Chapter 25 Draven
DRAVEN
“What’s this, then?” a voice sneers.
Maeve whirls around, her hair snapping loose with the movement, brushing across her cheek.
She flinches, but not because of them.
It’s her hair. The unwanted—unexpected—brush of it against her skin. The reminder that even the smallest contact can feel like too much for her.
I notice. I always notice.
They’re standing too close to her, leering, with that familiar, serpent-like smile that shows they’ve already decided how this is going to go.
And it doesn’t include her consent.
Maeve doesn’t react. No racing of her heart, no flush of anxiety.
She doesn’t care.
My bear does, though.
He rumbles low in my chest, claws scraping under my skin, but they don’t even look at me.
Assholes.
We’re still in the VIP section, and I’m furious that Blackroot—Black, whatever the fuck his name is—has let trash like this wander into his club. It makes my jaw tighten.
Doesn’t he take his duty of care seriously?
“What is what?” my little mate asks like she isn’t being circled by predators larger than herself.
I’m already moving in my head. Measuring them up, calculating how easily I can make them break.
It wouldn’t be hard.
A fox shifter and a tiger.
A strange pairing to see together, but easy enough to kill without spilling a drop of blood.
I could put them down before security even clocked the threat. No mess. A quiet end to two men who should’ve been swallowed.
The fox is tall and narrow. Too thin. Weak through the shoulders. Green eyes. Dirty copper hair. I could snap his neck without standing.
He’s filthy. His rancid scent confirms it, even if his mouth hasn’t yet.
The tiger is broader—two hundred and twenty pounds, maybe—and tightly wound. He’s a coward, and he’s using the fox to do his dirty work. Letting him talk so he doesn’t have to.
But he’s the one who started this. I can smell it on him.
“This,” the fox says, gesturing lazily towards where I sit opposite Maeve.
I growl under my breath as he laughs, turning to the tiger like he expects approval.
“Have you seen this pathetic, scarred freak of nature before?” he sneers. “What do you think, did he escape the circus?”
He’s not wrong.
I am scarred. I am a freak.
Pathetic, too, depending on the day.
And my worth?
It’s nothing compared to the beauty beside me.
My perfect angel. My mate.
Everything I don’t deserve but somehow fate gave me anyway.
“Pathetic?” Maeve asks, already rising to her feet.
I’m on my feet before she finishes the movement, stepping into place beside her.
Close—but not touching.
Never touching.
Not even our arms brush.
I let the fury bleed off me in waves instead, heavy and deliberate. If either of them so much as breathe wrong in her direction, I’ll break their skulls.
Cleanly.
I’ll make sure not a single drop of their blood gets on her. I won’t taint her that way.
Or traumatise her.
“You’re gorgeous,” the tiger says, his voice slick as he leans closer to Maeve. Not close enough to touch her, or I’d rip his arm off. “What are you doing with something as horrid as that?”
Fair question.
I don’t care what he calls me, though. It doesn’t touch anything that matters.
But her?
Thinking he has the right to her attention. Her time. Her energy.
He’s lucky she hasn’t decided she’s done with him yet.
“That?” Maeve asks, cocking her head, as she drags out the vowel sound.
My ursarix surges, snarling for control, but I lock him down hard.
She’s handling this.
She doesn’t need me, and that truth hurts more than anything they’ve said.
And they know it.
I don’t know why she keeps me this close. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me.
She hasn’t claimed the bond.
She didn’t need to.
And like the pathetic fuck I am, I stayed anyway. Right where she left me.
I won’t leave her. I can’t.
I’ll stand at the edge of her life if that’s all she allows. I’ll guard the dark. Handle the things she shouldn’t have to see.
If she smiles, that’s enough.
If she’s safe, I survive.
I don’t need the bond.
I don’t need more from her.
I’ll make sure every single one of her needs is met and that her life is worth living.
This—whatever scraps of closeness she allows—is my right to earn.
“Let me tell you something about this pathetic, scarred freak of nature,” Maeve says, spitting the words back at them.
My bear stills, our hurt folding inwards, merging together, as we listen to our mate’s words.
She believes what they said. She sees me the way they do.
The thought lands hard and ugly in my chest, and I let it. This is my weakness, not hers. If it hurts, that’s on me.
I don’t get to bleed all over her for it.
If all she ever gives me are scraps—of space, proximity, a glance now and then—I’ll take them and call it a gift. I’ll take worse. I’ll take nothing and stay anyway.
“He’s ugly,” the fox sneers.
Maeve laughs. It’s sharp and bitter and carries no humour at all.
