Chapter 26 Maeve #2
“No, little light, you’re not, but you are extremely fucking hard on yourself. You don’t think you’re worthy of a mate. You don’t think you’re worthy of being loved. It’s far easier to think that my uncle has orchestrated some kind of plan rather than accepting that you are wanted.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I flinch away from them as though they burn. I can’t breathe, my throat constricting as an ugly, familiar feeling crawls up from my chest.
Self-loathing is an old friend.
“Fuck you,” I spit, but there’s no real force behind it.
Because he’s right, and I hate him for it.
My chromius purrs in agreement with his assessment, the traitor. She’s so happy she’s found a mate who understands us so well.
But he’s not our fucking mate.
I want to scream at her. Shake her. Make her see fucking reason.
“I’m not trying to upset you,” Julian says, softer now. “I’m trying to get you to see reason. To understand.”
“And you thought insulting me was the way to do that?”
I shiver, looking down at my lap rather than facing his expression.
I’m weak.
Pathetic.
Broken.
And I don’t know how to compose myself under his scrutiny. For the first time, it’s clear to me that he really believes what he’s saying.
There’s no doubt in Julian’s mind that we’re soulmates, that this connection is real. But for me to process this? I don’t think I can survive it.
I’ve been confident in the fact that this was all Adrian’s plan. That it was another lie, another way for him to manipulate me.
To Adrian, I’m nothing but a pawn—and that certainty kept me safe. I didn’t need to think about it, I didn’t need to second-guess or overthink.
Clinging to this truth has been a protective blanket. Now… well, now, I don’t know what to believe.
His conviction is unsettling.
“Maeve?” Julian’s voice is gentle, coaxing, even. “Talk to me.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I rub my temples, cringing at the clammy feel of my skin. “My head hurts.”
“There’s water on the dresser. And painkillers if you want them.” He pauses, gulping. “And I can leave. Say the word, and I’ll give you space.”
The offer isn’t a test. There’s no pressure behind it.
I glance around the room, trying to force my brain to comply, and my gaze catches on the clothes folded neatly at the end of my bed. Familiar fabrics. No tags. Nothing scratchy.
“You went through my stuff,” I say flatly.
Julian’s mouth twitches. “Lucifer did. He’s taken it upon himself to make sure you’ve got comfortable items for situations like this.”
That gets a reluctant huff out of me. I should punish the devil for stealing from me—but it’s too sweet to resent.
Fuck, I’m going soft.
Something uncomfortable twists low in my chest.
“Oh,” I mumble. “Okay.”
“Tell me what you need, baby,” he begs. There’s a desperate edge to his words, and I want to cry.
Why does that make me want to cry?
“You’re a beautiful soul, you know,” I say, looking over at Julian. “It’s hard to see past all your ego, but you’ve got a truly beautiful soul.”
He frowns. “I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not.”
“It was.”
He nods, his eyes still wary. “Well, thank you.”
“I like Hadrian’s soul better, though,” I say with a grin. He rolls his eyes and relaxes entirely. “Are we… can we make a pact?”
“A pact?”
I gag at the flush of his cheeks. “Not like a blood pact or anything. Just… a promise?”
Julian leans forward, his expression softening. “Of course. What kind of promise?”
I tug at the edge of the blanket, fidgeting as I try to arrange my thoughts. My chromius vibrates with anticipation, and I silently tell her to shut up.
This has nothing to do with her. This is for me—for my needs, for my mental health.
I’m sure George would be proud.
“We both know I can’t identify any bond until I can face my fear of touch.”
The words taste like a weakness. But they’re mine, and it’s the only boundary I can still try to defend.
Julian inhales sharply, leaning back in the chair like I’ve struck him. “Maeve—“
“Just listen,” I say, raising my hand. “I’m not saying I believe you. I’m not saying I don’t. But I know I can’t... I can’t even… I can’t think about this right now.”
“You can’t think about this right now?” He’s full of disbelief.
I shrug but nod. “Yes. So, can we just… stop talking about it? You can believe it, I can ignore it, and when the day comes that I can touch even a finger to your skin…”
Julian’s expression transforms instantly—eyes widening, posture straightening, like I’ve just handed him the keys to heaven.
“Then… then we can address it,” I finish, ignoring the way my voice wavers.
My chromius is so excited, her hope and happiness flooding our bond, and I hate it. Hate that I’ve given her this when I currently have no intention of following through with it.
“Okay,” he says carefully. “When the day comes that you can touch without fear, I’ll prove to you that you’re mine.”
