13. Chapter 13
Arwen
When we left Greed, the sun was rising. I fell into a deep sleep, cocooned in Atticus’s arms. When I finally woke up, the sun was on its way down again. I feel like I’ve lost all sense of time. Atticus explained we were taking a longer, more confusing route to throw off anyone who might follow us.
The first thing I notice when we begin to land isn’t the city.
It isn’t the loud noise of club music, or the sprawling, multi-colored, sparkling lights, or the smell of sour liquor hanging in the heat like heavy smog.
It’s him. Or the feeling of him.
The second my feet hit solid ground and the chaos of Greed falls away behind us, something inside me settles.
It feels like a wire that’s pulled too tight, fraying, breaking…
suddenly loosens. My shoulders drop and my lungs expand deeper than they have in weeks.
The constant buzzing under my skin goes quiet.
Maddox.
He’s close.
The bond hums low and steady, no longer frantic, no longer clawing. Just… there. Anchored. Relief floods me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
And I hate it.
It’s infuriating. I hate how immediate it is. Hate how my body recognizes anyone as something essential. Hate that after everything—after pain and fear and betrayal and fighting so hard to stand on my own—I feel stronger just because he’s close.
I force my shoulders back, swallowing it down before it can show on my face.
Gluttony is nothing like the small bit I saw of Greed.
Where Greed was cold and metallic, tall and sharpened, Gluttony breathes.
It’s loud and alive and heavy with movement.
Even from the helicopter pad, I can see people everywhere, bright colors layered over each other, huge sparkling lights that make it hard to look away.
It’s excess in a way that feels… overloading to my senses.
We don’t make it far from the helicopter before we’re stopped.
“Freeze! Lay down on the ground."
Guards in tailored suits run up and surround the helicopter with their weapons drawn.
I’m still covered in the aftermath of Greed’s experiments—burns not healed, bruises fading unevenly. Even after holding the stone the entire way here, even after forcing my body to knit itself back together, I’m not fully whole.
I wince as I get down on my knees before I hear a commanding shout.
“Stop.”
I look up into a somewhat familiar face, haloed by the bright setting sun.
Lucas, Maddox’s friend from the academy, steps forward in front of the guards.
He’s clearly in charge because the guards immediately step back.
His eyes sweep over us, calculating. Then they land on me, and I see it. The recognition. The shock.
“Someone get Maddox up here right now,” he says urgently to the guards, never taking his eyes off me.
***
I don’t have time to process or brace for it.
One second I’m standing there, barely holding myself together out of sheer stubbornness, and the next…
He’s there.
Maddox doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t look at Lucas, doesn’t look at the guards, doesn’t look at anything except me. He crosses the distance between us, and I swear the air pressure changes, the way it does before a storm.
His face looks wrecked. “Arwen.” It comes out strangled.
And then his arms close around me—
Warm and solid. Almost possessive. My mind goes blank. Not quiet. Blank.
Like something that’s been screaming for weeks just had the air cut out of it. The feeling doesn’t creep in. It detonates. Every nerve ending I have lights up at once, and for one horrible, traitorous second, I forget every single reason this is a bad idea.
It’s like stepping too close to a flame and realizing too late you’re already burning. But the burning feels so good.
The bond settles into place like it’s been waiting for this exact moment. The constant strain under my skin eases weeks of pain and exhaustion. My shoulders drop and my knees almost give out.
The reality of our situation moves to the back of my mind as my body reacts.
My fingers fist into his shirt, gripping like I’ve been drowning and just found something solid. His chest is hard under my hands, steady and real. I can’t remember the last time I touched Maddox, but I’m positive it wasn’t this intimate.
Everything feels strange.
And everything around Maddox is dangerous. That hasn’t changed. I pull back and take the time to look up into his face. He looks like the same Maddox I remember.
Same short, black fade. Same hard jaw. He’s built the way I remembered— broad, corded, inked from forearm to knuckle—a body that has absorbed and delivered a lot of damage. His hands are around my arms now, pressing hard enough to bruise. Like he has no intention of letting go.
He looks the same, but he doesn’t feel like the same Maddox.
The powerful and controlled presence with sarcastic snark that I’m used to isn’t measuring up with the person before me. Like I’ve pried his shell off and can feel the deeper emotions.
I should pull away. Because this rush of feeling makes little sense. It’s foreign.
But I can’t.
Not right away.
My body soaks up his strength like a sponge as his men continue their work around us, questioning Atticus and the pilot. I let myself lean into it, into the strength, into the way everything inside me finally goes quiet.
I suck in a steady breath and shove that feeling down hard, forcing myself to step back before I forget who I am and lose myself.
His hands linger for half a second too long before they fall away, like he’s not convinced he should let go either.
Good.
At least I’m not the only one losing control here.
His eyes drag over me, taking in everything—the damage, the fading brand on my arm—and something in his expression darkens. There’s the Maddox I know.
“Who did this to you?”
My chest tightens before I can stop it, but I roll my shoulders anyway, lifting my chin like I didn’t just melt into him two seconds ago.
“I’m fine,” I say. “We can discuss it later.”
I eye the surrounding guards, questioning if I trust them with any of this information.
His jaw flexes, like he’s biting back about ten different responses. Behind me, I can feel Atticus shifting closer.
His quiet, controlled presence at my back that feels different from Maddox’s heat. Where Maddox is all instinct and fire, Atticus is precision.
Maddox’s eyes flash up to Atticus as an array of feelings crosses his face that I can now not only see but feel.
Surprise. Confusion.
Anger. An anger that runs deep. I know that something that could go very wrong, very fast. A ticking time bomb surrounding me.
If Maddox is the kind of danger that explodes—Atticus is the kind that waits.
Maddox steps back, gaining control over his features and looks around, realizing we have an audience.
“The guards will take you to some available rooms. I’m sure you’ll want to clean up and get yourself patched up. I’ll have one of my men bring you some healing potions. Then you’ll meet me for dinner, and we will discuss this. All of it,” he says clipped.
He turns and whispers something to Lucas before walking away without looking back.