Chapter 23 Maeve
MAEVE
“You look lovely,” Lucifer says, his eyes raking down my body, a smirk on his face. “Although, you’re a bit… red.”
“Wow, you’re not colour blind.”
I fake-gasp, and he snickers into his fist.
He’s not wrong about the colouring, though.
The red dress I chose to wear tonight was one of the new ones I found in my wardrobe at Adrian’s house. I still can’t remember buying it, but I’ve chosen not to dwell on it.
Especially not if my suspicions about who bought it for me are accurate.
It clings to my chest like it was tailored to my exact measurements, structured enough to hold me together without suffocating me. An important feature for a dress worn by a mentally ill, haphephobic girl who still has to leave her flat.
Even beyond that, the skirt is gorgeous, and behaves exactly how I need it to—skimming my thighs without swishing or floating.
Controlled.
Predictable.
Safe.
Tall heels add to my height, though they’re a little thinner than my usual preference. I’m hoping that, to most people, I look untouchable.
Bitter, vicious, and detached.
Let them think that. If they believe I’m sharp enough to cut them, maybe they won’t try to reach for me at all.
Then I’ll be safe.
Safe from glares.
From touches.
From assault.
“I mean it, princess,” Lucifer says. “Lovely was a terrible word. You’re stunning.”
My gaze darts to his, and I can sense the sincerity there.
I see the truth in his eyes.
But I can’t acknowledge it. Not tonight.
Instead, I lean closer to the mirror, steadying myself as I trace fresh lipstick along my mouth with careful precision.
I don’t usually bother with makeup—the sensation is far too anxiety-inducing for daily wear—but tonight, I wanted to try to stomach it.
Who I’m trying to impress, I have no idea. I just want to feel in control.
I blot once, twice, checking the edges, making sure nothing is smudged or uneven.
Lucifer waggles his brows in the background, his icy blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
It is amusement, right?
It has to be. Amusement I understand. Teasing I can handle.
But the terrifying thought that there might be something else in his gaze—something heavier, something I can’t quite name—it’s unfathomable. The unease prickles along my skin without resolving into anything clear.
My chromius, however, is far less uncertain. She stirs, warm and attentive, a soft curl of interest unfurling in my chest like she’s leaning forward to watch him more closely.
Obsessive, deluded creature.
I ignore her the way I’ve learned to ignore every instinct that ever tried to keep me alive. She’s wrong about things all the time—especially this desperate leeching she’s done to the men in my life.
“Trust me, pretty princess,” Lucifer says. “Red is the one colour I always recognise. And on you? It’s a true vision.”
I gag, recapping my lipstick as I turn to face him properly.
Lucifer looks infuriatingly at home in a dark suit made for blending into shadows and crowds. The tailored fabric hugs a body built for speed rather than brute force.
Honey-toned skin contrasts sharply with the crisp lines of his clothes, his blonde hair neatly styled, his facial hair precisely groomed with irritating precision into a short stubble.
Annoyance bristles under my skin.
Who the fuck is he trying to impress? Why is he wearing this just to drop me off at the club?
His gaze meets mine, and, for half a second, I catch that same, familiar flicker of danger beneath the surface. The unease in my stomach tightens, settling into me like a second skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he says softly.
Lovely. Stunning. Beautiful.
Compliments have always felt less like gifts and more like warnings—soft words that come before someone decides I owe them something.
And Lucifer knows this.
So, why is he lathering me in compliments? What’s his game here?
“Nice try,” I say lightly. “I’m not going to let you distract me from your sickness, though. Let’s stop talking about your blood kink, devil.”
I wink. “It’s more nauseating than Julian’s desperation.”
He smirks, and I roll my eyes, moving to grab my phone from the charger.
“Can you still drop me and Draven off at the club? It means you’ll have the car to leave during,” I say, skimming a message Draven sent nearly twenty minutes ago.
Oops.
Draven
I’m running a few minutes late, angel. Can you and Luc meet me in the foyer?
Maeve
Just saw this. We’re on our way down now.
Hopefully you’ve not been stuck waiting for me.
Do you need me to grab anything from yours on our way down?
“If I must bring the bear, I shall,” Lucifer says with a wink.
I roll my eyes. The forced nonchalance doesn’t fool anyone. Lucifer has latched onto Draven, declaring them some form of insane soul buddies, and I don’t think much could pry the two apart.
