating off him in waves. "Mailah—"

"You said being around me makes the hunger quiet," she continued, emboldened by his confession and her own exhaustion-fueled courage. "What if that’s not because I’m triggering your demon side? What if it’s because I’m grounding your human one?"

He stared at her like she’d just rewritten everything he thought he knew. "That’s not how it works."

"How do you know? Have you ever tried feeding while actually caring about the person you were feeding from?"

Grayson’s entire body went rigid, his breathing shallow.

"No," he admitted finally. "In all my centuries, every feeding has been either accidental or transactional. Never—" He stopped, the word seeming to stick in his throat.

"Never what?"

"Never with someone I was falling for."

The confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable and impossibly honest. Mailah felt tears prick the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the weight of what he’d just admitted.