Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 221: The Snared

"HE WOULDN’T."

"He most probably might," Carson insisted, his bright eyes flashing with a hint of that demonic hunger. "This ring is a ’get out of jail free’ card. If you’re in trouble, you twist the stone twice to the left and point it away from you. It’ll stun everyone within ten feet and give you a head start."

Mailah looked at the ring. It looked small and insignificant against the "Moonlight Silk" of her dress, but it felt like a weapon.

"Why are you giving this to me?" she asked. "Shouldn’t you be on Grayson’s side?"

Carson leaned in, his face inches from hers. For a second, the comedic mask slipped, and she saw the ancient, bored entity underneath. "I am on his side. That doesn’t mean I trust him. The man he is right now? He was a problem then but much more now. I liked him like this when we were still in the realm, but that version of him here on earth, while on exile, would always be bad news. Now, go back out there and try not to get eaten. I have a buffet to terrorize."

With a wink and a swirl of blue silk, Carson vanished back into the crowd, leaving Mailah standing in the shadows with her secret weapon.

It took a few minutes before she took a deep breath and smoothed her dress, stepping back into the ballroom.

She looked across the room and saw Grayson. He had finished his conversation and was scanning the crowd.

When his eyes landed on her, he marched through the crowd, ignoring the lords and ladies who tried to stop him.

He reached her in seconds, his hand snapping out to grab her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"I told you not to move," he hissed, his voice thick with a mix of anger and...relief? He leaned down, his nose brushing against her temple, inhaling the scent of her as if he were starving. "Where did you go?"

"I just... I needed a moment to breathe," Mailah lied, her heart racing.

Grayson pulled back just enough to look at her. His eyes were no longer the dark gray; they were lightening a bit, swirling with that physical yearning that he couldn’t seem to control. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering on the small cut on her lip.

"Your body is trembling," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Is it fear? Or is it because you can feel how much I want to take you away from this place and finish what we started on the mat?"

Mailah’s throat went dry. She could feel the hard line of his body against hers, the raw power radiating off him. Even as her mind screamed that he was a monster, her body was leaning into his heat, answering his silent call.

"Maybe both," she whispered.

Grayson’s eyes darkened again to almost black. He didn’t care about the gala, the lords, or the power plays. In this moment, the pre-exile demon was being drowned out by a hunger that was far more dangerous than any political ambition. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

He lowered his head, his lips just inches from hers, when a loud, booming voice announced the arrival of the High Lord’s herald. The room went silent, and the tension between them snapped like a dry twig.

Grayson pulled back, his jaw tight, his eyes returning to the cold, distant ones. He looked at the herald, then back at Mailah, the mask of the Prince firmly back in place.

"It’s starting," he said, his voice cold and flat.

As they moved toward the center of the room to face the herald, Mailah felt the ring on her finger. She looked at the other Ashford brothers spread throughout the room—Mason watching the door, Ravenson in the shadows, Lucson by the wine, and Carson giving her a tiny, secret wave.

The Herald was not a man, though he wore a suit. He was a creature of tall, spindly limbs and skin that looked like polished birch wood. As he stood at the top of the marble stairs, a heavy, silent pressure filled the room. It was the kind of silence that made your ears pop.

"The House of Ashford," the Herald announced, his voice vibrating not in the air, but directly inside Mailah’s skull. "Your brother has finally acknowledge his seat."

Grayson didn’t flinch. He adjusted his grip on Mailah’s waist, his fingers pressing into the soft velvet of her gown. As they moved deeper into the ballroom, Mailah felt like a lamb being led through a den of wolves who had forgotten what it was like to be full.

The room was a map of power, divided into what Lucson had called Houses. Mailah tried to keep her head up, her eyes darting between the groups. To a normal person, this was just a party of the rich and beautiful. To Mailah, it was a horror show with a high-end dress code.

In the far corner stood a group. They were tall and unnervingly thin, their eyes a flat, oily black. As she watched, the veil of one woman flickered; for a split second, her silk dress seemed to turn into wet, black feathers that ruffled in a wind no one else could feel.

Opposite them were another group. They didn’t even try to hide. One man leaned against a pillar, his "false skin" showing cracks that revealed glowing, molten orange underneath. He smiled at Mailah, showing too many teeth, and the heat coming off him was like standing next to an open oven.

"Don’t look at them," Grayson warned, his voice a low vibration against her ear. "They are testing your resolve. If you blink, they win."

Mailah looked instead at the Ashford brothers. They were the most stable-looking demons in the room, their silver-gray eyes glowing with a calm, icy power. But then she looked at Grayson.

His eyes were different.