Which is weird because I don’t know why Draven puts up with him.
“We both know you’re more than willing to do Draven’s bidding,” I tease. “He wants us to meet him down in the foyer. He’s running late.”
Lucifer’s smirk widens, and I don’t understand the insinuations. “I just bet he is.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I narrow my eyes, unease curling low.
“You’ll see.” Now, he’s the one teasing me.
Flutters bloom across my abdomen, traitorous and unwelcome. I grimace as my phone buzzes again.
Draven
No, thank you, little angel.
I’d wait for you no matter how long you needed.
I’ve just got here, though, so don’t worry. I’ve not waited long.
“Whatever,” I mutter distractedly. I lock my phone before looking back up at him. “Now, can we go? I don’t want to be late. At least we don’t need to figure out parking.”
“No, you’re right, we won’t. They’ve got valet.” He pauses. “Well. For the important people.”
I frown. “Why would you use the valet? Just drop us off and head home.”
“I’m not dropping you off and leaving you there,” Lucifer says, shaking his head when I open my mouth to argue.
“Of course, I trust you with Draven, so don’t think that’s the reason.
But I won’t let you walk into a club without backup—not with everything going on.
Plus, I know the owner. I wanted a word with him. ”
“You know the owner?” I ask. “How would you have managed that?”
He’s not been in Atticus’s pride for very long, so how the fuck does he have all of these connections to tap?
It occurs to me—again—that Lucifer’s erratic charm is so carefully curated.
A distraction.
Something designed to put people at ease before they realise he’s a threat.
He’s built a personality that lets eccentricity soften the edges, while also clinging to the bloodlust as a way to get people to recognise the predator within.
Lucifer has charmed the world into underestimating the blade beneath his smile.
Crazy is safer than threatening, after all.
Psychopath.
“You’ll find,” he says lightly, “that there’s not an influential shifter I don’t know in one way or another.”
That competence is… impressive. Another wave of flutters betrays me, and I duck my head, pretending to smooth my dress.
Part of me is desperate to ask him why he did what he did—and actually listen to the answer.
It’s been plaguing me.
This could fix the tension. If I could take the time to explain how he hurt me—properly, this time, without downplaying it. How the betrayal still sits in my chest like a stone, even now.
But we’re finally balanced again. Functional.
And I’ve learned the hard way that survival often looks like silence.
I swallow the urge to bare my heart and meet his concerned gaze with a tight smile. Maybe that’s why he’s been lathering me in praise—he can sense the feelings I’ve buried too deep to acknowledge.
Unfortunately—well, actually, fortunately—tonight isn’t the night to tip the scales.
Especially when he hasn’t realised how much weight I’m still carrying in my soul.
“Hm. You’ll find that only caring about the upper class makes you a lot like your uncle,” I say, making sure he can see that I’m teasing.
I’d hate for him to think I mean it. No matter what mistakes Lucifer’s made, he’s nothing like Adrian.
Nothing like that hollow, calculating thing wearing a man’s skin. A soulless predator who takes without ever seeing the cost.
That could never be Lucifer.
Something dark flickers through his gaze, his eyes flashing black for the briefest moment before he reins it in. His jaw tightens, breath measured, like he’s biting back a very specific thought.
He calms, ever so slightly, and his tone is much more light-hearted than I’d expect when he speaks.
“Don’t worry, princess, you’re still better than me in that regard. Refusing to associate with all the common plebeians around means you’re winning.”
My jaw drops. “I have so many common friends.”
Common shifters are the absolute best kind of shifters. The otters. The hedgehogs. Even the fucking pigeons.
They’ve never wanted anything from me. Never.
They don’t circle like vultures, don’t calculate what my existence could buy them.
Sure, maybe they recognise my mythical energy and stay clear just in case—but they’re the least terrifying kind of shifter there is.
Well, I suppose every common shifter other than wolves…
Wolves have tried to use me. They’ve taken what wasn’t theirs. Broke me in a way others wouldn’t dare.
Vicious beasts.
Luc raises a brow. “Name one.”
I should be rushing him out the door. Draven is waiting, and we’re already pushing it, but I can’t let this challenge go unanswered.
“My… friend is an elephant—”
“A rare African elephant,” he cuts in smoothly. “With an entire tribe behind her.”
I scowl at him, my grip tightening around my phone at how quick a comeback he had for my first brilliant thought.
