Chapter 9 Hadrian #2
The sound echoes too loudly in the red-drenched quiet. Maeve stirs again—her face twitching, her lips parting around a small, broken sound that hits me square in the chest.
She’s still out cold. For her sake, maybe that’s better.
Because when she wakes up, the world she left behind before fainting is going to look a hell of a lot worse than it did when she closed her eyes.
I don’t know how much she has left in the tank to get her through it.
I can’t take my eyes off her, the future worries racing around my brain.
The world’s burning down around us, sirens still howling in the distance, and all I can do is count the rise and fall of Maeve’s chest.
Each breath is a prayer I don’t believe in, each promise a vow to the devil.
She’s the only thing holding the edges of this room together for me.
She’s all that matters.
“A nurse is coming in to prep you for discharge, Jules,” Adrian says from somewhere behind me.
I startle, not having heard him come back in. I don’t like how much I’ve dropped my guard and immediately turn to face him.
Once, we were family.
Now, we’re enemies waiting to enter the battlefield.
“Are we just brushing over the fact that you put him in this bed in the first place?” I snap, stepping in front of Julian. “Because I’ll be damned if I let you or your people touch him again.”
“This isn’t the fight to have right now, Hades,” Lucifer cuts in, palm landing on my shoulder.
It’s not a comfort—he’s doing it to hold me back.
Prick.
I don’t need him to try and control me. I can do that my fucking self.
The pressure of it burns like restraint, and I shrug him off, jaw tight.
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
“Right now, you do,” my cousin hisses, nearly silently into my ear.
“Exactly,” my uncle says, nodding at Luc like he’s done everyone a favour. “Once you’re ready, we leave. We’ll be escorted out, and I’ll get you all home.”
“She’s not coming to your home,” Lucifer bites back, his voice all venom and conviction. “And, honestly, neither is that fuckface over there.”
He jerks his chin at Torin.
I smirk despite myself. None of us like the panther shifter.
He’s a pathetic kitty cat clawing his way up to being my uncle’s bestie. His ego can’t be contained, and his insults are sharp and biting where Maeve’s involved.
And, yeah, fine, I also hate him on principle—mostly because he’s desperate to be my uncle’s puppet. That or the man fucking Adrian’s ass to secure his needs.
I’m embarrassed for him.
Torin sneers. “You have no control over me, Graves.”
“Best watch who you’re talking to when in a room with four Graves,” Jules taunts, and I gape at my brother. He’s the last man I’d expect this from.
The door buzzes, snapping the tension in half. Two nurses step in, trailed by a masked guard whose presence screams damage control.
“Nice to see you, Jenkins,” Kiaan says, nodding his head at the guard with that too-bright smile that makes my knuckles itch.
The guard’s shoulders tense, and I wish I knew how Kiaan was doing this.
“Get him prepped to move,” Adrian orders. He’s back into the “Tribunal head” persona—commanding, brusque, and impressive.
Well, to anyone who hasn’t seen him be whacked over the head by his mama.
The women work quickly but carefully. I watch with eagle eyes, unwilling to let a single movement bypass my vision.
The brunette is extremely careful as she removes his cannula and hangs it up on the IV pole. The older prey shifter checks his bandages.
If they hurt him, I’ll make them regret it.
To his credit, Jules stays calm. Barely flinches at each movement. But I can smell his pain—it’s sharp and coppery, clinging to the air like metal dust.
Coward.
It was only a unicorn horn for fuck’s sake. It’s not that bad.
Then again, I did rush here in true panic, so maybe I’m cowardly, too.
“You’ll need a follow-up tomorrow,” the brunette says softly, her gaze flicking to Adrian for permission that she doesn’t get. “Whether that’s here or—”
“We’ll handle it,” Adrian interrupts, voice flat and bored.
I stay silent, even though my fists ache with the need to wipe that smug calm right off his face.
Julian nods, though, grinning up at the nurse. “Thanks, Beth. I’ll live, I’m sure.”
Lucifer and Kiaan hover near Maeve like twin guard dogs, and Torin’s still whispering into his phone, pretending he’s not listening to every word we say.
The fucker’s green-gold eyes have barely blinked with the way he’s watching us.
I hate feeling this useless. I hate the stillness. The standing guard. The waiting for a move I have no control over making.
I was built for action. For breaking things—or people—not sitting pretty while my world bleeds.
The nurses finish, and Lucifer tosses a small backpack onto the bed. No fucking idea where he got it from or what’s in it.
I stride over, grab the zipper, and pull out a pair of black shorts and a plain white shirt. Nothing fancy. Just something to make my brother look less like a corpse.
