Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 195: The Unbonded

THE SILVER-EYED MAN leaned closer, his shadow stretching over her like a dark wing.

The music was a physical weight now, a thumping, relentless tide of sound that seemed to isolate the two of them in a bubble of cold, calculated terror.

"You didn’t answer my question, darling," he murmured, his voice sliding underneath the bass. He reached out, not to touch her skin, but to toy with a loose strand of her hair, his fingers hovering agonizingly close to her temple. "Why do you look so devastated by a simple harvest? You’re traveling with two of the most efficient reapers in the business. You should be used to the price of power by now."

Mailah’s breath hitched. She felt small—not because she was weak, but because this man carried a stillness that was louder than the club’s speakers. Every instinct screamed at her to bolt, but her legs felt like lead.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded, her voice trembling but sharp. She refused to be a victim in a dress that cost more than her apartment. "Who are you?"

The man smiled, and this time, the polite mask slipped. There was something jagged behind his teeth, something that didn’t belong in a human mouth.

"Names are such flimsy things, aren’t they? Labels for the meat," he chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "I know your name because you’ve become a beacon, Mailah. Every soul-eater can smell you. You’re a little human girl standing between three monsters, practically glowing with the residual scent of an incubus’s touch."

He leaned in further, his scent—that strange mix of sandalwood and cold iron—filling her lungs. "But the one who loves you isn’t here, is he? Grayson has spent months marinating you in his essence, preparing the feast, but he never actually sat down to eat. He hasn’t bonded you. He hasn’t claimed you. To any other incubus, you aren’t a partner; you’re an open pantry. You’re fair game, Mailah. An unbonded, unmarried beacon of the finest vintage."

Mailah’s hand tightened around her glass so hard she expected the crystal to shatter. The mention of Grayson being her "owner" or "feeder" felt like a physical blow to her. "He isn’t... he doesn’t use me like that."

"Doesn’t he?" The man’s silver eyes locked onto hers with a hypnotic intensity. "Then why do you smell so much like him? Why does your soul hum with his frequency? He’s currently being... repurposed, and he left his favorite meal sitting out in the open. If I were to take a bite now, I’d be tasting his greatest treasure."

He reached for her throat, his fingers splayed, the movement slow and deliberate.

Mailah’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird in a cage. She couldn’t move. It was as if the air around him had turned to glass, pinning her in place.

"If you touch her," a voice cut through the air, "you will find that my ’admiration’ for your existence is remarkably short-lived."

The pressure snapped.

Lucson didn’t walk; he materialized. One moment the space beside Mailah was empty, and the next, he was there, a towering pillar of lethal, golden light.

He didn’t look like the man who had driven the car. He looked like a deity of retribution. The "admiration" he had fed on from the crowd had settled into his skin, giving him a terrifying, radiant glow that made the man with the silver eyes flinch.

Lucson’s hand clamped onto the man’s wrist, and the sound of bone grinding against bone was audible even over the music.

"I believe the lady asked you a question," Lucson said, his voice a low, vibrating growl that resonated in Mailah’s very marrow.

The man gasped, his silver eyes wide with a mix of pain and shock. He tried to pull away, but Lucson’s grip was absolute. He glanced toward the exit, his body coiling to spring, to vanish into the night.

"Don’t bother," a cheerful, jagged voice rang out from the doorway.

Carson was leaning against the exit frame, his arms crossed, his eyes dancing with a chaotic, electric light.

He looked frantic, his hair mussed, his grin wide and terrifying. He had fed on disorder, and he was currently the most dangerous thing in the room.

He was playing with a small, flick-blade knife, the silver edge catching the neon lights.

"The back door is locked. The front door is me," Carson said, his voice lilting with a manic edge. "And I’m feeling particularly... creative tonight. Luc, should I start with his fingers or his silver little peepers? I’ve always wanted to know if incubi taste like peppermint or disappointment."

The man looked between the two demons—the stone-cold guardian and the laughing executioner. He knew he was trapped.

"This isn’t over," the man hissed, his voice cracking. "The girl is already marked. Every predator in the city knows she’s unbonded. You can’t hide a beacon forever."

Before Lucson could tighten his grip further, the man’s body suddenly went limp. Not in death, but in a strange, liquid dissolution.

He slipped through Lucson’s fingers like quicksilver, pouring onto the floor in a puddle of shimmering metallic grey before evaporating into the smoke of the club.

Lucson swore, a dark, ancient word that made the air shimmer. He immediately turned to Mailah, his hands hovering near her shoulders but not touching, as if he were afraid his current level of power would burn her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his eyes searching hers with a desperate, sharp focus.

Mailah couldn’t answer. She was looking past him.

The club had gone silent. Not because the music had stopped—the bass was still thumping, the synthesizers still wailing—but because the people had changed.

