Chapter 20 Maeve #2
“Didn’t you hear Big D the first time?” Lucifer teases.
There’s a knife in his hand. There’s a knife. In his hand.
I flinch as he tosses it into the air and catches it effortlessly.
Where the fuck did he get this knife from?
“No,” Draven repeats. “You’re going to do what none of us can.”
Lucifer snorts. “Ruin a suit and talk enough that people slit their own throats to escape him?”
Julian scowls. “I have never—”
“Ignore him,” Draven says.
“Lucifer hasn’t mastered maturity yet,” I add lightly.
“Tragic,” Lucifer agrees without shame.
Draven’s gaze pins Julian. “You’re the only one of your family who has access. We saw it when we were at the compound—you’re their golden boy.”
“I never asked—”
“Bro, stop,” Hades cuts in, smacking Julian’s arm. “You love being adored.”
My chromius hisses, bristling at the assessment—but I find it oddly satisfying.
“Nobody is insulting you,” Hadrian continues calmly, “but it’s true. We’re exiles. Lucifer is a walking red flag, and I’m considered dangerous. You’re not.”
He tilts his head, studying Julian.
“You’re palatable. Presentable. The perfect little plant.”
“I’m good at killing plants,” I offer.
Julian stiffens.
I probably shouldn’t find that so amusing.
“Why do you think your uncle asked you to help infiltrate the compound?” I ask, trying to be a bit kinder. “Instead of Hades or… well, I suppose he doesn’t have many others he can trust.”
“You have family channels. Favours that are owed to your family, blindspots that they’re likely not considering,” Draven continues, nodding at me. “Your uncle may be pulling strings, but not even he can watch every desk clerk and compliance officer.”
Julian swallows hard, his baby blue eyes darting around before settling on Draven again. “You want me to… what. Continue auditing the corruption for my uncle who nearly killed me?”
“I want you to arrange employment,” Draven says. “Something that gets us another in, another angle. You’re here for a while, and we’re not layabouts.”
“Julian is,” Lucifer says teasingly. “Silver-spooned. Aristocratic—”
“Fuck off,” Julian snaps.
But he nods anyway, jaw tight, teeth practically grinding together. “Should I talk to Adrian, or—”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “He’ll cum all over himself at the thought of helping us—helping me.”
“Pathetic fool,” Lucifer says dryly.
“But it’s effective,” Draven says. “And while you’re doing your uncle’s bidding, you can also keep an ear out for our plans.”
Lucifer tilts his head, interest sparking. “Well, that’s devious. I like it. Let’s hope he can pull it off.”
“And if they ask why I’m still motivated?” Julian asks. “After everything?”
Draven shrugs. “Tell them you’re tired of being useless. That you want to help Maeve. That you’re desperate to stay here where she is. Spin whatever lie you’re capable of selling.”
Julian winces. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”
“I’m just grateful he didn’t list all of your past lies,” I say brightly. “Still winning all the points, Drav.”
The ursarix shifter’s lip curls ever so slightly.
“I can talk to my uncle,” Julian says slowly. “Or… hm, Auntie Marie’s old liaison is here now. They had a big falling out. I bet we could use that.”
Lucifer grins. “Look at you. Growing a spine. Learning how to play the political game.”
“It’s adorable watching my brother become a man again,” Hades adds fondly.
I gag.
All eyes turn to me.
“If you watched your brother become a man the first time,” I say flatly. “I’m not sure I can survive being around you. Twincest isn’t my thing.”
“We never—!” Julian explodes, face blazing as he sputters incoherently.
Hades’s laughter does nothing to help.
“Enough,” Draven says dryly. “No one cares what you do in your spare time.”
He pauses, eyes bright and warm despite the deadpan tone.
“Even if it is each other.”
Julian groans. “I’d rather cut it off.”
“Surely, it’s not big enough for that?” Lucifer muses.
“Julian, you’ll start tomorrow,” Draven says, moving us back onto topic. “If all goes well, we’ll have something concrete by next week.”
Then his attention shifts, very deliberately, to the resident troublemaker.
“And you,” he says.
Lucifer lifts a brow, the picture of innocence. “Me?”
“You’re investigating the delivery. Knowing who is important, yes, but figuring out—”
“Who orchestrated it, how they managed, all of the messages they exchanged, and so on. I’m not a fool, bear. Don’t treat me like I am.”
The teasing lilt to his words has disappeared, and now Lucifer’s words are cold as he looks at Draven.
