1. MaeveSix years later…
1
MAEVE
Six years later…
T he moment Dr Jones opens her mouth, I know she’s going to blackmail me once more. We always reach this point in our therapy sessions when she tires of playing nice, where she can’t be bothered with me any more and wants to get through our chats as quickly as possible.
It’s a fun game for me, to see how long it takes her to break.
“Don’t make me tell Adrian you’re refusing to cooperate, Maeve,” Dr Jones warns, her dark brows furrowing as she all but sneers at me. Her tone is tinged with patronising sadness as if this would truly upset her to have to tattle on me.
But we both know she’s a liar.
Dr Jones is my psychiatrist, but unfortunately for her, I still remember the first time she betrayed me—her soothing words coaxed out my deepest fears, only for Adrian to use them against me the next day. She’ll never gain my trust back, and these sessions are a pointless endeavour.
My chromius hisses in agreement.
Her dark brown hair is as immaculate as always, despite its considerable length, and her eyelashes are surely tinted to look as dark and luscious as they do.
She’s old enough to be my great-grandmother, despite only appearing to be forty or so, and she’s always dressed beautifully.
It doesn’t matter how gorgeous she is on the outside, though, when her soul is blacker than my heart.
We’re in Dr Jones’s office at the hospital, and it’s my second-most hated place on this fucking compound. The smell of antiseptic makes my stomach churn, and the cold, clinical decor feels like a smaller cage than I’m used to. Every time I sit in this chair, I feel the walls closing in, trapping me in place.
It’s horrific, and the caged feeling that my chromius feels is magnified in this room. I’m not strong enough to give her what she wants, but this is the thing I could give her.
If only I knew where we were located, I could try my best to flee. Sadly, the mythical compound that I live in is the most protected place in the entire world, or so they claim, and I don’t have a justifiable reason to leave yet.
The location isn’t a tangible longitude and latitude, but a place of home that our shifted selves can sense. Only mythicals can feel that call, and only once we’ve been shown it before.
I’d much prefer to be living in ignorance with no idea of the captivity that these lands hold.
Unfortunately, those were not the cards that I was dealt. Those who claim we can make our own destiny are either liars or white men. The rest of us are doomed to suffer.
“Feel free to once again break patient confidentiality to go tattling to Adrian fucking Graves,” I say, my voice tight. My fingers dig into the armrests of the chair, my knuckles turning white as I keep my face in a perfectly blank expression. This whole thing is a farce, and we’re both aware of it.
Adrian Graves is the leader of the Tribunal of the Chosen, an acclaimed position amongst shifters. This role makes him the leader of our people and should come with a level of respect.
Sadly for him, I won’t ever respect a spineless coward who uses force to get terrified eighteen-year-old girls to obey him.
I still remember the day he promised me that everything would be okay.
“You’ll be safe here, Maeve,” he had said, his words so convincing, his desire to protect me so completely trustworthy. Until, not even three days later, he sent me to the courtroom, where my stepfather leered and attacked me, whilst I was forced to testify against him and my mum.
To a place where nobody cared about protecting an eighteen-year-old who was so heavily associated with criminals. Where I was left to be harassed, spat on, and touched by so many of the men I was there to speak against.
I was a mess, both physically and emotionally, but Adrian didn’t care. He needed me to do this for him— “Trust me, Maeve, this will put these men away for the rest of their lives, and you will be safe”— and I had no choice.
Was I there to talk about what they did to me? About the way I was broken from being under their care?
No.
Adrian needed me to be his little star witness into taking down one of the biggest criminal empire’s the wolf shifters had ever seen, and other than a simple “before that night, had your stepfather ever harmed you physically or sexually” tossed in by my stepdad’s lawyer, nobody even spoke about the assault.
I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.
On one hand, it might’ve been worth the vile words, the death threats… even the way I was spat on , if I got a conviction for what they did. If someone in that courtroom cared about the fact that I was still a child when I was assaulted by the people who were meant to protect me.
On the other hand, if nobody preparing the case cared, if my new legal guardian didn’t care… why would anyone else? It’s clear I’m not worthy of care. I’m just dirty.
And I don’t need anyone knowing my dirty little secret.
Adrian’s betrayal cut deeper than any physical wound ever could, and he lost my respect and trust in that one move. My chromius whimpers at the memories, but I push them away, clinging to my anger instead.
Anger is the best shield in moments like this.
“Adrian cares for you.” Her words are nothing but emotional manipulation, and I don’t know why she thinks I’m still too stupid to see through it.
We’ve been playing this little game for over six years now, and the time for me being a naive fool has passed. I used to fall for their tricks and their fake concern.
I used to let myself believe that the pair of them truly cared.
But regardless of being my legal guardian, Adrian’s number one priority is the shifter community at large. He doesn’t care about me past the optics and the way I boost his image.
Every promise of safety has just been another way to keep me captive and under his thumb.
And, well, I don’t know what Dr Jones gets out of it, but she plays the part as well as he does.