You’re mine now, bitch.
I’ve wanted to get my hands on you all these years, but your daddy wanted to wait.
To celebrate.
And now I get to—
“No,” I gasp, squeezing my eyes shut.
Julian’s grapefruit and leather scent sours, his pegasus reacting to my distress without him even realising. A wave of anger ripples through the room, and he struggles to rein himself in.
“Maeve?” Julian’s voice is closer now, but he hasn’t moved from the chair. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I force myself to nod, trying to close this box. But the memory fights back—the words, the mouths, the entitlement.
Julian’s gaze sharpens like he senses it.
“They’re gone,” he says.
Not handled. Not dealt with.
Gone.
But they’re not. He’s talking about the men from last night, but my brain is locked onto the men from seven years ago.
They’re still out there. Some free. Some incarcerated. And the worst one is dead.
But it’s still not enough.
“You’re safe, Maeve. You’re safe.” He hums softly under his breath, the sound meant to be comforting.
I breathe. Again and again. Letting him calm my nervous system—not me—so I can sort out my frazzled brain.
I look back at him and take in his expression, trying to relax. His eyes are soft with concern, but I see the underlying current of worry that he’s trying to hide.
He’s biting his lower lip, and it’s strangely endearing on a man who usually exudes so much confidence.
But he’s not hiding the care.
And I can’t help but wonder how dangerous it is to be wanted this deliberately.
“Are you going to stop bringing it up, then?”
Another nod, firmer this time. “Yes. I promise that until the day you feel confident enough to touch me, I won’t utter those words again.”
“Or say them at all,” I correct, catching the immediate loop-hole in his vow.
“I’ll happily not say them in your presence, but that’s as far as I’ll acquiesce,” he offers. “I’ll also speak with Hadrian so you don’t need to have this conversation twice.”
“You will?” I ask hopefully.
“Of course,” Julian says, and, for a moment, he looks almost... disappointed. “I’ll make sure he knows. We don’t want to make you uncomfortable, little light. I fucked things up the way I went about it, but that stops now.”
I stare at him, suspicious. Nothing is ever this easy, especially not with Julian “the-world-owes-me-everything” Graves, but I detect nothing but sincerity—and that unsettles me more than lies ever have.
“Thank you. I mean that.” A blush coats my cheeks, and I duck my head to hide it from him.
He’s grinning as he teasingly says, “Well, then. I’ve got a promise, a blush, and a thank you. That’s practically lottery-worthy. Do you think Atticus has one for his people?”
“I don’t think he’d let you buy a ticket.” I scowl at how easily he dispersed the tension.
“What if you bought one for me, then? I think I’d have a better chance of—”
“Maeve, Julian!” Lucifer’s unhinged voice roars, cutting Julian off. It echoes through the flat, and Julian rolls his eyes.
“Fuck me, he’s so dramatic.”
I giggle. “And you’re not? Draven’s the only one of you who isn’t dramatic. It must be a Graves family trait.”
“I could never be as dramatic as him.” Julian’s eyes are wide, a smile full of mirth on his face.
It shouldn’t feel this light, but it does.
“Julian!” Lucifer yells again. “Where the fuck are you?”
“We’re in here—in Maeve’s room,” he calls back, still not taking his eyes off me. “Right? You see it now?”
I nod but don’t get time to respond further as my bedroom door flies open, revealing a dishevelled Lucifer. The door bounces off the chair before being stopped by the carpet.
“Hey, if I was still sitting there, you’d have shattered my fucking kneecaps,” Julian hisses.
Lucifer doesn’t even look at his cousin. “There’s still time, trust me.”
He strides towards the bed where I’m still sitting under the blankets, his brow furrowed, jaw tight, eyes scanning my face with the intensity of someone counting injuries.
His shoulders are hunched forward slightly as he approaches like he’s bracing himself for a bad reaction.
“What is it?” I whisper.
He reaches out and touches the blanket that’s covering me. I flinch, and he moves it immediately, but I know he wants more. Wrap me in a hug, hold my hand, maybe even smother me in affection.
He’s unsettled, and it scares me.
“What is going on?” Julian demands, inching closer.
Lucifer shakes his head. “Go get Draven and Hadrian up. Meeting in ten minutes—Draven’s living room.”
“Why not ours?” Julian grumbles, his hands tapping his thighs in an agitated pattern. “Or even Maeve’s. Why do we have to cram in the bear’s gloomy lair?”
