19. Maeve
19
MAEVE
A knot of tension forms in my chest as I open the door, coming face-to-face with Jasper, my personal security detail. Despite Atticus telling me he’s thirty-five, he doesn’t look it, with a baby face that has not even a single stray eyebrow hair.
He’s shorter than I am—well, shorter than I am in heels, anyway—with blonde hair that’s a shade or two darker. He nods his head in greeting, not being overly familiar like Caspian or hostile like Alvie.
I can appreciate that.
“Can I come in?” Jasper asks, his voice higher pitched than I’d have thought. My eyes narrow slightly at the sound, catching the edge of nerves in his tone. Why the hell would he be nervous?
I’m glad he’s not wearing a uniform or anything that would draw eyes to me in the street like the enforcers at the compound do. He’s just wearing a pair of dark blue joggers and a hoodie. Perfectly normal attire.
“Well, you finally showed up, so you might as well,” I reply, stepping back out of the way.
It’s took him three fucking days. Atticus assigned him to me on Thursday, and now three days later, and multiple ignored messages, he’s finally shown his face. The simmering anger that’s been building inside me finally finds a focus, tightening my grip on the door handle.
It really hasn’t set the tone for a good or productive environment.
For him . Mine was never going to feel good, considering I hate him on principle.
He nods, following me through to the living room. I don’t offer him a seat. Or a drink. I’m not playing hostess, especially not to him. I keep my distance, arms crossed, as if I can physically ward off the unease he’s stirring in me.
“You’ve made things pretty easy this weekend by not wanting to go out and getting yourself settled,” he says, leaning against the wall. There’s an almost forced casualness to his posture, like he’s trying too hard to appear unbothered.
I don’t understand it—I don’t understand him.
“Oh, yeah, I just love being a recluse. It’s what every girl dreams of—being a recluse.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t react to my biting sarcasm. “Your permanent security detail will be getting organised this upcoming week, as our alpha is expected back at work tomorrow, but until then, we’re still working on our trial period and will keep things the way they have been.”
“Okay,” I drag the word out, giving him a frown. “But I don’t like that plan. You’re acting like I chose to not want to go out, but I have sent four messages requesting you to take me places, and you said no.”
It pissed me off, but since Caspian is the person I’m meant to go to with any complaints or if I needed extra support, I’ve decided to stay home. I’m absolutely a fan of the cut-your-nose-off-to-spite-your-face club.
But spite doesn’t feel as satisfying as it usually does, not when I’m stuck in here with nobody around to keep me company.
He sighs, his neck and cheeks reddening. “Maeve, you asked to go to a bar, which is not safe.”
“I asked to go to the restaurant where Ari works,” I counter. “I asked to be taken to a bedding store?—”
“Which hasn’t been put on your list of approved places?—”
Approved places? There was absolutely no mention of that with Atticus or Caspian, so he’s clearly just reaching for straws.
“You’re scared now that Atticus is home that I’ll be choosing someone to replace you,” I say, and his jaw clenches.
I don’t miss the slight twitch in his eye, the way his grip tightens on his sleeve. There it is, a crack in that calm exterior. The tension thickens, but I revel in it.
This is my home, and he’s the one who has fucked up.
“That’s not it at all,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve come over so that we can set up the boundaries for this week.”
“I see. Well, I will be heading over to the alpha’s home tomorrow as Nora—you know, the queen of the pride and one of my best friends—wants to see me after so long away,” I say, giving him a giant smile as I emphasise the words.
It has the intended effect when he gulps but nods.
Nora and I are sort of friends. She wants to be a friend, and I’m reluctant to accept that label.
It counts.
“Any other plans this week?” he asks.
Not real plans because I don’t actually have friends or people I know. Without a job, any responsibilities, or commitments, I don’t have actual plans.
But I do still have shit that I need, since I couldn’t bring most of my things with me from the compound. The move was far too hasty for me to pack the good stuff, and if I’m staying….
“I need new bedding, and new clothes,” I say. My voice is sweet, but I watch him closely, noting how his expression shifts. His nose scrunches up in distaste, but he doesn’t argue about it. “Can we do that on Tuesday, please?”
Look at me, being polite. The effort it takes to keep my tone even feels like a battle I’m slowly losing.
If he says no, I won’t hesitate to take this to Atticus.
“Of course. I’ll make sure that I have Caspian’s approval,” he says, the redness spreading down his neck. The scent of his nervousness tingles at the edge of my senses, sour and sharp, making my chromius stir uneasily. What is his deal?
His panther is just as unsettled.
I don’t understand. Is he nervous about being out with me alone?
“Did Orson tell you I tased him?” I ask, and Jasper rapidly shakes his head. The speed of his denial is almost too quick like he’s scared to linger on the thought. Interesting. “I see.”
So what’s his problem, then? Is it the danger? Is he scared I’m going to be randomly attacked in the street by someone?
There are no hunters in this pride, not any longer anyway. Atticus and his inner circle went and wiped out the entire nest of them in our local area, and whilst my hopefully new alpha has sustained some injuries, they’re not life-threatening.
He’s fine.
The pride is safe.
So, why is my new security detail acting like he’s scared of his own shadow?
“You won’t tase me, will you?” he asks.
“Are you going to touch me?”
