Chapter 13 Maeve #2
The predators who whisper sweet words of safety and make big promises of protection… but, in reality, they’re not what I need protection from but against.
The worst an animal would do is kill me.
The worst a man could do?
Well, I don’t need to imagine it—I’ve endured it.
A ripple of posture adjustment passes through the gathered people as a wave of power flows around the room. It doesn’t bother my chromius and I, but the five men around me become more agitated.
Lucifer steps a half-inch closer, and I know he wishes he could shield me properly with his body, moulding me to him.
Sucks to be him.
I’d rather die.
“Thank you all for coming today. I hope you’re enjoying the opportunity to reconnect,” Adrian says, and while I can’t see him through the wall of protective idiots around me, his voice rolls through the room.
That familiar, sharp, lacquered politeness that he’s perfected has my stomach churning and the knot that disappeared tightening faster than it ever has before.
My legs tremble, and if it weren’t for the fact that leaving would draw far too much attention, I’d be gone.
“This morning marks an important moment for our community.”
Lucifer stiffens beside me, and both Hadrian and Julian turn to quickly look at their cousin, wearing identical expressions of confusion and panic.
I don’t know what Lucifer says to them, but they give identical head jerks.
Hm.
Seems the Graves boys weren’t included, but the lack of anger from Draven makes me think he knows something.
Especially with the way he and Torin are searching the crowd and not looking at Adrian.
“As you all know, we had an incident last night at TRAC. But it was handled within a matter of hours thanks to the excellent work of our elite cousins.
“Three different recovery divisions demonstrated extraordinary diligence and discipline in their efforts at containing the threat.
“Their swift coordination, their unyielding professionalism, and their refusal to give in to panic allowed us to restore clarity in a moment where uncertainty threatened to take hold.”
A polite wave of applause builds, but I’m one of the few that don’t join in.
My chromius snarls, and her unease floods our mental connection.
Fuck’s sake, girl, get a grip.
Adrian’s cadence stays smooth, almost soothing—if you aren’t paying attention to the content.
“Today isn’t about dwelling on the disruption,” he goes on with a practised pause that suggests it’s exactly what he wants people dwelling on. “It is about celebrating resilience.”
Resilience.
I scoff, ignoring the dirty looks I receive. Resilience is a joke to a man like Adrian.
He’s never suffered, he’s never had to overcome something traumatic or actually endure stress.
On this compound, Adrian’s nothing more than a fucking puppet master—any situation that could cause someone to need resilience was engineered through him.
I am resilient.
Fucking coward.
“Our elite teams have always been the foundation of our society’s stability. They’re where we can place our trust, our safety—our lives. They kept our compound secure last night, and without them… well, let’s not dwell.”
Another reminder of the dangers of last night. I wish I could see him—know who he’s focusing his words towards.
A murmur ripples through the banquet hall—agreement, relief, fear. Hard to tell which, and I don’t care enough to try.
Hades shifts even closer, subtly angling his body between me and the rest of the room.
My anxiety twitches, my nerves burning. My chromius has yet to relax, still quietly hissing through our bond.
What the fuck do you want me to do?
Adrian’s voice brightens, and I gag.
“In light of this demonstration of loyalty and excellence, we honour those who gave their full commitment to ensuring our most sacred institution remained protected—and our people reassured.”
Reassured?
Reassured by what?
The lie he’s spewing? The cover up they’ve worked tirelessly on? The missing pieces he’s forcing into place to wrap this all up?
I can’t fucking cope.
Politicians can’t be trusted. The job description comes with being able to wield lies better than a siren.
But Adrian? He’s so good at weaving stories, he believes them himself.
TRAC might’ve lost a prisoner last night, but I’d bet he’s not the first powerful man to get a reprieve from their sentence.
Adrian’s likely testing his own escape route now in preparation for when his actions catch up to him.
Adrian’s tone dips into something heavier, something more deliberate. “But with stability comes responsibility. We must not forget that unity requires vigilance. Strength requires alignment. And peace—true peace—requires each of us to do our part.”
Lucifer mutters, “Here comes the indoctrination,” under his breath, and I know that no matter how much he betrayed me by being friendly with Helen, his uncle is not going to be afforded that same courtesy.
“We do not rise through division. We do not thrive through discord. And we cannot allow fear-mongering or careless narratives to weaken what our ancestors built,” he says firmly.
That’s pointed—I just don’t understand the message. Draven’s shoulders tense, and he and Torin share a brief look.
