CHAPTER 47: CHAPTER 47: THE INTRODUCTION 2

"EIGHT HUNDRED YEARS?" Mailah’s voice came out slightly strangled. "But you look like you’re barely thirty."

"One of the perks," Soren said with evident amusement. "We age rather differently than humans. I suppose by your standards, I’m still considered quite young."

The revelation sent her mind spinning. She had known intellectually that she was dealing with supernatural beings, but hearing it stated so matter-of-factly made it feel suddenly, viscerally real.

"What about Grayson?" she found herself asking. "How old is he?"

Soren’s expression grew more thoughtful. "That’s a question you should ask him yourself, when you’re both recovered. But I will say that incubi tend to have very long lifespans—centuries, sometimes millennia."

The thought of Grayson having lived for centuries, of all the experiences and relationships he must have had before her, sent an unexpected pang of something that might have been jealousy through her chest.

"You said his kind doesn’t form emotional attachments," she said carefully. "What did you mean by that?"

"Incubi and succubi are creatures of pure physical need," Soren explained, his tone taking on the quality of a professor giving a lecture. "They’re designed to inspire lust and desire in their prey, but emotional attachment would make feeding... complicated. It’s a survival mechanism, really. Caring about your victims makes it much harder to drain them dry."

"But Grayson seems to care about me," Mailah said quietly. "I can see it in his eyes, feel it when he touches me."

"Yes," Soren agreed simply. "Which is what makes your situation so unprecedented. In all my centuries of study and practice, I’ve never encountered an incubus capable of genuine emotional connection."

The weight of his words settled over her like a heavy blanket.

She was an anomaly, a disruption in the natural order of things that could have consequences she couldn’t even begin to imagine.

"Is that really why he was starving himself?" she asked. "Because he was trying to avoid forming attachments?"

Soren was quiet for a long moment, and she could see him weighing how much to reveal. "Grayson has always been... different from others of his kind," he said finally. "Even before you arrived, he struggled with the necessity of feeding. The act of taking life force, even when it doesn’t result in death, began to weigh on him in ways it shouldn’t have."

"How long has he been here? In this house, I mean."

"Nearly a century," Soren replied. "It was meant to be a place of retirement, a sanctuary where he could feed minimally and avoid the more... predatory aspects of his nature."

"And the arranged marriages?" Mailah asked, thinking of Lailah and the life her twin sister had been living.

"Arranged marriages provide a source of life force without the emotional complications of seduction and abandonment. The feeding can be gradual, subtle, often unnoticed by the human partner." Soren’s expression grew slightly sad. "It’s not a particularly fulfilling existence for either party, but it’s safer than the alternative."

The picture he was painting of Grayson’s life before her arrival was bleak—centuries of careful control, emotional starvation, and a slow descent into despair that had nearly led him to fade away entirely.

"What would have happened if I hadn’t come here?" she asked, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.

"He would have died," Soren said simply. "Not quickly, not dramatically, but slowly and quietly, like a flame being gradually deprived of oxygen. It’s not uncommon among his kind, actually. The older they get, the more difficult it becomes to maintain the emotional detachment necessary for survival."

The thought of Grayson simply fading away, alone in this vast house, was almost unbearable.

The conversation was painting a picture of a supernatural world far more complex and nuanced than she had imagined.

It wasn’t simply a matter of monsters and victims, but of ancient creatures struggling with their own nature, trying to find ways to exist without destroying everything they touched.

"What happens now?" she asked quietly. "When we’ve both recovered, what then?"

Soren was quiet for a long moment, his ancient eyes studying her face with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable.

"I don’t know," he admitted finally. "Your situation is truly unprecedented. There are no guidelines, no established protocols for dealing with an emotional bond between an incubus and his intended victim. We’re quite literally making this up as we go along."

The uncertainty in his voice was both terrifying and oddly liberating. If there were no rules, no precedents, then perhaps they could write their own story.

"Are there others like you?" she asked. "Other supernatural beings who try to help?"

"Some," Soren said. "There are fae, vampires who’ve learned to subsist on donated blood, werewolves who’ve integrated into human society. The supernatural world isn’t as black and white as your folklore suggests. Many of us are simply trying to find ways to exist without causing harm."

"And some aren’t?"

"Some aren’t," he confirmed grimly. "Which is why Grayson’s emotional involvement with you could be seen as a weakness by others of his kind. Incubi who’ve maintained their emotional detachment might view him as a threat to their way of life."

The implication sent a chill down her spine.

"However," Soren said carefully. "Grayson’s reputation for being... unconventional might work in your favor. Most of his kind already consider him something of an oddity."

As if to punctuate his words, a soft knock sounded at the door. Soren rose smoothly from his chair and moved to answer it, revealing Vivienne standing in the hallway with a tea service.

"I thought you might want some proper refreshment," Vivienne said, her keen eyes taking in the scene. "And to report that our patient has been successfully convinced to rest in his own quarters."

"Thank you, Vivienne," Soren said, accepting the tea tray. "How did he take the enforced separation?"

"About as well as you’d expect," Vivienne replied dryly. "Though I suspect he’ll be counting the hours."

The thought of Grayson lying awake in his room, as restless and frustrated as she was, sent a warm flutter through Mailah’s chest. At least she wasn’t suffering alone.

"Twenty-three hours and counting," Vivienne added with a slight smile before disappearing back down the hallway.

As Dr. Morrison poured tea with supernatural precision, Mailah found herself staring out the window, wondering what the next twenty-three hours would bring—and what would happen when this enforced separation finally came to an end.