The crowd she had seen earlier, the vibrant, messy, beautiful humans, were now moving in a synchronized, haunting rhythm.

Their eyes were vacant, glowing with a faint, reflected version of Lucson’s and Carson’s grey eyes. They didn’t speak. They didn’t laugh. They drifted across the floor like ghosts in designer clothes, their movements jerky and mindless.

A woman nearby was "dancing," but her arms swung like pendulums, her face a mask of empty, blissful nothingness.

It was a zombie rave. A room full of hollowed-out batteries.

"What did you do to them?" Mailah whispered, her voice trembling with a sudden, sharp horror. She looked at Lucson, then at Carson, who was now walking toward them with a skip in his step. "What is this?"

Carson stopped beside them, checking his reflection in a nearby mirror and smoothing his hair. "Oh, don’t look so tragic, Mailah. It’s just a temporary side effect. A spiritual hangover, if you will. We took the ’excess.’ They’ll be back to their boring, miserable selves by morning. They might just have a slight gap in their memory and a sudden urge to buy a lot of kale. Honestly, we did them a favor. They were far too stressed."

"They’re mindless," Mailah said, her voice rising. She felt a wave of nausea. "You stripped them. You didn’t just feed—you erased them for a moment."

"We stabilized ourselves," Lucson countered, his voice firm but surprisingly gentle. He finally reached out, his hand settling on her arm.

His touch was no longer cold; it was a humming, vibrant heat that seemed to seep into her skin, quieting the panic in her chest. "That man... he was an incubus. A predator who saw you as a meal because Grayson hasn’t finished his work. If we hadn’t done anything, he would have taken you. And he wouldn’t have been as ’merciful’ as a memory gap."

Mailah looked down at his hand, then up at his face. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scream at them for being the monsters they were. But she also felt the terrifying, addictive comfort of their protection.

"He called me a beacon," she said, her voice small. "He said I was ’Grayson’s food.’"

At the mention of Grayson, the air between the three of them shifted. The tension that had been building since they left the road crystallized in that moment.

Mailah closed her eyes, and for a second, the neon lights and the zombie crowd faded. She felt a phantom warmth against her back, the ghost of Grayson’s arms around her.

She remembered the last night they had spent together before everything went to hell. He had sat on the edge of her bed, his eyes—not silver, not gold, but a stormy blue—filled with a tenderness that made her feel like she was the only real thing in a world of shadows.

"I won’t let them touch you, Mailah," he had whispered, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You aren’t just someone I protect. You’re the only reason I care if the sun comes up. I want your heart, not just your essence."

The memory made her heart ache with a physical weight. She swooned internally, a wave of longing crashing over her.

Grayson wasn’t a demon who fed on crowds like a glutton. He was a man who had sacrificed his standing, his safety, and his soul.

She opened her eyes and looked at Lucson. He was watching her, and for a split second, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes—not admiration, not hunger, but a deep, aching envy for the man she was thinking about.

"We need to go," Lucson said, breaking the spell. "If there’s a rogue incubi hunting openly in Basel, we’re compromised. Others might be tracking the ’scent’ of the bond that hasn’t been closed."

"Wait," Mailah said, as they began to navigate the sea of swaying, mindless dancers. "If I’m a beacon because I’m unbonded, does that mean every incubus we pass is going to try to... eat me?"

"Pretty much," Carson said, popping a piece of gum he’d found somewhere. "You’re basically a five-star dessert walking through a room of starving people. It’s why Lucson here is looking so grumpy. He’s going to have to spend the rest of the night acting like a very large, very golden "Do Not Disturb" sign."

"It’s not funny, Carson," Lucson snapped.

"It’s a little funny," Carson countered. "I mean, Grayson really dropped the ball on the paperwork, didn’t he? A little ceremony, a little blood-binding, and we wouldn’t be in this mess. But no, he had to be ’romantic’ and ’respectful.’ Look where that got us."

They moved toward the exit. As they passed through the throng of vacant, swaying people, Mailah felt a strange, dizzying pull. The energy Lucson and Carson had siphoned was still thick in the air, a sweet, cloying perfume of human emotion.

For a moment, she understood why they did it.

The power was intoxicating. It made the world look like a masterpiece instead of a mess. It made her feel like she could reach out and pluck the stars from the ceiling.

She stumbled, her head light. Lucson caught her, his arm winding around her waist to keep her upright. The contact was electric. In her heightened state, she could feel the roar of the stolen energy inside him—the collective awe of a hundred people pulsing through his veins.

"Steady," he murmured, his breath warm against her temple.

She looked up at him, her lips parted. In the dim, flashing light of the club, Lucson looked like the answer to every question she’d ever had. He was beautiful, terrifying, and completely devoted to her.

"Who do I trust?" she whispered, the question escaping before she could stop it.