Lucifer’s jaw ticks, and he glares at Julian. “Because I don’t trust the security at Maeve’s flat right now and—”
“What?” The word rips from me, sharp and unfiltered.
Even Lucifer flinches at the high-pitched shriek. My head is throbbing, but adrenaline cuts through faster.
“Is Ari home? Does Alvie know?” I’m halfway out of bed before I even realise it, the blanket puddling around my knees.
In that split moment, every bad thing that could ever happen to someone I care about plays in my mind like a lovely little slideshow of trauma.
Everything that the bastard has done to me but this time with Ari as his victim.
Her neck snapped.
Her blood coating our sofa.
Flowers decorating her corpse.
I breathe in and out, panic gripping my organs, and not letting go.
“Breathe, princess. I need you to breathe,” Lucifer commands, kneeling down beside me. I shake my head, tears welling up.
Lucifer holds out a hand, palm facing out, as if trying to physically block me from continuing to panic.
“They’re safe. Ari is safe. I’d never, ever let something happen to you, or those you care about.”
“Unless the option was me or her,” I gasp, fear taking root in my brain, growing like a fucking tree. “And you barrelled in here like I was already dead. You couldn’t have looked in on her. You were…”
I cut myself off, turning to Julian. “Why the hell have you let me talk to you all morning? You’ve let me sleep when people, my people, could have been—”
“Nothing has happened to anyone, Maeve,” Julian says carefully. His eyes are soft, his expression one of careful control.
He’s talking to me like I’m a wounded animal. Like he’s scared I’m a bomb about to detonate or some shit.
Can’t they see this is a normal reaction? That my fear isn’t unfounded, considering the shit that’s happened to me already?
My stepdad deserved it.
But Ari? Pregnant, lovely, sweet Ari?
I clutch at my shirt, the bunched fabric rubbing across my chest is horrific, but I don’t care. I can’t care.
“Ari is safe. I’ve already checked on her,” Lucifer promises. “Alvie is with her, and she’s on her way to work. She’s safe. Completely and utterly.”
“You promise?” I whisper.
He nods, and with that promise, I can shove all the panic and fear—all these uncomfortable feelings of care—into the mental box. I lock it tight and raise a brow at the devil.
He’s unsurprised by my coldness now, but Julian’s surprised.
“So, what has happened?” I ask, once again addressing Lucifer. Julian can’t help me.
He doesn’t understand my darkness—not like Lucifer does. Lucifer can command it, navigate it with me, because he’s spent just as long inside it.
Julian’s pure—untouched by the darkness that follows the rest of us like a shadow. He’s never had to make the hard choices or had to fight tooth and nail just to survive another day.
Well, until this week.
“Julian, go,” Lucifer insists, not taking his eyes off me. My heart thuds, and I don’t watch the light pegasus leave.
I can’t.
Lucifer’s eyes are captivating, the blue so bright with frenzy that I’m hypnotised.
“I need you to get dressed, pretty princess,” he says softly. Now that it’s just the two of us, I can drop some of the mask, stop trying to pretend I’m okay.
I shake my head. “I can’t. Not until… not until you tell me what’s happened.”
Lucifer exhales roughly, and the same exhaustion I saw on Julian’s face is echoed now in his. The five o’clock shadow, despite the early hour, the slight droop of his eyes.
“Please, Luc. I can’t… I need to know before we go down there and work it out. I—”
“I know who took the contract. They didn’t kill him. All they did was pick the box up and deliver it,” he says carefully.
I frown. “How do you know they didn’t kill him?”
“Because your—he was already dead when the package was collected.”
“What?” I blink rapidly, my brain struggling to process this new information. “How? Who killed him, then?”
“That’s something we still need to figure out. But at least we have a starting point.”
I nod, my stomach churning. It takes a minute—an embarrassingly long one—and when it hits me, I gasp.
“What?”
“I never actually asked who.”
The silence after that is loud because he knows I don’t really want the details.
Details make it real. And reality is what breaks me.
Lucifer gives me a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I noticed. Are you sure you—” He sighs. “This is going to hurt you, princess, and I fucking hate that I can’t shield you from it.”
I swallow hard, trying to process what this means. Who could’ve done this. Who—who betrayed me.
The what-ifs will hurt far more than the truth ever could.
“So, who was it?” I gulp. “Who picked up the contract?”
“Caspian.” He sneers, his eyes flashing black as he holds my gaze. “The bastard fucking siren did it.”
And now it all makes sense. The kind of betrayal that breaks you always comes wearing a familiar face.