Chapter 10 Maeve
MAEVE
This morning tastes like death—copper, smoke, and something still burning in my throat.
The sun rose a while back, and now there’s a pale, almost heavenly light shining across my bedroom as if it’s trying to bless something that can’t be saved.
A perfect contrast to the vibes in the air.
I bought the bedsheets, the lavender plant in the corner of the room is mine, and there’s the familiar dent in the mattress from where I always sleep.
It should help me relax. It doesn’t.
I haven’t slept much. I drifted, but it never lasted long.
Every thought raced through my mind instead. The numerous conspiracy theories fighting for space, and too much panic clawing its way up my throat, desperate to be released.
It’s like every time I relaxed enough to forget the fear, the police siren came back—the one from that night, not yesterday—or the breath that wasn’t mine, whispering its venom into my ear.
Breathe.
My chromius presses cool and steady between my ribs.
In. Out. Count it. Release.
The numbers feel sticky in my throat.
The house is quiet. Too quiet.
It’s never bothered me before—every day I’ve lived here, it’s just been me, in all my silence.
But now the guys are downstairs. I’ve heard each of them wake up, but they’re being considerate.
Too considerate.
There’s no hallway murmurs, no clink of a mug, no stupid joke tossed at the staircase. They’re behaving.
And I hate it.
They each took turns knocking through the night, but I ignored them. I pretended to be asleep, and they pretended to believe me.
They’re all so polite when I’m bleeding.
But no matter how much my chameleon protested at the distance, I needed the space to just be myself. No masks, no lies, no secrets.
Well, except the ones I tell myself, but they don’t count.
My chest still feels too tight, my body too small for the ache sitting inside it. Yesterday was… incomprehensible. I don’t know how to break it all down, no matter how much I try.
Even setting up the crazy person murder board didn’t help—too many threads, too little trust, and everyone on it a potential liar.
Including me.
How can I believe they’re not part of this when all life has shown me is pain and torture?
I’m home right now. In my house, that I love, sleeping in my bed with all of my familiar things.
It should feel safe. Warm, welcoming… it should be my sanctuary.
But everything else is wrong—the smell, the light, the air.
Familiar walls, unfamiliar safety.
And I don’t know how to fix that. How can I be home but feel like I’m aching?
Every blink through hazy, red-rubbed eyes sends another shot of panic ripping through my body as I remember the flashes of red. Any noise from outside the windows throws me back to the shouts and sirens—even allowing hallucinated memories to join in.
Screams… mine from that night.
Cries from when I was locked in TRAC.
Pleas. The desperate begs of a naive girl wanting someone to save her.
I’m not locked in that room anymore. I’m not in TRAC or forced into the shitty therapy sessions with Dr Jones.
I’m in my own space, and yet, I feel just as bad now as I did in those situations.
The clock on the nightstand blinks 09:12 with petty enthusiasm, and every blink is a red strobe echo. The red light on my tile, the red light on my hands, splintering wood—
Fuck. Shut it out, Maeve.
Don’t let it bleed through you again.
The smug little digits are mocking the fact that it’s been more than twenty-four hours since this nightmare began.
Since Julian was attacked. Since someone mailed me a head like it was a subscription box from hell. And since… well, since the man who was in charge of putting the animals that attacked me away for the rest of their lives escaped.
Oh, if we believe my crazy theories, he was kidnapped.
His is one head I won't be upset to get in the post. He was a bad person, a terrible man to give power to, but he doesn’t haunt my dreams. Usually.
Last night, he did.
“On the charges of aggravated assault and unlawful restraint,” the judge’s voice drones, “I find the defendant not guilty.”
His gravel cracks against the desk like a gunshot. My pulse stutters, the room tilts, and I feel like I'm going to throw up everywhere.
I can still smell him, his cologne, that smothered me—cheap spice and iron—and the memory of his tongue tracing my chest slams against my ribs. He's practically walking free.
One by one, this judge is letting them go. Some of these men have family names that open doors, that have ties to the rarest of the mythicals. He can’t let them pay. He can’t let their lives be destroyed.
One by one, this judge is giving those who ruined me a slap on the wrist in a safe, fun little resort where they can make shady deals and relax until release.
I shake off the memory, not letting myself be trapped back in it. It was years ago.
It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters any longer.
Instead, I need to get a grip on myself and face the music. A shower, some clean clothes, and food.
Easy.