The pantheral strands taller, and Draven’s energy darkens, rolling out from us in waves.
Well, shit.
My pulse spikes, and I wish that I was anywhere but here.
“This institution stands because we stand together,” he concludes with that signature authoritarian warmth that causes my chromius to coil together. “So, today, we celebrate what has been preserved. Tomorrow, we continue the work of ensuring it remains unshakable.”
Silence follows, for a single beat, and then applause so loud my ears ring. I can’t breathe, I can’t really see through the black spots in my vision.
So many words, and yet, he said nothing of importance. We still have no idea what happened last night.
There’s no answers as to whether they found the judge and if he’s back contained.
Hell, for all we know, Garrison’s back in fucking court, residing over the next case.
Or ten-feet under, if I dared let myself hope.
Lucifer’s hand flexes, just slightly, and I wonder what urge he’s resisting. It’s not clapping, knowing the imp.
Torin’s watching with cold calculation, but, of course, he’s clapping along. Puppet masters only have so much power when their puppets behave, after all.
Hades is unimpressed. Draven’s angry. But Julian… he seems worried.
A serving attendant brushes too close to me, and every muscle in my body locks. She didn’t touch me, but in my anxious state, suffering through this loudness… it’s close enough.
Draven redirects them with a low growl, and they scuttle away as if he burned them.
Adrian pauses once the applause dies down, and when he speaks again, the tone is lighter—almost jovial.
“Thank you for being here. Please enjoy the brunch prepared in honour of our operatives. I’ll be making my way around to greet you all personally.”
And as if he commanded it, noise resumes at a normal level, although the atmosphere is far lighter.
The tension that thrummed through me when I first entered this room has increased tenfold.
Lucifer hisses, but it’s Julian who speaks first. “So, can we leave now, or do we need to wait until we’re cornered again?”
“Oh, baby horsy, are the big, bad people scaring you?” I ask, my tone dripping with condemnation.
I don’t give a fuck about his feelings.
No matter how much my chromius wishes otherwise.
“We’ve got some people to chat with,” Torin says, eyeing me up warily. “Unless you’re going to have another breakdown and fuck it up, maelstrom?”
“That’s not my fucking name.” I sneer at the panther, who is far too delighted that his insult landed.
“I’ve managed to avoid everyone, and I don’t fancy my chances for it staying that way,” Hades says dryly.
He jerks his chin towards movement on the far side of the room, and when I follow his gaze, I’m not the only one who groans.
Trouble is heading straight for us—four neat little storms in expensive shoes—and they look thrilled about it.
Bharlo I recognise instantly, unfortunately. Tarun’s father.
The only other elephorian in existence, which feels less like magic and more like a cosmic joke with bad timing.
Same jaw, same posture, same I-am-the-chosen-one aura… just with jet black, shoulder-length hair instead of Tarun’s greying wheat.
Poor Ari.
Imagine sharing DNA with that.
At least he can dress, unlike his son. His navy suit is tailored within an inch of its arrogant little life.
Asshole.
I bet he irons the arrogance into it himself.
Next to him is a man I’ve never met, but the guess hits before my chromius can hiss it—Dorian Graves.
Lucifer’s father. Mythical white stag.
His money is older than his family's sins—relatable, honestly.
He’s tall, all lethal elegance and polished cruelty.
Blonde hair, honey-gold skin, and a pair of dangerous, electric blue eyes that scream beware.
My hatred rises so fast it’s dizzying. Even if I wanted to hide it, my chromius coils, growls, spits.
It’s obvious.
Then there are the sisters.
Two near-identical blondes flank the men like matching bookends.
Unsurprising that the patriarchy has relegated them to little more than furniture.
With soft curls pinned back from their faces, dresses expensive enough to cause a recession, and smiles honed from filleting knives, their danger is clear to anyone with eyes.
With them right by each other, it’s hard to tell the women apart. Marianne I’ve met before, thankfully I’ve been spared Brianne’s presence.
Marianne’s the eldest, just over a hundred years old, I think. Brianne’s a decade or so younger, but I can’t remember their exact dates of birth. Her aura is ten times deadlier, though.
Pathetic, Maeve, dropping the ball on the enemies.
The curse of long-lived shifters makes it so a thirty year old and a ninety year old can look like they’re sharing the same skin care routine, and these two are no exception. Barely a day older than me—well, maybe not that far.