Chapter 24 Maeve #2
“You can tell what I am?” Calder sounds intrigued.
“Considering the ursarix you met was from my family, you really think I’d remain clueless?” Draven gestures to the table. “Sit, verdant.”
Oh, fucking hell.
I remember exactly who Calder Blackroot—Black—is now. The memory easily clicks into place—case law, footnotes, Tribunal records I’d lingered over longer than necessary.
The Blackroots are a mythical subspecies of dragons. Rare even among the rare. While most dragon lines aren’t fully extinct, verdants were believed to be.
Or were believed to be.
They’re conceived as a unit—three brothers, or three sisters—and the three of them always share a soulmate.
Verdant dragons are bound to elements, a unique trait that is only for their species, and their mate completes whatever element they lack.
Calder and his brothers are three-quarters of a whole. Based on the jade green eyes and the dark earth scent that clings to Calder like stone, it’s that he’s an earth verdant.
Meaning his mate could be water, air, or terrifyingly—fire.
A water mate would soothe Calder’s rough edges, temper his storm, and bring about a calm balance he’s clearly lacking.
An air mate could sharpen things instead, heightening his instincts, his awareness, his reach. His mate would make him faster, smarter, and, sure, more dangerous, but wind moves, it redirects.
It escapes.
Fire? Fire does none of those things. A fire mate wouldn’t calm the power associated with the Blackroots—she would ignite it.
She’d feed Calder’s fury and demand more. More passion, more dominance—maybe even more violence.
Fire doesn’t temper dragons, it teaches them how to set things ablaze.
And their mate? If she gave permission, they wouldn’t just burn the world.
They’d remake it for her and call it destiny.
Let’s hope for everyone’s safety that she’s their water.
Calder’s brow lifts slightly before I can share my realisations. “You got dragged into Tribunal politics?”
“I found it a worthy cause,” Draven says evenly. “They involved themselves in my life first. This felt like an appropriate repayment.”
That earns the barest curve of Calder’s mouth. Not quite a smile but close enough that my chromius gives a pleased little hum like she’s proud of Draven for managing to crack the man.
Fucking traitor.
A woman appears beside Calder, and my eyes widen a little. She’s fucking tiny—Nora’s height, maybe, if that.
Five foot two. Possibly less, if her heels are anywhere near the height of mine.
She’s soft and delicate, so fucking pretty, and it’s absolutely comical to see her standing next to these two giants.
She has big, dark eyes and round cheeks that make her look innocent.
How she found herself navigating a den of sin beside a dragon in a suit must be an interesting story.
Her dark curls spill halfway down her back, and the amount of bare skin they brush makes my skin crawl.
Her dress is black and fitted, much more professional than mine is.
I shouldn’t care, but somehow, I do.
“Draven, Maeve,” Calder says, nodding down at her. “This is my assistant, Esme. She’s competent enough, but if she annoys you—”
“We’ll tell you to fuck off and deal with her instead,” I snap, unable to stop myself. “She’s already far more pleasant than you.”
Calder’s brow raises, looking at Draven. My boss smirks.
“I told you, she wouldn’t accept your bullshit,” Draven says easily. “Nice to meet you Esme. Now, can we sit and get on with this?”
Esme gives me a polite smile as she tucks her hair behind her ear. A blush warms her cheeks, and something about the shy gesture catches my attention.
What a fucking mess.
Draven isn’t known for his bedside manner, and Calder is clearly an asshole, too.
“Sit, Esme,” Calder commands.
The command grates on me, but Esme doesn’t seem to mind, sliding into the booth with careful grace. It pisses me off, though, and my chromius is bristling inside.
Would a please kill this man?
Esme settles beside me, close enough that I could read her notes if needed, but far enough to respect my space.
Thank fuck.
“Hi, Maeve,” she says softly.
“Hi. Your dress is gorgeous,” I say, grateful that my voice doesn’t crack.
Gold star for me.
Calder looks over his shoulder as a booming voice approaches our table, two drinks in hand.
Fucker.
Because, of course, Lucifer has appeared like a demon conjured him from the fucking wishing well.
“Here you are, my pretty princess,” Lucifer says, passing me a champagne glass with raspberries in it. “Sorry, Drav, I left yours at the bar. Didn’t have enough hands, you know?”
Draven pinches the bridge of his nose, and I duck my head to hide my giggle. Esme’s lips twitch, and I smile at her without thinking.
I don’t know what it is about this waif of a girl, but she doesn’t unsettle me, not like most shifters typically do.
She seems… broken.
Damaged, even.
Like the world chewed her up and spat her out without a shred of care.