I know that the guys will worry and pester if I don’t.
But I can’t. I can’t face the reality of my life. Instead, I pull the blanket tighter around me, breathing steady as my ribs tremble, trying to ignore the anxiety this amount of touching causes when I need it.
I shove it down. It takes all my strength not to panic at the feeling of fabric dragging over my ankles.
“I’ll be okay,” I whisper, not sure if I’m trying to convince my chromius, myself… or Fate.
A knock breaks the quiet. Sharp, steady, but intrusive.
Once. Twice. Then a pause before the third one.
Fuck.
“Maeve? Are you up?” an annoying voice calls. He’s cautious, careful, but somehow, still fucking cheery.
Goodness, I should’ve taken that shower and drowned myself.
I close my eyes, forcing my heart to slow and my breathing to steady. I can’t let him hear my shudders or to scent my panic.
I need him to believe that I’m okay.
But I already know that’s not how this works.
The voice on the other side of the door is softer this time. “Can I come in?”
My pulse stutters. For a second, I think about pretending I’m still asleep, but I don’t think he’s going to believe it this time.
I swallow the panic, flatten my expression, pretend I’m made of steel instead of shaking bones.
“You can come in, Julian.”
The door opens with a quiet click, letting in a spill of light and the faint smell of coffee. He steps inside, and there’s a desperate whine from my chromius as he edges closer.
I’m relieved that there’s a little more colour in his cheeks today, and there’s a pep in his step that he lacked last night.
He’s wearing clothes that fit well but not in his style. A perk and let down of having an identical twin—clothes that fit, but they match someone else’s personality.
His black curly hair is damp, and I’m so fucking glad that the scent of blood has gone.
Not because I care about him, of course, but so that the smell can’t trigger me.
“You look—” He stops himself, and I’m intrigued as to why. His smile doesn’t quite light up his baby blue eyes. “You look better than I expected.”
“I wish I could say the same about you.” I shrug before sitting up against my headboard.
The blanket pools in my lap, and, for a moment, neither of us speaks. A shiver creeps up my spine, and all my bare skin is covered in goosebumps.
I’ve got a vest top on, so I must be cold. Even with the heating on, on a warm spring day.
He sets my usual—and only—mug on the nightstand, a cup of tea inside it. I can smell the honey now that it’s closer and smile.
He slides it closer then quickly jumps back like he’s handling a wild animal.
Hilarious
“Thought you might want this.”
I smirk, wrapping my hands around the mug, the heat uncomfortable but familiar.
“You risked your life for this, didn’t you?” I ask, raising a brow.
He chuckles, low and tired. “Wouldn’t be the first time Hades and I fought.” My brows raise, and he tilts his head. “What?”
“I thought it would’ve been Lucifer that would’ve tried to take your arm off.”
He laughs. “Nah, Luc’s in heaven now that we’re all together.”
I look down at the steam pouring from my mug and don’t comment. Without Draven here… it’s not really complete.
Which just sounds fucking weird. Why is my chromius so unsettled without their presence?
Pathetic creature.
It would never be me.
For a while, we just sit there, quiet except for our breathing and the rapid racing of my heart. I sip at my tea and muse about how trusting I’m being by not thinking there’s poison in it.
Or, you know, not wishing for it either.
Finally, he looks at me, and there’s an almost nervous expression on his face. It’s not quite fear, but it’s close. I’ve never seen it on Hadrian before, and certainly have never spent much time looking at Julian to notice, but I don’t like it.
It’s unnerving how vulnerable he’s being, and he’s not even spoken yet.
“You scared the hell out of me, Maeve,” he admits, and I frown. “I was fucking terrified that morning, realising, and then when I couldn’t reach you because of him…” Julian trails off. “Then you fucking came here for me, charged in without thinking, and you’ve put yourself in more danger.”
I scoff. “First off, you’re not that important. I did not come for you.” I lie to myself, I lie to him, and, of course, I ignore the fact that my chromius is telling the truth.
So needy. So desperate.
So… open.
“And also, I’m not in any more danger here than I would be at the pride,” I continue with another lie, this one not bothering me in the slightest. “We’ve got things to achieve here, and making sure you were dead was only a minor bullet point on my to-do list.”
I dramatically heave a sigh, looking down at the steam once more before smirking at him. “At least it means I’ve got another chance to witness your death. There’s always time.”
He rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “How are you doing?”