They weren’t the steady silver of Lucson or the playful spark of Carson. Grayson’s eyes were a dark, stormy gray that sat on the edge of total blackness.

It was the look of a demon who had passed a "threshold." He was too powerful to be stable, his energy teetering on a knife’s edge between a king and a monster. The physical yearning she felt from him wasn’t just passion; it was a roar of power that wanted to swallow everything in sight.

Then, she saw them. In the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the predatory gazes of the High Lords, was a group of about twelve humans.

They were young, beautiful, and dressed in gala attire, but something was terribly wrong. They stood in a loose circle, laughing and chatting, but their eyes were glassy. One girl was twirling a lock of her hair, a wide, empty smile plastered on her face even as a demon from the first group leaned in and inhaled deeply against the nape of her neck.

The girl didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. She just looked dazed, her spirit being snared and pulled out in tiny, invisible sips.

"They aren’t dates, are they?" Mailah whispered, her stomach turning.

"They are ’vessels,’" Grayson said, his voice devoid of pity. "They were brought here to be consumed. The lower Houses use them to show off their wealth. A human who can stay standing after a feeding is a sign of a ’generous’ master."

"It’s disgusting," Mailah hissed, her hand instinctively going to the iron ring Carson had given her.

"It is the way of our world," Grayson replied. But he didn’t look at the humans. He looked at a man approaching them from the shadows.

He was from probably another House judging from his eyes, which were a piercing violet, and he moved with the slow, arrogant grace of a man who thought he had already won.

"Grayson," he drawled, his voice like silk over a blade. "We heard rumors that your time among the mortals had made you... soft. That you preferred the scent of perfume over the scent of a fresh soul."

His eyes flicked to Mailah, lingering on the small cut on her lip. A dark, nasty smile spread across his face.

"You haven’t fed since you arrived," he continued, loud enough for the nearby Houses to hear. "The High King will be here soon. He does not like a demon who looks like he’s starving. Or perhaps... you’ve forgotten how to take what is yours?"

A low murmur went through the room. The other Ashford brothers moved closer, their silver eyes narrowing. This was a direct challenge. If Grayson didn’t prove his power now, the other Houses would see it as a green light to attack the Ashfords the moment the Gala ended.

Grayson’s hand on Mailah’s waist tightened until she gasped. His eyes went from dark gray to a void of pure, terrifying black. The "threshold" had been crossed. The man she had loved was again gone, replaced by the pre-exile beast who knew only dominance.

"You want a show, Vane?" Grayson rasped, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. "I will give you a lesson."

Grayson didn’t let go of Mailah. He dragged her with him as he stepped into the "Snared Circle."

The humans didn’t notice. They were too far gone, their minds clouded by the magic of the room. Grayson stopped in front of a young man who looked like a college student—fit, healthy, and completely unaware.

"Watch," Grayson commanded Mailah.

"Grayson, please," she pleaded, her voice breaking.

He ignored her. He didn’t use claws. He simply placed his hand over the young man’s heart.

The air in the ballroom seemed to rush toward Grayson, like a vacuum had been opened. Grayson’s eyes were pits of darkness as he began to hook into the man’s life force.

Mailah watched in horror as a faint, shimmering light began to pour out of the human’s mouth and eyes, flowing directly into Grayson’s skin.

The young man didn’t cry out. His empty smile remained, but his skin turned a sickly, papery gray. His eyes rolled back, and his body began to sag. Grayson didn’t stop until the man looked like a hollow shell of himself.

When Grayson finally pulled away, the human collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. A servant quickly dragged the body away, making room for the next "course."

Grayson turned back to Lord Vane. He looked taller, his presence so massive and dark that the lights in the ballroom flickered and dimmed. The yearning—that physical, hungry heat—was now a literal force, radiating off him in waves.

Vane bowed his head, his violet eyes wide with surprise. "My apologies. It seems the rumors were wrong."

Grayson didn’t stay to hear the rest. He pulled Mailah toward a balcony, away from the prying eyes of the Houses.

The cool night air hit her face, but it didn’t help. She felt sick. She felt terrified. The man standing before her wasn’t a CEO or a protector; he was a monster who had just stolen the life of an innocent person to win a playground fight.

Grayson turned her to face him. His eyes were still that deep, terrifying black, but the void was receding. He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw a flash of the "old" Grayson—the one who cared.

"You look at me like I am a murderer," he said, his voice thick with the energy he had just consumed.

"You are," Mailah whispered, her eyes stinging with tears.

Grayson stepped into her space, his body pressing her against the stone railing. He was vibrating with power, his skin hot to the touch. He leaned down, his face inches from hers.