Chapter 405: The Guard 2

In a single fluid motion, Grayson stepped into the space beside Mailah, brushed Ethan’s arm aside with firm, undisputed force, and wrapped his long, powerful arm securely around Mailah’s waist. He pulled her flush against his broad chest, anchoring her body against his solid frame like an unshakeable mountain.

Mailah gasped, her back pressed firmly against Grayson’s warm, dark turtleneck.

Grayson stared down at Ethan with cold, triumphant arrogance, his dark eyes burning with undisputed possessiveness.

"I am her husband," Grayson announced smoothly, his deep voice vibrating against Mailah’s back. "I am her primary structural support. She shall lean on no other male frame."

Ethan raised both hands in a non-threatening gesture, stepping back two inches. "Uh... Mr. Ashford, she needs to practice balancing her own weight. If you hold her entire waist, her ankle isn’t doing any work."

"I am not holding her entire waist," Grayson argued haughtily, refusing to loosen his grip by even a millimeter. "I am providing stabilization. Proceed with the count, therapist."

Mailah looked up at Grayson’s sharp profile. His jaw was set in a stubborn, proud line, his broad chest rising and falling as he held her tight. She could feel the heavy, intense heat radiating off his body—not a soft spring breeze, but a deep, commanding warmth that felt entirely protective.

Mailah looked over at Ethan and gave a helpless, amused shrug. "It’s okay, Ethan. Let’s just do the fifteen seconds like this."

Ethan let out a quiet, amused sigh. "Alright. Starting the count... one, two, three..."

During the entire fifteen seconds, Grayson didn’t take his eyes off Ethan for a single second. He stood like an ancient guardian, holding Mailah securely against his hip, his dark gaze radiating a clear message:

She is mine.

When the count reached fifteen, Mailah lowered her foot back to the floor. "Phew! That was actually pretty tough!"

"You did great!" Ethan smiled, picking up his tablet to log the progress. "Your ankle stability is improving really fast. We’ll do two more sets of that, and then we’re done for today."

"Awesome," Mailah said, stepping out of Grayson’s grip and sitting back down on the velvet chair. She looked up at Ethan with a warm, comfortable smile. "You know, Ethan, you’re really good at this. I was so worried about physical therapy being painful, but you make it super easy and fun."

"I appreciate that, Mailah," Ethan said genuinely, packing his resistance bands back into his bag. "A lot of recovery is mental. If you feel comfortable and relaxed, your body heals twice as fast."

"Well, I definitely feel comfortable," Mailah said warmly, giving Ethan a casual, friendly high-five as he stood up. "Thanks for today!"

Ethan high-fived her back with a bright smile. "See you on Saturday at nine!"

CRACK.

Grayson had accidentally snapped the plastic clip off his wooden clipboard.

He stood frozen in the center of the room, staring at the casual high-five Mailah had just shared with the fairy. A high-five! A comfortable, friendly, casual gesture of camaraderie!

Grayson’s dark eyes flicked to Mailah’s smiling face, then to Ethan’s hand, then back to Mailah. The sheer, overwhelming pettiness in his soul reached unprecedented heights.

"Saturday," Grayson muttered under his breath, his voice dropping into a dark, ominous rumble. "Nine in the morning."

"I’ll see myself out," Ethan said quickly, sensing the sudden drop in atmospheric pressure. He bowed politely to Mailah and briskly walked out of the sunroom toward the front door.

Grayson marched right behind him, ensuring the fairy left the premises without stopping to admire any more human dance traditions.

CLANG.

The front door slammed shut. Grayson locked the brass latch, turned the deadbolt, and applied another dark ward over the frame for good measure.

Silence fell over the estate.

Mailah sat in her velvet chair, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea. She knew what was coming. She could hear the heavy, slow footsteps echoing down the hallway as Grayson returned.

When Grayson stepped back into the sunroom, he looked like a brooding tragedy from an ancient play.

He walked over to the velvet chair, but he didn’t sit down. He stood directly in front of Mailah, towering over her, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. His dark eyes were glossy, deep, and filled with a hilarious mix of wounded pride, intense jealousy, and dramatic suffering.

"You high-fived him," Grayson stated softly. It was not a question; it was an indictment of high treason.

Mailah took a slow sip of her tea, hiding her smile behind the porcelain cup. "I did. He did a great job today."

"You discussed spring festivals," Grayson continued, his voice dropping an octave into velvet agony. "You expressed a desire to dance under blooming trees. You laughed at his unamusing remarks three times. And you explicitly stated that you feel ’comfortable’ in his presence."

Mailah set her teacup down on the small table. She looked up at her towering, impossibly handsome demon husband.

She did not immediately apologize. She remembered Tuesday night, and she decided to keep her stance steady.

"Grayson, Ethan is my physical therapist," Mailah said calmly, resting her hands in her lap. "He is kind, he is very good at his job, and yes, I feel comfortable around him. It makes my recovery much easier."

