CHAPTER 59: CHAPTER 59: THE DEMON’S PROMISE

"OPEN THEM," he said quietly, watching her face with the intensity of a man whose entire future hung in the balance.

After Grayson spoke, silence settled over them—not the gentle kind, but the kind that pulled tight and held its breath, steeped in the echoes of what had been revealed and the threat of what had yet to break free.

Mailah’s grip on the black envelopes faltered, their surface devouring the day’s last golden glow until nothing but shadow remained.

The paper felt wrong beneath her fingertips—not quite hot, not quite cold, but something that made her skin crawl.

It was as if the envelopes themselves were alive, pulsing with a malevolent energy.

"How long have you been receiving these?" she asked, as she turned the first envelope over in her hands.

"Decades," Grayson replied, his voice carrying a flatness that spoke of resigned acceptance. "The first one arrived two centuries after our exile. They kept coming after that, always with the same black paper."

Mailah’s thumb traced the edge of the envelope’s seal—a symbol that seemed to burn itself into her retina even as she looked away. "

"I knew what they contained before I even opened them," he admitted, his voice heavy with old resignation. "Reminders. About soul dissolution that comes from refusing to feed, from denying what I am."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "I was completely indifferent to them. I’d already chosen—I’d rather cease to exist than embrace my nature."

Mailah felt a chill run through her as the full implications of his words sank in.

The admission was stark, uncompromising. "I’d rather die than take what I need to survive, than become the monster that justified our exile in the first place."

"Until weeks ago," he continued, "when I received the last envelope and for the first time in centuries, I felt afraid."

He gestured toward the paper in her hands, and she noticed the way his entire body seemed to tense, as if even thinking about that moment caused him physical pain.

"What made this one different?" she asked.

The seal broke beneath her fingers, and immediately the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

But when she unfolded the letter inside, her breath caught in her throat.

Unlike the lengthy reminders in the other envelopes, this envelope contained only three words, scrawled across the black paper in script that seemed to pulse with malevolent life:

Time’s ticking, Ashford.

The simplicity of it was somehow more terrifying. There was something almost mocking about the brevity, as if whatever entity had written it was tired of formalities and ready to watch the final act unfold.

She stared at the words until they seemed to sear themselves into her retina, then looked up to find Grayson watching her.

"It wasn’t the words that terrified me," he said quietly. "I’d seen similar messages before—reminders, taunts, final warnings. The content was nothing new."

"Then what?" she whispered, though something in his expression suggested she already knew the answer.

"It was how I felt when I read them," he admitted, his hands clenching at his sides. "For decades, every envelope that arrived was just... confirmation. An update on a process I’d set in motion and accepted. But when I opened this one, when I saw those words, something inside me rebelled against what they meant."

"Ever since you arrived, something has been changing in me—something I didn’t want to acknowledge. My original plan, the path I’d chosen, the acceptance of dissolution... it all started to feel wrong."

He moved closer, and she could see the war playing out in his blue eyes—centuries of resigned acceptance battling against something new and desperate.

"For the first time in decades, when I saw those words, I didn’t feel indifferent. I felt terrified. Of disappearing before I could discover what life might be like with you in it."

The realization slammed into her, stealing the air from her lungs and making her legs weak. "You’ve been planning to die this whole time. You really wanted this."

"I was indifferent to it," he corrected gently, but the distinction felt hollow. "There’s a difference between wanting death and simply not caring enough to fight it. I’d made my peace with the idea of simply... fading away. It seemed fitting, somehow. A quiet end to a life I’d grown tired of living."

"So what now?" she asked, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. "You’ve realized you want to live, but you’re terrified of what living actually means."

"Yes." The single word carried the weight of his entire existence.

"Then you feed," she said, the words coming out fierce and determined, carrying none of the hesitation she might have felt. "You choose to live, and you embrace whatever you need to embrace to survive this."

Grayson’s eyes widened slightly, as if her immediate acceptance had caught him completely off guard. "Mailah, if I feed as an incubus, if I let that part of my nature fully resurface after centuries of suppression, I won’t be the same man. The hunger, the need to possess and consume, the predatory instincts—all of it will come back stronger than ever."

"Good," she said, surprising them both with the vehemence in her voice. "Because the man I’ve been getting to know has been slowly dying for centuries, poisoning himself with self-hatred and denial. Maybe it’s time I met the real Grayson Ashford—all of him."

She watched as something shifted in his expression. For a moment, she caught a glimpse of what he might be like with his supernatural nature fully unleashed, and the sight sent heat pooling low in her belly.

"You might regret it after," he warned, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to resonate in her bones.

"Will I?" she challenged, closing the remaining distance between them until they were close enough that she could see the gray flecks in his blue eyes, could feel the careful control he was maintaining even now. "I’ve seen enough of your world to know that nothing about it is safe or simple. But I’m still here, aren’t I? Still choosing to stay despite everything that’s happened, everything I’ve learned."

"Even knowing that I lied to you? That I’ve been deceiving you from the very beginning?"

The question lingered between them, and Mailah found herself considering it seriously.

The hurt from his deception was real, would probably always be there on some level. But weighing against it was everything else—the way he’d protected her from his brother, the careful gentleness he’d shown her, the obvious torment he’d been experiencing as he struggled with his true nature to keep her safe. Her own deception.

"I forgive you," she said finally, and watched as something like wonder flickered across his features. "Not because what you did was right, but because I understand why you did it. You were protecting yourself the only way you knew how, just like I was protecting myself by pretending to be Lailah."

"Mailah—"

"But I have one condition," she continued, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say.

Her voice carried a note of steel that made him go still, made his eyes narrow with sudden attention. "You’re going to live. Whatever it takes, whatever you need to do or become, you’re going to fight this dissolution and you’re going to survive. Because I didn’t go through hell with demons, Dream walkers and all the rest of it just to watch you fade away because you’re too stubborn to embrace who you really are."

The ultimatum hung between them like a bridge, challenging him to cross it, to choose life over the slow suicide he’d been committing for centuries.

She could see the war playing out across his features—centuries of self-loathing battling against the possibility of a future he’d never allowed himself to imagine.

"And if what I become frightens you?" he asked quietly. "If the real me is too much, too dangerous, too—"

"Then we’ll figure it out," she interrupted, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. His skin was warm beneath her palms, real and solid and very much alive.

Their gazes tangled, the tension so molten it felt like a kiss waiting to happen, barely restrained by breath and willpower.

He tilted into her hand, a tremor running through him as the unyielding tension in his body began to unravel under her fingertips.

"One day," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "If we can’t figure out how to do this safely, if tomorrow night’s feeding goes wrong—"

"It won’t," she said with absolute conviction. "Because we’re not going into this blind or unprepared. We’re going to spend every remaining hour making sure you survive this, making sure we both do."

The promise tore the last threads of his restraint apart.

In an instant, she was pinned against the unyielding heat of his body, his chest a solid wall against her pounding heart.

His arms locked around her like they would never let go, hands splaying across her back, pulling her in until there was no space left between them.

She felt the rough drag of his breath against her ear, the press of his heartbeat thundering in sync with hers.

His scent surrounded her, dark and intoxicating, and every brush of his body sent shivers racing through her veins.

This wasn’t careful, this wasn’t controlled—this was raw hunger, the kind that scorched everything it touched.

His fingers flexed against her spine, anchoring her while his head dipped, lips hovering just above hers, close enough for her to feel the tremble in his breath as though he were one second away from consuming her whole.

"I will never cause you pain".

With those words echoing in her mind, she felt his strong arms encircle her waist, lifting her onto the top of his desk.