What a fucking cunt. He’s delighting in my misery despite barely letting me finish the sentence.
“My other friend is a wolf,” I add more cautiously.
Wolves and I don’t get along for the most part, but Nora is one of the best people I know.
Not that the bar was very high.
And she’s not rare. Not mythical. Not even very powerful.
“Oh, love,” he says gently, almost apologetic. “That’s an even worse suggestion than Ari. Nora’s a werewolf who is mated to the most powerful alpha lion in the country.” He tuts. “Not really a common shifter—even if she is a wolf.”
My shoulders stiffen, my spine straightening as heat curls beneath my skin. I lift my chin, eyes narrowing, as my brain works overtime.
I refuse to give him the win. Even if my chromius is pathetic enough to want to.
“My boss—”
“Is one of the rarest mythical shifters in existence.”
I hadn’t even been going to say Draven, but that’s an interesting revelation.
The only one who has actually checked in with me outside of Draven since I started.
Then again, he’s a white tiger, so actually more rare than a standard shifter.
And, of course, he’s in the lion alpha’s inner pride.
Fucker.
“Huh,” I say lightly. “I didn’t realise Draven was that rare.”
I frown as I think it over. With an excited click of my fingers, I have the perfect answer.
“Wade, one of Ari’s security team, is just a giraffe. Super common. Super boring. I win!”
Why the fuck I’m entertaining Lucifer’s teasing is beyond me. We both know that he doesn’t truly think I’m some elitist bitch.
Right?
“He’s not your security detail, and you’ve never had any kind of association with him outside of that.” Lucifer grins, adopting a mocking tone as he teases me. “You can’t deny it, pretty princess. You don’t mingle with the riffraff. Those bums aren’t worth your time.”
He clicks his tongue. “It’s admirable, really. Something my uncle would totally get you a medal commissioned for, this behaviour.”
I bite down my laughter, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of a win. But I have no doubt Adrian actually has trophies for that sort of thing.
Elitist cunt.
“Oh, fuck off,” I mutter, shooting Lucifer a dirty look. “I love common shifters, and you know it. They’re far more interesting than mythicals. They’re kinder. Easier. They have real lives. Fun lives.”
They get to choose a life for themselves. Their mistakes are their own. Their joy’s something they get to create.
I wonder what it would feel like to wake up and decide something without consequence, without expectation, without someone else’s hand already closing around the outcome.
They’ll never understand how privileged they are.
“That’s because you’ve not met the truly cool mythicals,” Lucifer says. “Well—except you. You are one of them. But, honestly, my uncle doesn’t even have the full top ten tucked away in his precious little compound.”
He taps his chin in mock thought, then shrugs.
“My shifter form isn’t what makes me cool,” I argue, and he laughs. “Besides, since I’ll never be able to identify a mate and actually gain a form, it’s not that impressive being a chromius, is it?”
I huff. “Bottom of the barrel. No form. No power. Just a pathetic girl who is never going to be good enough to matter to anyone.”
My chromius bristles at the insult, a sharp flare of offended heat rippling through me, like she’s drawing herself up to strike me.
Idiot.
Attacking me is attacking her. I probably should’ve complained about her lack of intelligence, too.
Lucifer’s gaze shifts, and I don’t bother trying to understand it this time. I can smell his anger, see the fight between his imp and himself. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking.
I don’t think I could bear it.
“Don’t be so sad, princess. Even if you had a form—you’re never going to be cool to me.”
He waggles his brows.
I snort, shaking my head at his dramatics. “Let’s go meet Draven downstairs. He messaged a good ten minutes ago to tell me he was waiting. If I’m late, he’ll probably fire me, and I’ll get lumped into the layabout group with Jules.”
Lucifer grins. “And that, baby, was my plan all along. Big D is so much more fun when he’s annoyed, and if you were to give into your inner sloth, I’d get to lay around with you. Two birds, one very big stone.”
My groan echoes down the corridor as he locks up my flat. My heels click as we walk—normally a sound I enjoy—but tonight, my nerves are wound too tight.
I’m not looking forward to going to a nightclub. Not even a little bit.
But who really cares what the damaged chromius shifter wants anyway?
I square my shoulders as the lift doors slide shut behind us, the hum of the movement echoing through the small space.
Whatever happens tonight, I’ll endure it.
I always do.
I just wish—for once—that endurance wasn’t the only thing I was good at.