Grayson flinched slightly, as if her words were small physical blows to his royal pride. He looked down at her, his jaw tightening, his dark eyes burning with an intense, possessive storm.

"He does not deny that he is pleasant," Grayson whispered, his deep voice trembling with dramatic vulnerability. "You do not deny that his spring aura is delightful. You sit before me—your husband, a lord who has ruled dark realms for hundreds of years—and you openly praise another male’s gentle demeanor!"

"Grayson, I told you on Tuesday," Mailah reminded him gently, sitting up straight. "You have your own strengths. You don’t need to be Ethan. I am your wife, and I am here with you."

Grayson stepped closer. He took a slow, heavy breath, his long shadow falling over her entire form.

"You continue to cite our marital status," Grayson murmured, his deep voice suddenly dropping into a low, swoon-worthy purr that sent a sudden, electric shiver straight down Mailah’s spine. "You tell me I have ’strengths.’ But you do not tell me that he is nothing to you."

He leaned down slowly. He didn’t use physical force, but his sheer presence was vast, overwhelming, and utterly captivating. He placed his large, warm palms on the armrests of her velvet chair, trapping her securely between his broad shoulders.

His sharp, breathtaking face was inches from hers. His now dark charcoal eyes burned with a raw, intense devotion that made Mailah’s breath catch completely in her throat.

"Tell me, Mailah," Grayson whispered softly, his dark eyes locking onto her lips, his warm breath fanning against her skin. "Does his gentle spring aura make your heart beat like this?"

Mailah’s pulse hammered wildly against her ribs. She stared into his handsome, sharp face, completely breathless under his possessive, romantic gaze.

"No," Mailah whispered honestly, her voice barely audible.

A subtle, victorious smirk touched Grayson’s lips. It was a breathtaking, arrogant, devastatingly handsome smile that lit up his entire face.

"Good," Grayson rumbled softly, leaning in until his lips brushed gently against the corner of her mouth. "Because he may possess soft breezes and blooming trees... but I possess you. Entirely. Forever."

He straightened up in one fluid, majestic motion, smoothing down his black turtleneck with supreme, regal satisfaction.

"I will go to the kitchen," Grayson announced haughtily, holding his chin high as if he had just won a war. "I will bake a batch of dark chocolate scones."

Mailah burst out laughing, leaning back against her pillows, her heart full of warmth and love for her utterly ridiculous, deeply devoted demon lord.

"I can’t wait, Mr. Probation," Mailah smiled softly, watching him march toward the kitchen with the majestic stride of a king. "Make sure they’re ten out of ten!"

"They will be eleven out of ten!" Grayson called back arrogantly from the hallway. "The fairy could never!"

Twenty minutes later, the rich, buttery aroma of dark cocoa drifted down the long hallway, filling the sunroom with an intoxicating scent.

Grayson re-entered the room with the dramatic flair of a Michelin-star chef entering a royal dining hall. He had put his duck apron back on over his sleek black turtleneck—an absurdly hilarious contrast that Mailah knew she would never grow tired of seeing. On a silver serving tray, he carried a plate of six dark chocolate scones, warm steam rising softly from their tops. Beside them sat a porcelain boat of freshly whipped clotted cream and a small dish of raspberry preserves.

He set the tray down on the low wooden table with surgical precision.

"Observe," Grayson announced, taking his seat on the rug with his posture as straight as a sword. "Dark chocolate scones. Baked at precisely three hundred and seventy-five degrees for fourteen minutes and twenty seconds. Each scone features identical angles. No floral magic was used in their creation—only pure skill and total devotion."

Mailah smiled, setting her tea down and reaching for one of the warm pastries. "They look amazing, Grayson."

"Do not merely look," Grayson instructed gravely, his dark eyes locked onto her hands with intense anticipation. "Taste it. Compare its structural perfection to whatever grassy snacks the woodland creature likely consumes."

Mailah took a small, careful bite. The outer crust yielded with a delicate crunch, revealing a soft, warm center that practically melted on her tongue. The dark chocolate was rich, deep, and perfectly sweet. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh of delight.

"Well?" Grayson asked instantly. His deep voice carried that hilarious, telltale edge of nervous tension, his sharp jaw tight as he waited for his evaluation. "Is the cocoa ratio acceptable? Does it outshine the spring aura?"

"It is incredible," Mailah admitted, opening her eyes to see his handsome face leaning in close. "Truly an eleven out of ten. You really are a master chef now, Mr. Probation."

A sudden, victorious smirk touched Grayson’s lips. The lingering tension in his broad shoulders melted away, replaced by a wave of pure, aristocratic pride. He leaned closer, resting one large, warm hand over hers on the table. His dark eyes softened with a devastating, swoon-worthy warmth that made her breath catch.