The scent of roasted chestnuts and warm bread hung in the dining hall, though Stone had long since finished his meal. Yet here he was, taking breakfast again — for the sake of appearances. For her.
Alora sat across from him, crimson hair cascading over her shoulders like fire set loose, her silver-gray eyes gleaming with mischief. She laughed as she spoke, her voice too bright, too melodic, too human.
"Can you believe it? Who just walks in and asks such a question?" she giggled, lifting her teacup.
Grayson's lips curved, laughter spilling easily. But Stone felt nothing. Her joy was a sound against stone walls, echoing but never reaching him.
Their conversation spiraled into little stories — her friends, her trips, the petty embarrassments of nobles. Stone matched her pace, his smile, his timing, his charm. To her, it was Grayson as she remembered. To him, it was performance. Survival.
Until her tone shifted.
"By the way, Grayson…" she said lightly, too lightly.
"Yes?" His smile remained, easy and warm.
"You know Aunt Castel…"
The name struck like a dagger. Stone's mind sharpened in an instant. Castel. There was no Castel. He had combed through every record, every family album, every grave marker in the gardens. No such name. Which meant—she was testing him.
A trap.
He leaned back smoothly, tilting his head, eyes lazy with amusement though his veins ran taut with caution. If I falter here, she'll burn me alive before I take another breath.
Alora smiled innocently. "Her birthday's coming up. And I forgot what she liked most—besides you, of course. Help me out? I don't want to disappoint her."
Sharp girl. He thought of the gardens. The gravestone. Carhmile, twin to Castelle. Castelle. Not Castel. A demon would never notice the slip. But he was not a demon in her eyes. He was Grayson. And Grayson would know.
So he chuckled, a warm, disarming sound. Alora tilted her head, silver eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"What's so funny?"
"Even after all this time," he said smoothly, "you still call her Castel. It's Castelle. And her birthday—late November, isn't it? If you insist on a gift, I'd say Rhodes flowers. She adores them. Especially the cross-breed roses and daisies Aunt Carhmile perfected. They remind her of her twin."
The words landed like silk, yet sharp as steel.
Alora blinked. Surprise lit her face, followed by delight. "Wow, cousin! Didn't take you for the family-history type. But thanks—I really needed that."
Stone smirked faintly, raising his cup. Inside, his thoughts coiled.
What kind of demon wouldn't know his vessel's bloodlines?
But no laugh followed. No warmth. Just silence pressing against the hollow space inside him.
**********
The Gardens
They walked arm-in-arm beneath the morning sun, Alora's laughter ringing like bells across the green. She leaned against him easily, joy spilling out of her like water over stone.
"So I told him, if you don't want it, then leave it!" Stone quipped, Grayson's rhythm borrowed perfectly.
Alora laughed, head tilting back, her fire-red hair flashing under the light. Together they seemed genuine, as if joy linked them. But only one of them felt it.
Stone's warmth was an imitation. He could mimic her mirth, her closeness, her memories. But he could not feel them. Not her joy. Not her touch. Not anything at all. He was a void painted in flesh, and she clung to a ghost of the man she thought she knew.
*********
Afternoon brought them to the city's theme park — spinning rides, cotton candy, painted skies of laughter and screams. Alora clung to his arm, her perfume mixing with the sugar-sweet air. Her every movement was seduction: the way her tongue curled against the ice cream, the way she smiled when she caught him watching.
Any other man would have melted. Stone barely tasted his cone.
"Here, have some of mine," she said, pushing hers toward his lips.
He didn't hesitate — Grayson never would. He tasted it, and she leaned in, her voice low.
"I like the way your tongue defiled my ice cream… maybe I should give you something else to defile."
Stone's eyes flicked toward her, a smile curving. His reply was velvet, dangerous.
"If that's the best temptation you can muster, cousin, then I'm afraid I'll die of boredom before desire."
For the first time, Alora flinched. Her cheeks colored, and she looked away with a laugh that carried nerves under its melody.
Still, she whispered: "Wow. I'm really having the time of my life…"
Then, softer: "By the way, I've been meaning to tell you something."
Stone spared her a glance. "What is it?"
Her lips curled with feigned innocence. "I'm pregnant." A pause. "The child is yours."
Stone's brow lifted, no anger in his tone, only a curl of disbelief. "What?"
She burst out laughing. "Damn, you should see your face right now! You're killing me today, Grayson. Just stop."
He smirked thinly, though his eyes glinted. Sharp little wolf. Testing my every step.
"Enough," she said, breathless. "Let's head home."
"Not until we ride the Pentagon," he replied, voice casual but firm.
Alora froze. "P-Pentagon…?"
Her weakness. The rides. She would fight a hundred demons barehanded, but the height of a metal tower broke her. He remembered. And now he used it.
"If you don't," he said smoothly, leaning down just enough for his breath to graze her ear, "then you're not setting foot in my room for the rest of the year."
Her lips parted, her eyes wide, her pulse betraying her. In the end, she surrendered. And when the ride was over, she staggered off, pale and trembling, as though her very insides had been rearranged.
Stone smiled, untouched.
*********
Steam clung to the air as Stone stepped from the bathroom, a towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets running over skin and muscle like carved marble. He stopped.
Alora was waiting in his bed.
Scarlet hair spilled across the pillow, silver eyes glimmering beneath half-lowered lids. Her body was poised, inviting, her figure draped in silks that did not hide but promised.
Stone's jaw tightened. This is the part I wished to dodge.
But before he could turn, she was before him, so close he felt the heat radiating from her skin. Her lips hovered a breath away, her hand grazing his chest.
This was no game. This was survival. If he refused, suspicion sharpened into certainty, and certainty meant death by fire. If he gave her what she sought, the mask remained intact.
His voice lowered, smooth as honey yet laced with venom.
"You came into my bed, Alora… knowing exactly what that means. Are you sure it's warmth you're seeking?"
Her breath hitched, her silver eyes flickering.
Stone leaned closer, a smirk ghosting his lips. "Because I don't just give warmth. I take. And once you offer yourself to me, there's no returning to innocence."
Her body shivered under his words. For once, it wasn't her teasing him — it was him devouring her with nothing but a voice, a look, a promise.
And she wanted it.