Her soft scent of burnt honey and amber blossom indicates a sweetness with a hint of spark.
I like that.
Even if it’s vague enough that I don’t know what kind of shifter she is, I can smell her fire, and maybe some smoke. There’s a strong hint of avian, but it’s muted, like she’s not at full strength.
Something has drained her, and it’s hard to gauge a true power level from that.
My chromius is intrigued, but we don’t know enough about this world to truly understand the people surrounding us.
Perks of a sheltered life, of course.
“Hello, little phoenix,” Lucifer says, and I immediately gasp.
Fuck me dead. That explains it.
Fire, yes. Smoke, definitely. Avian, well, of course.
She’s a phoenix shifter—Esme Orbiana. The lost heir to the last phoenix shifter.
Tatiana. She died, maybe twenty years ago? Something like that, I’d need to double check the dates in the file.
Goodness, I’m really missing working in the archives, and weirdly, it’s not the loneliness that I crave.
It’s the information.
Lucifer’s voice is warm, careful, even, as if he’s deliberately refraining from forcing his crazy onto the quiet girl.
“It’s nice to finally meet you. I know your brother, and he’s very happy you’re home.”
That word—finally—sends a strange ripple through me, but before I can interrogate him, Lucifer straightens beside me with a lazy stretch.
“My favourite dragon,” Lucifer purrs. “You kept us waiting. I was starting to think you’d died.”
Calder doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. He simply looks at Lucifer like he’s a pesky insect.
“You’re late,” Calder says flatly.
I narrow my eyes, and Draven winks at me. Was this planned in advance?
Why didn’t they tell me?
Lucifer beams. “I know. Thank you.”
Esme’s smile fades into something pained. Like she’s watched this dynamic unfold more times than she deserves.
Draven’s gaze sharpens. “Lucifer.”
“What?” Lucifer asks, spreading his hands innocently. “I’m here now. Look. Helpful.”
“Sure, you are,” Draven mutters.
My boss subtly gestures at me, and I flip my notebook open, pen ready to take notes. My hands are steady. My breathing is mostly normal.
I can do this.
“Well,” Lucifer drawls, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “now that introductions are out of the way, are we getting down to business?”
“You’re not part of my business,” I say dryly.
“Oh, princess, I—”
“Let’s,” Calder interrupts, sitting down next to Esme.
That’s a claim and a half, and both men with me notice it instantly.
Lucifer smirks and drops down on my other side, leaving space for Draven at the end of the booth. Close enough that his heat reaches me, but not so close that I feel boxed in. He’s careful, and I know his presence is a warning to anyone stupid enough to try their luck.
As if an ursarix and a verdant dragon isn’t enough of a threat, that is.
Calder doesn’t bother with small talk. He folds his hands on the table, those jade eyes fixed on Draven like he expects the world to rearrange itself around his patience.
It probably usually does.
“Tell us what you’re claiming is yours,” Draven says firmly, “and exactly how the Tribunal is justifying sitting on it.”
Calder’s jaw flexes once.
“The assets I want returned were held in trust under my family line,” he says. “They were seized when neither my brothers nor I formally claimed them. All our properties. The family funds, outside of our inheritance. Even our fucking sentimental shit.”
His voice hardens.
“They took everything under the guise of oversight after my father’s death—and they never gave it back.”
“That’s pretty vague,” I say, pen already moving across my notebook. “They can’t freeze an entire legacy because of a delayed claim. How long ago did he die?”
Calder’s gaze snaps to me.
Not annoyed. Interested.
“They can,” he says flatly, “when they decide your existence is inconvenient.”
Been there, done that.
And yet, the dragon boy thinks he’s special.
Draven’s scent shifts—cream curdling into something sharper beneath my nose. “They’re calling you a threat.”
“They’ve decided that my brothers and I are a destabilising force without our mate,” Calder corrects. “If we had her, they claim they’d reconsider.”
Oh, I really fucking have been here—in fact, I’m still living it.
“Verdants aren’t meant to exist without a mate,” Calder continues. “The Tribunal believes that makes us unpredictable.”
“So, they stole your life and called it public safety,” I mutter, writing furiously.
As I go, I note down different reports and legislation I can look into as they pop into my mind.
Esme’s shoulders tense beside me, her hand curling in her lap.
Calder’s eyes flick to her for half a second. His scent shifts—not dramatic, but noticeable. Earth deepening. Cedar sharpening.
Then he looks back at Draven. “I didn’t come here for sympathy. I want to know your plan.”
“That depends on what you’re holding back,” Draven says coolly. “You’ve been selective so far.”