Chapter 455: The Missing Demon 1

Chloe stuck her head out into the cold rain, holding a cup of tea. She looked down at them with a look of pure, dramatic exhaustion.

“Oh, marvelous!” Chloe shouted over the storm. “Another romantic scene! Should I go find a dramatic violin, or are you two coming inside before you catch a cold? I am trying to read my book in peace, and the sickening sweetness happening on the porch is distracting me!”

Grayson slowly turned his head. He kept one broad arm wrapped around Mailah’s waist while giving his cousin a cold, unbothered look over his shoulder.

“I do not catch human colds, Chloe,” Grayson said in his smooth, dry voice. “And Mailah is dry. Your concern is unnecessary.”

“I am concerned for my own sanity!” Chloe shouted back, laughing as she pulled her head inside and shut the window with a firm click.

Mailah laughed, resting her cheek against Grayson’s chest. “She is right, you know. You are very dramatic.”

“I am attentive,” Grayson corrected flatly. He took the towel from her hands and wrapped it over her shoulders before guiding her into the warm house.

Inside, the cabin was quiet and warm. A fire crackled in the large stone fireplace, casting a golden light across the wooden floor. Grayson hung his wet wool sweater on a drying rack by the door. Even without the heavy sweater, in his plain dark shirt, his tall frame and broad shoulders filled the hallway.

He walked over to the kitchen stove, where a large pot of vegetable and beef stew was bubbling slowly. He picked up a wooden spoon, tasted the broth, and frowned with deep focus.

“It needs seven more minutes,” Grayson stated, as if he were measuring medicine. “The potatoes have not reached the proper level of softness.”

“You are cooking stew, Grayson, not building a clock,” Chloe said, coming out of the side room with a stack of old magazines. “Why do you treat every dinner like a life-or-death mission?”

Grayson did not look up from the pot. “Because unlike you, Chloe, I value quality. When you cooked last Tuesday, the rice was so hard it could have been used as pocket ammo.”

“It was wild rice!” Chloe protested, throwing her hands in the air. “It is supposed to have a chew!”

“It had a crunch,” Grayson replied, his voice completely deadpan. “There is a distinct difference between rustic cooking and teeth hazard.”

Mailah sat down at the wooden table, hiding her smile behind her hand. Listening to the two of them was like watching two stubborn cats argue over the sunniest spot on the rug. Grayson was over three hundred years old, a former lord of shadows who could intimidate strong men with a single look, yet here he was, deeply offended by undercooked rice and a loose window shutter.

After a quiet, warm dinner, Chloe stretched her arms and yawned loudly.

“I am taking the extra lantern and going to the small storage shed out back,” Chloe announced, standing up from the table. “I saw a box of old board games near the back wall earlier. If I have to spend another hour watching Grayson stare at Mailah like she hung the moon, I am going to pass out from boredom.”

Grayson did not look up from wiping the wooden counter. “The back shed has low beams. Try not to knock yourself out. I do not wish to carry you back.”

“I have eyes, Grayson!” Chloe called out, pulling on her yellow raincoat and boots. “I will be back in five minutes.”

The heavy wooden door shut behind her.

Mailah stood up to help Grayson with the dishes. As she reached for a dry towel, Grayson caught her wrist softly. He pulled her gently toward him until her back rested against the edge of the kitchen counter. His large, warm hands settled on her waist, his thumbs rubbing soft circles through her sweater.

“You are quiet tonight,” Grayson whispered, his dark blue eyes searching her face with quiet intensity.

“Just peaceful,” Mailah answered, looking up at his sharp cheekbones. “I like seeing you like this. Doing normal things. Fixing shutters, making stew, arguing with Chloe.”

Grayson leaned down, resting his forehead lightly against hers. His breath was warm against her skin. “Normal things are easy when you are here. Without you, this cabin is just wood and stone. With you, it is… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” Mailah smiled, raising an eyebrow. “How romantic.”

“It is high praise coming from me,” Grayson murmured against her lips. He pressed a slow, sweet kiss to her mouth, lingering just long enough to make her heart race before drawing back with a small, rare smirk. “I have high standards.”

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.

The rain outside picked up, turning into a steady, heavy pour that drummed loudly against the roof. The wind howled through the high pine trees surrounding the property.

