FOR MAILAH, the morning light brought no relief. She had spent the better part of the night staring at the ornate carvings on the ceiling of her bedroom, her ears straining for the sound of a creaking floorboard or the rustle of an oversized black hoodie.
Even if Seryn was "human," the word felt like a trap.
Mailah dressed slowly, her fingers trembling as she buttoned her blouse. She felt a strange, lingering heat on her lips—a ghost of Grayson's kiss from the night before—but it was dampened by the memory of Seryn's mocking laughter echoing from the balcony.
When she finally made her way down to the dining hall, the scent of expensive coffee and something savory, like smoked venison, filled the air.
At the head of the table sat Grayson. He looked remarkably composed for a man who had spent the previous evening being taunted by his ex-lover.