“I’m sure it would be easier for you both if I believed that still,” I sneer, glaring at my doctor. My nails bite into my palms as I clench my fists, the sharp pain grounding me in the moment, reminding me why I need to keep up the act.
Sometimes, when I’m feeling especially low and pathetic, I dream of a world where I don’t need to pretend any longer. Where I can trust someone to look after me and let them see how broken I really am.
That they’d choose to stay, no matter what.
But that fantasy is never going to be realistic for someone as filthy as I am.
My chromius curls up inside of me, seeking comfort, but I offer none. I don’t have any I could offer.
We’re in this together, whether we like it or not.
All because a man stole a choice from us, with no consideration of our feelings.
With a quiet squawk from Dr Jones, my barrier is flung back up even stronger as I regard the bird in front of me. Dr Jones is an alkonost shifter, and they’re creatures that everyone should be wary of. They’re not the most physically powerful, but they’ve got a magnetism that’s hard to ignore, even in their human forms.
Alkonost shifters have got a very strong aura that can compel those around them to speak the truth, often without them even being aware that they’re doing so.
It makes it extremely twisted for her to be a psychiatrist.
For her to be my psychiatrist.
But what better way for Adrian to control me than to not only have the person I should trust the most reveal all of my deepest, darkest truths to him… but for her to force them from me in the first place.
And I, like a fool, fell for this act at first. I tried to work with her, I tried to move on from what happened to me… I tried to trust Adrian.
But day after day, he shattered my trust. He broke me worse than most of those men ever did.
Because where some of the men were men I barely knew, Adrian made big promises and declarations of safety he never once had the intention of following through with.
To men like Adrian Graves, I’ll always be a pawn they can play with.
I’ll always be a victim they can abuse.
It took me some time to realise that’s how he saw me, but I won’t ever be a victim again, even if it means having Adrian Graves as my enemy.
A man is only as powerful as his ego is checked, and Adrian Graves has the biggest ego I’ve ever seen.
It’ll be his downfall.
And I can’t fucking wait for it .
“Maeve, you’re not working with me,” Dr Jones repeats with a heavy sigh. “I need you to tell me the truth.”
I feel the power in her words, the calming aura she’s emitting. My chromius bristles, the attempted attack on our mind aggravating her.
I never used to feel the command, the darkness in her voice as she tries to pull your truth from you, but I’m stronger now. My chromius stirs uneasily within me, sensing the manipulation, and she’s fast at blocking off our mind.
My inner animal might not be at full strength, and she might hate how mentally fucked up we are, but she’s a fierce presence, one that refuses to be subdued by Dr. Jones’s aura.
No matter how weak she and Adrian think my chromius is, we’re stronger than Dr Jones is, and she can’t force me to obey any longer.
“I’m exhausted,” I tell her in the practiced monotonous voice that keeps me safe. “I’m scared.”
“What are you so scared of?” she asks, keeping the same level of power in her voice as she adopts a pretence of caring.
“I’m scared someone will hurt me again.” I stare into her cold, green eyes, ignoring the way they light up in delight at my words.
“I’m scared someone’s going to make me a victim again.”
I shiver, my words hitting a deep spot within. There’s nothing worse than facing my true fears.
Well, except men, I suppose, because everyone should fear mankind.
She nods, writing that down. “Do you think that’s where your fear of touch stems from? The fear that someone might violate you?”
Does she have to sound so excited by the idea of me being violated?
“I hate the way they touch me,” I say, repeating a truth I have already shared. “I hate how it feels against my skin.”
Another truthful response. I hate past me for giving her so much of our truths.
But the best defence against someone like her is keeping my story simple and to the point. Don’t waver, don’t adjust, just tell the same truthful lies over and over.
She’s so egotistical, she couldn’t ever imagine that the damaged girl in front of her is more powerful than she is, and with my perfectly constructed lies, she’s been none the wiser for years.
I should win an award for how good my acting skills are.
“I know you do,” she sympathises, and I wish her soft words had any effect on me whatsoever. “How are your panic attacks lately?”
We dive into the wonders of my mental health, the anxiety and my phobia of touch. She repeatedly asks about any flashbacks I’ve had, and her disappointment that my PTSD hasn’t been triggered lately makes my skin crawl nearly as much as it does when someone touches me.
My body is on fire, adrenaline racing through me as fast as my heart is beating, as I answer her questions the best I can, just in time to get to the final question of the day.
“How is your chromius doing, Maeve?” she asks sharply.
This is always her favourite question, and she often saves it until last. I don’t know what she gets from these sessions or pretending to care, but I know it has something to do with my chromius. Her obsession rivals that of Adrian’s and my stepfather’s.
Based on how those turned out, it’s a scary thing to think about.
I tilt my head, biting my tongue to hide the initial response I wanted to give. How is the only part of me that makes me worthy of surviving in the neglectful environment I inflict?