“Luc—”
I’m wary, but I have no reason to be.
“I know,” Draven says calmly, nodding once. “But I was spelling it out so we’re all on the same page. I don’t doubt you.”
That earns a grin. Lucifer’s tension melts instantly.
“And that,” he says brightly, waggling his brows, “is why you’re the boss, Dravvy. I know exactly where to start, don’t worry about me.”
“Can’t help it when you’re this insane,” I mutter.
I don’t know why I care, besides him being the only competent bodyguard I’ve had to endure.
But my chromius is extremely anxious at the thought of him—them—going out into danger.
“Check in,” Draven insists. “We all know your history, and we’re not looking for a repeat.”
“I don’t,” Julian protests.
Lucifer scoffs, his black eyes sparkling in the light. “You wound me.”
“I will,” Draven says mildly.
Lucifer blows him a kiss. “You’re such a flirt. You know I can’t resist that.”
Draven exhales through his nose, shaking his head. When I laugh, all eyes turn to me.
My spine straightens instinctively. “I’m not going out on a mission anywhere.”
“I know,” Draven says, backed by three overlapping ‘absolutely not’s from the Graves boys. “You’ll be at work tomorrow, and we’ll reconvene together this weekend.”
There’s something terrifying about being excluded from danger.
There’s something even more terrifying about realising I’m relieved.
Hadrian rises, already pulling on his leather jacket. “I’ll message when I can.”
Julian grabs his phone and follows his brother out. “I’ll make calls and keep you informed, little light.”
I groan. I take back my anger from earlier. I’d much rather Draven stayed the point man on all of this.
Julian finds enough fake reasons to talk to me. Let’s not start giving him real ones.
Lucifer stretches over the back of the sofa like a deranged cat. When he straightens, his expression is warped—far too much excitement for the bloodshed he’s going to hand out.
His aura hums with anticipation, impish energy clawing at the surface, begging to be unleashed.
“I’ll be back before sunrise.”
I don’t like that, and I look at Draven wearily.
He steps closer—not touching, just there—and something inside me steadies. As the others leave and the room cools with their absence, the weight of knowing I’m not alone settles deep in my chest.
Draven looks down at me, and I wish—briefly, selfishly—that I could read his thoughts so I didn’t feel so on edge.
“Do you want to talk about your therapy appointment today?” he asks.
His tone is so gentle, so soft.
There’s none of the demands or the abruptness that he had with the guys.
Just complete and utter tenderness.
For me.
How the fuck does he think I deserve it?
My exhaustion crashes in all at once, and I shake my head.
“Can I stay here?” I murmur.
I don’t say that I don’t want to be alone. Or that Ari isn’t back yet. Or that today’s brutal recount of my trauma has completely hollowed me out.
But I know that my boss won’t push for more than I’m willing to give. He’s not like that.
Instead, he nods and gestures for me to follow, leading me to the spare room I stayed in last time.
I stop short. Things in here have changed since my last visit. Not by much, but he’s made it more accommodating for… me.
On the bedside table is a glass—my glass—with an M engraved into it.
There are now a pair of blackout pink curtains hanging over the windows, the same shade as my bedsheets.
His bedsheets? Fuck knows.
And, most importantly, in the open wardrobe… my clothes.
Outfits that used to live in my flat. Ones he has clearly stolen, somehow.
I probably should be creeped out—unnerved, even.
Instead, something tight in my chest eases.
He didn’t just make space for me. He expected me to be here.
I don’t remember the last time anyone prepared for me without asking what I’d done to deserve it.
I’m so fucking grateful.
“Thank you,” I murmur, my eyes still darting around to catalogue everything.
He nods toward the wardrobe. “There are sleep clothes in the drawer. Lucifer stole them. Not me.”
I grin, but a yawn overtakes me before I can respond.
Draven smiles softly. “Get changed. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”
“You don’t—”
“It’s my privilege to provide for your needs,” he says simply, already turning away.
He quietly closes the door behind him.
I change quickly, set my heels beside the armchair, and slip into bed.
The blanket is lightweight but comfortable, and I feel so at ease in his home.
The familiar scents, the warmth, the company—it’s perfect.
Staying in a man’s house, alone, should be enough to send me into a panic attack, but I’m the furthest thing from anxious.
It’s just… safe.
For once, I don’t fight the care being offered.
I don’t stay half awake to prove I can survive on my own.
I fall asleep before he can come back with the hot chocolate.