Mailah looked at the wall clock. “Chloe has been gone a long time. The shed is only twenty steps away.”

Grayson paused, a clean glass dish in his hand. His expression did not change, but his shoulders went rigid.

“She is likely inspecting old clutter,” Grayson said calmly, placing the dish on the shelf. “Chloe has the attention span of a mountain squirrel.”

“Still, it’s pouring out there,” Mailah said, stepping toward the window. “Let me look out.”

Mailah peered through the dark glass. Through the heavy sheets of rain, she could see the small wooden outline of the storage shed. The door was swung wide open, banging against the outer frame in the wind. The inside was completely dark.

“Grayson,” Mailah said, her voice dropping. “The shed door is open, but there’s no light inside.”

Grayson was at the window in a second. He did not rush, but his movement was so fast and smooth it was almost a blur. He stood right behind Mailah, his tall body blocking the ambient warmth of the room as his eyes narrowed into the pitch-black yard.

Incubi had exceptional night vision, a small detail he rarely flexed unless necessary. His eyes flashed a faint, dark crimson for a fraction of a second before returning to deep blue.

“She is not in the shed,” Grayson stated flatly.

“Did she come back through the side door?” Mailah asked, already walking toward the hall. “Chloe? Chloe!”

No answer. The small cabin was quiet except for the sound of the storm outside.

Mailah turned back to Grayson, a knot of worry forming in her stomach. “Where could she have gone?”

Grayson stood in the center of the kitchen. His face was a mask of utter stone, calm and cold. To anyone else, he looked completely unbothered. But Mailah knew him. She saw the tight pulse in his jaw and the way his knuckles turned white against his side.

He claimed to find his cousin annoying. He complained about her loud voice, her messy shoes, and her bad cooking every single day. But deep down, Chloe was the only family he had left from the old world.

“She is foolish,” Grayson muttered, his raspy voice dropping an octave. “Extremely foolish.”

“Grayson, what is it?”

“Her tracks lead away from the shed toward the north ridge,” Grayson said, grabbing his heavy wool coat from the wooden peg. “There is a stray beagle that lives near the ranger post up the hill. She mentioned wanting to feed it earlier.”

“In this storm?” Mailah asked, horrified. “The north ridge is full of drop-offs and slippery mud!”

“Precisely,” Grayson said. He reached into the hall closet and pulled out a long, heavy rain oilskin. He walked over to Mailah, unfolding a thick waterproof jacket and wrapping it firmly around her shoulders. He zipped it up to her chin with quick, steady fingers.

“You don’t have to come,” Grayson said, his hands lingering on the collar of her jacket. His dark eyes held hers with fierce protection. “Stay here by the fire. I will retrieve her.”

“I am not sitting here alone while you two are out in a storm,” Mailah said firmly, taking his hand. “We go together.”

Grayson stared at her for a moment, his gaze softening just a fraction. He squeezed her hand back, hard and reassuring. “Stay close to me. The ground is treacherous tonight.”

He grabbed two heavy brass flashlights, handed one to her, and opened the cabin door into the roaring storm.

The wind hit them like a wall. Cold rain stung Mailah’s face instantly, but as soon as they stepped onto the muddy path, Grayson shifted his position, walking slightly ahead and to the windward side, using his broad body to shield her from the worst of the cold gust.

His hand was locked around hers like a steel vise, warm and steady despite the ice-cold rain pouring over them.

“Chloe!” Mailah shouted into the dark, her flashlight beam cutting through the thick fog and rain. “Chloe!”

Only the sound of howling wind answered.

They moved up the narrow forest trail toward the north ridge. The mud was thick and slick, pulling at Mailah’s boots with every step. Suddenly, her foot slipped on a wet tree root.

“Woah—!”

Before she could fall, Grayson’s arm swept around her waist, catching her weight instantly and pulling her up against his chest without missing a single beat. He held her steady against his side, his breath hot against her ear.

“I have you,” he murmured low. “Step where I step.”

“Thank you,” Mailah breathed, clinging to his forearm.

He didn’t let go of her waist after that. He kept one arm firmly around her, carrying half her weight effortlessly as they pushed deeper into the dark pine forest.