I can’t tell her that my chromius wants her dead, that my inner animal is so desperate to see this manipulative bitch bleed. That’s a dangerous answer to give.
And I absolutely refuse to share how badly my chromius wants me to heal, how much my inner animal begs and pleads for me to get help and to stop us from hurting as badly as we do. I can constantly feel her desperation, a constant ache that never goes away.
How she craves for us to find our mate, and to accept them and the protection they can offer.
But more than anything else, I won’t ever speak the biggest truth of all.
I fear touch. I abhor it. I can’t stand the feeling of anything touching my skin.
But my chromius thrives on that connection. My chromius is withering away, struggling, and so desperate for me to just touch .
She needs it to live, but I’d rather die than force myself through that again.
We’re fucked up, my chromius and I, but this is the one choice that’s mine to make, and nobody can take it from me whilst I’m awake. Choosing to protect my mental peace, even if that results in our death, is a choice I’m happy making.
Back when I trusted Dr Jones, I told her that my chromius felt isolated.
Back then, and even now, the lack of touch, and the lack of connection, was hurting her so badly, I can constantly feel her pain. It was a minor comment that she reported to Adrian, who ran with the idea, and implemented a few strategies that will help me be stronger.
Because, somehow, he knew that my chromius and I felt stronger after someone touched us. It’s disgusting that, after what happened to me, I was at my most powerful, but I was.
I won’t ever betray that secret again.
I won’t give Dr Jones any more ammunition to use against me.
She leans forward, her eyes narrowing, but I hold her gaze, unflinching. I need her to believe that I’m under her control.
I can’t let her see the truth, I can’t let her feel my defiance or smell my anger.
I might want her to look at me and see my strength… but I can’t. Not yet.
For now, I need to let her see me as she knows me: a broken girl with nobody to care for her.
She needs to see me as weak and pliable, or I don’t know what my future would hold.
“Exhausted. Drained. Empty,” I mutter. I blink once as my eyes start to sting but keep them trained on hers.
I’ll play the game. I’ll win the game.
And someday soon, I’ll be free of her and Adrian fucking Graves.
M y phone rings the moment I enter my home, the shrill sound echoing in the eerie silence. I have no fucking doubt that Adrian orchestrated that exact move. The shadows in the hallway seem to lengthen as if they, too, are conspiring to unsettle me.
He probably has one of his goons watching over my house or even bought out the security company that provides my cameras just so he can creep over me that much more.
I pause for a moment, my hand hovering over the phone as the ringing echoes. Sometimes, I imagine what it would be like if Adrian actually lived up to the promises he made.
If he genuinely was concerned about me and how I was doing.
What kind of woman I’d be now, if rather than continuing to suffer after losing my last night of childhood, I could have healed.
My chromius whines at the thought, a wistful sound that I quickly silence as I answer the call. I’m rather tempted to ignore him, but I know for a fact that he’ll turn up here regardless.
My therapy sessions are only once per month now, but he keeps track of them and becomes so much more annoying around them, demanding answers in my words, rather than just relying on Dr Jones.
“Hello.” I hold the phone to my ear as I lock the door behind me, and I move straight up the stairs to go to my bedroom.
“Hi. How are you? How was therapy?”
“Aren’t the notes Dr Jones provides good enough any more?” I ask with a sneer. I flick my bedroom light on, the pale lavender aesthetic already making me feel warm and comfortable.
I might hate Adrian and this compound, and even resent the fact that he made it possible for me to have this house… but I love my home more than anything else.
“I don’t get notes from Dr Jones, Maeve, as you well know.” He sounds frustrated.
But no matter how many times he tells me this lie, it doesn’t change that I know the truth. He’s repeated too many intimate details that I’ve never once shared with him.
How would he know if he didn’t hear them from her?
“If you say so. It went fine. She compelled me to tell her my deepest secrets, as per usual, and then I left.”
I swap my clothes for pyjamas, muting my side of the line, as he whines. I’m exhausted, and I deliberately schedule my therapy sessions for the evening slot because they’re a mental burden.
Even if I don’t tell her anything, her questions prompt my brain into traumatising me with the past, just for some stupid little reason.
Adrian sighs deeply. “You know as well as I do that Sonia does not use those abilities in her sessions. It would breach her patient code of conduct that she swore to uphold. I care for you, Maeve, I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in.”
“Caring for someone and controlling them are two different things, as we’ve already discussed.”
He groans, and I shrug as I pull back my thin comforter and get into bed. The call drags on as he tries to convince me to be honest .
Doesn’t he understand that he doesn’t deserve my honesty?
That being honest isn’t easy when every single day is a battle for survival?
I manage to get him off the phone, and with tears in my eyes, I lay down and curl up into a ball. The emptiness of the room weighs on me, and my sniffles echo in the silence. My name is Maeve Quinn, and this is my story of second chances. The question is: will I ever be strong enough to learn how to heal from my trauma, or will I continue hiding from the world and let my chromius pay the price?