“Ugly isn’t determined by someone’s looks,” she says coolly, though anger burns thick in her scent. “Ugly is a rot on someone’s soul, and you’re riddled with it.”
The fox frowns, glancing down at himself like she might actually see it. She can’t, but she’s not wrong about him.
“And trust me,” she continues, “not only is he the most beautiful man I’ve ever met—he’s also the purest soul I know.”
Something in my chest twists tight enough to hurt, like my heart doesn’t know what to do with being seen like that.
She places her hands in the air and waves—a gesture to summon security to our booth.
“What are you doing?” the tiger asks, suddenly wary.
“Well,” Maeve says pleasantly, “my friend here is a very powerful bear shifter.”
Security moves towards us immediately—two of them—drawn by her signal without hesitation. They’ve got to move through the crowds, but at least they’re coming.
“And whilst he doesn’t personally care if he is insulted,” Maeve continues lightly, “he really, really takes it personally when I am.”
The tiger opens his mouth. “We didn’t—”
I growl, low and deliberate, cutting him off.
She knows me.
Not the surface. Not the reputation.
Me.
Insult me, and I might ignore it. Might ruin your life quietly. Depends on the day.
But insult her?
I won’t kill you.
You’ll just wish I had.
The two shifters exchange nervous looks, and a slow, dangerous smile curls across my mouth at how flawlessly she’s dismantling them.
She’s perfect.
Too perfect for someone like me.
And the fact that she stands here anyway makes me want to earn something I’ll never be allowed to keep.
“Oh, I pity you,” Maeve says, venom wrapped in silk. “I pity your fucking mothers—for birthing men with no brains and such rotten souls. But since I’m feeling charitable, I called security to give you a chance to get help. Consider it my good deed for the day.”
She gestures towards me, smile sharp.
“If I were you, I’d leave now before my pretty friend here decides your lives are forfeit.”
I look down at her, something fierce and aching flooding my chest, as they sign their own death warrants.
“You’re a twisted fucking bitch,” the fox snaps. “I was going to offer you a good time, but go fuck yourself. It’s obvious scar-face here can’t satisfy you.”
“Or maybe he tried,” the tiger adds, desperately scrambling, “but he’s a little too… small.”
The fox cackles, and it’s a very high-pitched, shrill sound. Almost as if his balls haven’t dropped yet.
If they have, well, it’ll save me the job from cutting him open to cut them out.
“She’s never been fucked properly a day in her life,” the fox says, still finding this entire situation humorous.
My spine locks. The ursarix slams against my control, furious—not just at the insult, but at the memories they’re trying to drag into the open. The past they don’t get to weaponise.
Of the times her consent was violated, just like now.
They think they can break her in front of me.
I won’t fucking let them.
Maeve’s eyes flick to mine. I lift a brow, silently asking for permission to deal with this.
Let me handle it.
She shakes her head once. Mouths ‘I’ve got this.’
And I obey.
I’m hers to wield, but only when she chooses. I won’t take that choice from her. She’s had a lifetime of men making decisions for her.
This is her line to draw—her battlefield to mastermind.
Even if they’re just digging an extra deep hole for themselves later tonight.
“At least when we’re the ones getting to play with her useful mouth,” the fox says, grinning, “she’ll finally be quiet.”
My ursarix hits the wall in my head hard enough to rattle bone, roaring for control—for blood.
“She should be grateful,” the tiger adds smoothly, “that we’re willing to take a used-up slut like her off his hands.”
Used up slut.
Something inside me fractures. How fucking dare they.
“Oh, baby,” Maeve drawls, amusement lighting up her face like a match struck in darkness. “I can’t wait to see how mangled you are when he’s through with you.”
Security finally fucking arrives—a boar shifter and a water buffalo—nodding at me as if they haven’t just taken the absolute piss getting over to us.
I recognise them both, although I couldn’t name them. They’re irrelevant enough that it doesn’t matter.
The boar’s dark brown skin set off his heavy build and thick brows, his beard creeping too far down his neck.
The water buffalo’s defining feature is the fake eye—milky white, empty of any details.
“Is everything okay, Mr Westfall?” the boar shifter asks, his gruff voice scraping my ursarix raw.
“I mean, it was me who called you over here, but, sure, talk to the person with a penis since, clearly, I know nothing,” Maeve snaps before I can.
Her anger is beautiful as she glares at the security detail.
Fuck, I’d do anything for this woman. If she asked, I’d burn this place down for her in a heartbeat.
“Mr Westfall?” the boar shifter repeats.
“If it were up to me,” Maeve hisses, “you’d take these scummy pricks outside and then throw yourself into the compactor with them—since you’re just as fucking misogynistic.”