Chapter 391: The Demon’s Apology
"Does this mean my probation is going well?" he asked softly, a tiny, hopeful smirk touching his lips.
Mailah let out a breathless laugh. She reached out, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt, and pulled him down toward her.
"It means," Mailah whispered against his lips, "that you get to carry me upstairs. But do not get any ideas, demon boy. You are sleeping on the couch."
Grayson blinked, his hands pausing on her waist. "The couch?"
"The very same," Mailah said, tapping his chest with a sharp index finger. "Did you really think one good meal and a leg massage completely erased four weeks of radio silence? You broke my trust, Grayson. Bed privileges are earned, not granted on day one of probation."
Grayson looked down at her, taking in the stubborn tilt of her chin and the resolute sparkle in her eyes. Instead of arguing or looking put out, a low, quiet laugh rumbled in his chest. A look of deep, hopeless affection settled over his sharp features.
"The couch," he repeated softly, nodding in complete agreement. "I deserve far worse than the couch, to be honest. I’ll sleep on stone if it keeps you near me."
Before she could react to how utterly swoon-worthy that sounded, his arms slid smoothly under her back and knees, scooping her up into his chest. Mailah let out a tiny gasp, her hands instinctively flying around his neck to anchor herself.
Her bad knee gave a small, dull throb at the movement, making her wince slightly. Grayson caught the tiny flicker of pain on her face immediately. He paused, holding her against his heart with absolute steadiness.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked softly, his brow furrowing with sudden concern. "Is it your leg?"
"No, no, it’s fine," Mailah said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "My knee just gets angry whenever I shift around too fast. You move like a sports car, Grayson. Slow down."
"A sports car," Grayson repeated dryly, turning toward the grand staircase. "I am an ancient, immortal being, Mailah. I do not ’move like a sports car.’"
"You accelerated from zero to sixty in half a second just to catch me," she pointed out, tapping his collarbone. "That’s sports car behavior. Now drive carefully up these stairs. If you drop me, your couch sentence extends to a month."
Grayson tightened his grip on her, pulling her even closer so there was zero chance of her slipping. "I am not going to drop my wife."
As Grayson walked up the wide stone stairs, his steps were impossibly smooth. It felt like riding on a cloud. Mailah closed her eyes, listening to the calm, steady thud of his heart. For a man who claimed to be a creature of darkness and fire, his chest felt warmer and safer than anywhere else in the world.
When they reached the master bedroom, Grayson pushed the door open with his foot. The room was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight streaming through the tall windows.
He walked over to the giant canopy bed and lowered her onto the soft mattress with extreme care, as if she were made of thin glass. Before Mailah could pull her bad leg up under the blanket, Grayson gently took her right foot in his hands.
"Wait," he murmured. "Let me look at the knee first."
He reached over to the nightstand, turning on a soft lamp that cast a warm, golden glow over the bed. Then, kneeling on the carpet beside the mattress, he slowly rolled up the leg of her soft lounge pants.
Underneath, her right knee was wrapped in a neat white bandage. The skin around it was slightly bruised and swollen, a lingering reminder of the bad fall she had taken weeks ago while trying to navigate the estate’s massive grounds on her own.
Grayson’s hand hovered over the bandage. His fingers trembled slightly. The sight of her injury seemed to hit him like a physical blow.
"Does it still hurt a lot?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, painful whisper.
"Only when I try to walk on it," Mailah said softly, watching his reaction. "Soren said the bone is fine, but the ligaments are stretched. I’m supposed to rest it, but I was so mad at you that I kept trying to walk around."
Grayson lowered his head, resting his forehead gently against her bandaged knee. "I am so sorry," he whispered into the cloth. "You were hurt, and you were alone. You had to drag yourself around this big, empty house while I was gone."
Mailah felt the deep guilt rolling off him in waves. He looked so dramatically heartbroken that he reminded her of a tragic hero in a historical drama. Part of her wanted to tease him, but another part of her just wanted to soothe the pain in his eyes.
She reached out, running her fingers through his dark, soft hair. "Hey. Look at me."
Grayson lifted his head, his dark eyes wide and full of regret.
"I’m still mad at you for leaving," Mailah said gently, "and you are definitely sleeping on the couch. But my leg is going to heal. And right now, it feels a lot better because you’re actually here."
Grayson stared at her for a long moment. Then, with heartbreaking sweetness, he leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right over the bandage on her knee.
"I’ll take care of it," he promised, looking up at her through his dark lashes.
He stood up, walked over to the corner of the large bedroom, and picked up two heavy feather pillows from the armchair. He brought them back to the bed, carefully propping her bad leg up so there was no pressure on her knee.
Once her leg was safe, Mailah pointed toward the large, plush velvet sofa sitting near the fireplace across the room.
"Your quarters await, demon lord," she announced, trying to keep a straight face.
Grayson looked at the sofa. He was six-foot-two, broad-shouldered, and built like a warrior. The sofa was long, but it was definitely going to be a tight squeeze for his tall frame.
He didn’t complain once. He simply walked over, grabbed a spare wool blanket from the chest at the foot of her bed, and tossed it over the sofa cushion.
"If you need anything during the night—water, extra pillows, or if your leg aches—you call my name," Grayson said, standing beside the sofa and looking across the room at her with total seriousness. "I will be right here."
Mailah pulled her duvet up to her chin, biting back a smile. Seeing this powerful, brooding creature willingly folding himself onto a velvet couch just to respect her boundaries was unbelievably charming.
"Goodnight, Grayson," she said softly.
"Goodnight, my love," he replied, settling down onto the cushions. His long legs stretched out slightly over the armrest, but his dark eyes stayed fixed on her until she finally closed her eyes.
The next morning, Mailah woke up to the heavenly smell of fresh coffee and buttered toast.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the bright morning light filling the bedroom. She turned her head and immediately caught Grayson standing right beside her bed.
He was dressed in a crisp, dark blue button-down shirt, looking like he had just stepped off a high-fashion runway. In his hands, he held a wide silver tray loaded with food.
"Good morning," Grayson said smoothly, his dark eyes locking onto hers with intense focus. "I have prepared your morning meal."
Mailah sat up slowly, leaning back against the headboard. She adjusted her bad leg, which felt surprisingly well-rested after a full night on the pillows. She looked at the silver tray in his hands, then up at his impossibly handsome face.
"What is all this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Rule number two," Grayson announced with total seriousness, as if he were delivering a speech to a royal court. "Real coffee every morning. I have also prepared a light breakfast to ensure your body has enough energy to heal your leg."
He set the silver tray carefully across her lap.
On the tray sat a plate of perfectly scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, sliced fruit, and a steaming ceramic mug of coffee. Beside the mug was a small bowl of sweet rice porridge—a classic Korean comfort food that she hadn’t eaten in months.
Mailah looked at the bowl of porridge in shock. "Did you make porridge?"
"I read three different cooking guides online this morning while you were sleeping," Grayson said, standing tall with his hands behind his back. He looked deeply proud of himself, like a student waiting for a gold star. "I learned that rice porridge is good for recovering patients. I simmered the rice for two hours."
Mailah bit her lip, trying desperately to suppress the warm, bubbly laugh rising in her chest. The sight of a powerful, centuries-old incubus studying human cooking blogs at four in the morning just to make her porridge was almost too cute to bear.
"Well," Mailah said, picking up the coffee mug first. "Let’s test the coffee first. Did you fix the foam heart?"
Grayson’s posture stiffened slightly. "Look closely."
Mailah looked down into the cup.