He shakes his head, his bright green eyes meeting mine. “I’d never touch a woman without her permission.”
“There you go,” I say with a patronising tone. The tension in my shoulders eases just a fraction, but the wariness remains. “Since I’ll never be giving you that, then the boundary is so clearly set. You’re not going to claim that we’re mates, are you?”
He shakes his head again.
“Perfect. Nothing but good vibes from here on out,” I say as he practically quivers in his trainers.
Atticus said he was trusted. That he’s worked his way up the ranks.
That this man is literally one of the enforcers for a hugely powerful pride.
And yet, he’s scared and nervous about being my security.
I study him, confusion nagging at the back of my mind. A job he was both briefed for and was apparently eager to do.
It makes no fucking sense—nothing about this situation does.
Then again, men rarely do.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“When in public, you don’t interact with anyone outside of me, your security, and the people at the stores we’re going to,” he says, causing my brows to rise. “The aim is to keep a very low profile. Understood?”
“I mean, sure, I can be a dirty little secret, I don’t mind.”
“You do understand how you smell, right?” he asks, giving me a weird look.
“What?” I hold his stare, not wanting to let him see that his words have ruffled me. A prickling sensation spreads across my skin as if his words have made the air heavier, harder to breathe.
What is wrong with the way I smell?
“You’ve got an intriguing scent, Maeve. I’m wanting you to keep a low profile because it’s already going to be very hard to keep shifters attention away from you,” he says, shaking his head at me.
“What are you going on about?” I demand. The prickling intensifies, my chromius stirring restlessly, both of us on edge.
I don’t like the idea of attention.
I hate the sound of intrigue.
He huffs out a sigh. “Mythicals have this energy to them, yeah?”
“Sure, yeah,” I say, familiar with that. The compound is practically brimming with it.
“And certain mythicals have a stronger presence than others,” he continues.
“I’m still following. I’m not dumb, Jasper, just spit it out.”
“Your scent is enthralling. You’re pretty powerful, and you have a strong shifter presence, but without the ability to scent your shifter side, it makes you a commodity,” he says, looking me up and down in frustration.
I freeze, my mind racing. My chromius is feeling very smug right now, her pride practically drowning out my anxiety through her side of the bond. I don’t blame her, she deserves the brag, considering we haven’t even shifted before or mated, so we’re not even at our peak.
It’s quite cool, if I cared.
“You’ll draw people’s attention naturally even just by passing them in the street. But by wearing that—” Jasper says, and I must do something to alert him that I’m pissed off because his jaw snaps shut so fast I’m worried he’s cracked a tooth or something.
“What is wrong with my clothes?” I ask, cocking my hip. A mix of irritation and something more unsettling churns in my gut. Currently, I’m wearing a pale pink dress that poofs out around my thighs so I can move without it clinging to me when I walk.
The fabric is soft enough that it doesn’t bother me, and the sleeves are non-existent so there’s no agitation on my arms.
It’s one of the most perfect outfits I have, to ensure no anxiety from getting dressed that day. But now, under his scrutiny, the comfort I usually find in this outfit feels compromised, tainted by his words.
“Nothing, it’s just… people will look, and your clothing makes it so that their attention then doesn’t waver once it’s on you.”
A sharp flare of anger pulses through me. Is it because I’m wearing pink? Because I’m pretty?
Either way, it’s ridiculous that he feels the need to point it out. I won’t be wearing anything that I am not comfortable in, and as someone with an extreme phobia of touch—one he was made aware of, with the reasoning why—I cope better wearing as little as possible so less things are touching me.
“I see. You know that from experience or?” I ask, my stomach tightening uncomfortably at this conversation. The discomfort he’s stirred up clings to me, an unwelcome weight pressing down on my chest.
“We’ll maintain a low profile whilst running your errands,” he says, wisely not answering me. “Text me tomorrow when you’re ready to go to the alpha’s house, and I will be there.”
“Perfect. If you need advice on a taser to buy, I can recommend one,” I say as I lead him to the front door.
“A taser? Why would I need one of those?” he asks, looking at me in confusion.
“Because you don’t need to get up close with the big bad guys who you think are going to hurt me,” I say, opening the door with a fake smile on my face. The mask of politeness feels fragile, ready to shatter with the slightest provocation. “You can stand out of the way in your little safety bubble and take them down.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m scared?”
“You don’t need me to insinuate anything, Jasper, when your scent does it for you.”
He growls and storms down the corridor as I giggle to myself.
My laughter dies quickly, though, leaving behind a hollow feeling I can’t quite shake. Down on the floor, a couple of steps away from my flat, is a sheet of paper. It’s wrinkled slightly, and I don’t know why it catches my attention, but I move over to pick it up.
There’s a single line of typed text that makes no sense.
Don’t trust him.
What the fuck? I look up and down the corridor, the note being closer to the door next to us, than ours. It’s likely not for either Ari or I, but I am curious about it.
It’s just out of reach of our cameras, so we’d not spot anything, and there’s nothing scary on it where it’s worthwhile mentioning it to my security team. Still, a sliver of unease worms its way into my thoughts.
Am I being stupid?
My chromius isn’t bothered, and she’s usually a judgy bitch when she wants her own way.
It’s fine. Right?
Right.