Huh. How the fuck did Luc know where to find these?
“Get him dressed and wake Maeve,” Adrian says, turning towards Torin.
The pantheral hangs up his phone with an unreadable expression. He and my uncle share a look—a silent exchange that speaks of secrets they’ll never admit to.
Cunts.
“I’ll handle it tomorrow,” Torin says, and it pisses me off that they’re speaking a language none of us can understand.
They’ve not used their mind link, since they’re not family, mates, or part of the same pack, but they’ve still managed to have an entire conversation.
Clearly, they share the same poisoned vein.
Assholes.
“Perfect,” Adrian says, already back in command mode. “Give me a few minutes to arrange transport big enough for everyone, and then we leave.”
I open my mouth—because someone has to challenge him on this shit—but Lucifer shakes his head, giving me a warning look.
If the imp thinks Maeve will get in a car with the unicorn, he’s an idiot.
But fine. For once, I shut up. Biting the inside of my cheek until I taste iron, I stay quiet.
My cousin thinks he’s in control of me, the smug little bastard.
He’s not.
No one is.
Not even her.
Lucifer moves towards our mate first, taking lead on that command.
Of course, he does.
He’s a possessive, selfish prick, who is extremely unwilling to share Maeve’s attention.
Yet, I can’t even complain because he’s fought hard for his bond with her.
But he’s also hoarding the secrets of how he achieved that to himself.
Greedy fucker.
I watch him with beady eyes, desperate for an opportunity to swoop in.
And because I don’t want to look at my brother’s cock as I help him get ready.
Lucifer reaches for her blanket, careful as sin, as he peels it back inch by inch.
It’s a skill, managing to be this delicate, without letting his skin touch hers.
That’s the only rule we’ve got to live by. Don’t touch her. Don’t trigger her. Don’t fuck it up.
For a species built on contact, it’s torture.
I can only imagine how much worse it is for her.
“Maeve,” he murmurs, voice gone soft. Too soft for him. “Open your eyes, princess.”
Her lashes flutter. A broken sound slips from her throat—half-gasp, half-sob—and her whole body jerks like she’s been struck. When her eyes open, they’re unfocused, wild, trapped somewhere far worse than this room.
She might be awake, but she doesn’t realise she’s safe—that we’re here, and that we’d kill anyone who dared hurt her.
But we failed that, didn’t we? We couldn’t fight the fucking steam attack.
Kiaan backs off, hands raised into submission, and it cools some of my anger at the predator’s presence.
I take his place at the edge of her bed, my pulse a steady drum. Julian sits down onto his bed, strong enough to sit up but smart enough to stay out of the way.
He’d only make it worse if he stumbled, and he can get his shorts tied himself.
As Maeve lets out a louder shriek, my entire body tenses, but we can’t do anything.
None of us move, watching as she curls in on herself, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Please, don’t do this to me. Please, let me go.”
Her voice is paper-thin. I only catch it because my pegasus is straining forward, ears pricked, desperate to get closer, to grab any scrap of information that she’s willing to share with us.
Any clue, any hint, to figure out how to help her would be a lifeline right now.
“Breathe, little starlet,” I whisper, gripping the bed frame hard enough to dent it. “You’re safe. You’re safe, Maeve.”
She doesn’t hear me. Or maybe she does and doesn’t believe it.
Her soft whimpers scrape down my spine until it feels like my bones are vibrating.
Lucifer looks at me, eyes wide, the darkness in him flickering at the edges.
He shakes his head once, and it’s not enough to hold me back. I don’t think I’m strong enough this time.
“Don’t do it, Cuz,” he silently warns, his dark presence filling my head.
I clench my jaw. I’ve never wanted to hit something and hold it at the same time.
Then Torin opens his fat fucking mouth with an opinion nobody asked for.
“Maeve Quinn, that’s enough of this,” he snaps, storming forward like he owns the air we breathe. The same air she’s struggling to take in.
Probably because his giant ass lungs are stealing it all—selfish, incompetent fucker.
He grabs the edge of her bed and rattles it hard enough that I jerk with it.
Maeve screams, and I’m fucking helpless. Too far from the panther to smash his ugly face in.
Too mate-like to comfort my soul.
Unsurprisingly, though, Lucifer’s already moving—one sharp blur of motion—and his fist connects with the pantheral’s jaw with a sound that’s sickly satisfying.
I grimace as Julian tries to stand and immediately wobbles, catching him before he eats the diseased tile.
Fuck me, is he stupid?
Yes. Yes, he is.
Adrian chooses that moment to stroll out of the bathroom—his makeshift, private office… the literal shitting room, where all his lies should be flushed away—because, of course, he does.