Chapter 27 Lucifer #2
The elephant catches sight of my panic, and he cocks a brow.
“What’s going on?” Alvie asks, folding his arms. The green shirt tightens over his broad frame, but, honestly? Does absolutely nothing for me.
His body language is all elephant—steady, patient, but you know if he decides to charge, you’re getting trampled.
“Who’s scheduled to stay with Ari while she’s at work?” I say, no time for pleasantries or for the territorial bullshit that usually comes with my overstepping.
Alvie shrugs. “I’ll drop her off and stay for the first hour, then Wade is up. Why?”
He stresses his question this time, but I can’t answer. Not yet.
I step further into the living room, ignoring the way both Ari and Alvie track me like nervous zoo animals.
I don’t want to set them off—not yet, or they’ll get in my way—but I need to know.
“Where’s Caspian?” I ask, and I already know I’m not going to like the answer.
He knows. And I feel it in my bones. The same certainty of a hunt turning cold—he’s gone.
Ari and Alvie exchange a look over my shoulder, some silent communication that makes my skin prickle. Ari clears her throat.
“He and his mate went for a trip,” she says carefully. “They left yesterday.”
I stare at Ari, my imp clawing at my chest, desperate to get out.
“How fucking convenient. When?” I demand, my voice dropping to a growl. “When did they leave?”
Ari takes a small step back, her scent betraying a hint of fear. Alvie growls low in his throat, the sound mimicking a quiet elephant trumpet, but I can’t calm myself down.
I can’t explain—not yet.
Not when I want to tear Caspian’s throat out with my teeth.
Not when Ari doesn’t need to know.
Not when Maeve is still unaccounted for.
Ari shifts uncomfortably, leaning into Alvie for support.
“Once you’ve dropped Ari off, and Wade is there, come back, and we’ll debrief,” I say carefully.
Ari flinches and shakes her head. “I can’t leave now. Not when we have no idea where Maeve is.”
“If Maeve hasn’t come back here yet, she’s still with the twins,” I say, keeping my tone steady. “She’s as safe as she can be.”
“The flat is the risk, then,” Alvie says, and I nod my head once. I look around the room, not sure what I’m expecting to find, but nothing jumps out at me.
A sweep will need to be done later. Just in case he’s left anything behind. It wouldn’t surprise me to find a camera or a listening device.
These sick fucks like to watch. It makes them feel closer to their victims—like they can borrow her fear and call it theirs.
Dirty fucking cunts.
“I’m going to need a list of everyone who’s been in this flat whilst I’ve been gone. Every single person,” I tell them, my eyes scanning the corners of the ceiling. “Alvie, take Ari to work. She’ll be safe there with Wade. Then get back here.”
“I’m not yours to command,” he snarls.
“Trust me on this, Cousin.” I hold his gaze, letting the weight of my words land.
There’s a hesitation in Alvie’s eyes, a calculated look on his face. Elephants are stubborn, but they aren’t stupid.
I heave a sigh. “We’ve been looking into who delivered the box here.”
“The box?” Ari asks, confused.
“Go get your things for work, heartling,” Alvie says, and Ari grumbles but does as she’s told.
“Fuck me, I need to know how you manage that,” I say, and he grins but shakes his head.
“Who?” he asks quietly. It’s quiet enough that Ari can’t hear from the other room, no matter how hard she’s straining for it.
“Caspian. He picked up the contract.”
Alvie’s face drains of colour. The half-eaten sandwich drops from his hand, hitting the floor with a wet splat I’ll never unhear.
Blood splatters? Works of art.
Ketchup? Vile.
“Once she’s secured, we’ll need to loop Atticus in,” Alvie says.
“I know. I need Maeve secured first, too. And informed.”
“Fuck,” he snarls. “Of all the backstabbing sons of bitches.”
“I should’ve known,” I spit, pacing the room.
My imp is snarling inside me, clawing at my insides, desperate to hunt. To maim. To destroy.
“I should’ve known,” Alvie mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We brought him into our home. He’s been here with Ari. Alone. I trusted him with her—with them.”
The thought sends a wave of nausea through me that I have to swallow down. My imp rages beneath my skin at the insinuations.
“He’s never touched them,” I say because it’s the only thing keeping me from tearing the place apart.
But it’s not enough. None of it is enough.
I force myself to breathe through my nose, slow and steady, because I can’t afford to lose it right now.
My imp is too close to the surface, clawing at my control, demanding I hunt down the fucker who would dare threaten her.
“But that doesn’t mean he’s not a danger.”
“No, it doesn’t. He’s not been stupid enough to try anything with them. Not directly. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been gathering information. Watching. Planning.”
I shake my head and gesture to the ketchup on the floor. “Get that cleaned up before your mate panics over it, and give me a call when you’re on your way back over.”
“Can do,” Alvie mutters. He snarls but asks, “How sure are you?”
“One hundred percent.” I sigh. “He’s a slimy fucking cunt, and the only reason he’s still breathing is because he ran away like a coward.”
Maeve’s hands are shaking. She’s staring at me like I’m a ghost, like she’s already somewhere else.
Her face is pale, her eyes empty and devoid of life.
She’s fucking terrified, and I hate that I’m the one who had to be the bearer of it.
I hate that Caspian exists at all.
“Okay,” she murmurs, composing herself. “Can I quickly get changed before we go to Draven’s?”
I nod my head.
“Do you want me to turn around and stay?” I ask. “You don’t have to be alone.”
“No, I’m okay. I’ll just be a minute.” She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “I need a second to process.”
I nod, understanding exactly what she means. She needs to fall apart where I can’t see her—where I can’t interfere.
“Okay, pretty princess. Take your time,” I murmur, trying to give her what she needs, despite the warring instincts inside me.
My imp fights me the entire time. He wants to stay, to block every exit, to stand between her and the world. Between any threat—even her tears.
I don’t want to leave her. Not when she’s hurting. Not right now.
But if I were right there, I could keep her safe.
I can’t deny her this moment, though.
“I’ll be right outside the door. If you need anything, call for me.”
I back into the hallway, the door swinging shut with a click that lands right in the pit of my stomach.
I rest my head against the cool wood, every muscle twitching, waiting for some kind of sound to come from her room.
I need proof of whether she’s holding it together or, more likely, evidence she’s fallen apart.
Hadrian and Julian are already gone, thank fuck. I don’t want them here, don’t want them to see her like this.
I count the seconds until they blur, but there’s nothing. No sound at all except the rush of blood in my own head and the vibration of the grinding of my teeth.
Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen. At exactly the seventeen-minute mark, Maeve’s door creaks open.
She’s changed into a pale purple dress, thin straps cutting across her shoulders, the fabric clinging in a way that would have been distracting any other day. But today, it just highlights how much of her skin is exposed, how much of her is marked by her own hands.
There are red scratches raked across her collarbone and down the insides of her arms, some angry and fresh, some already fading to dull pink. The sight of them stings more than I want to admit.
I can kill men. I can’t kill the trauma they leave behind.
Her blonde hair is braided around her crown, her face scrubbed raw. There’s no mistaking the tension coiled tight beneath her skin.
She looks fragile.
Exhausted.
Scared.
She doesn’t look at me, not at first. Instead, she sweeps her gaze around the hallway, checking for exits, measuring the distance to the front door. Her skin reeks of fear, struggling against the weak pink roses.
I want to tell her it’s okay, that she’s safe, but the words sound hollow even in my own head.
There’s no blade sharp enough to cut this away.
No enemy I can kill to make it stop. So, I’ll do the only thing I can—stand between her and the world until her hands stop shaking.
“I’m ready,” she says quietly, and her voice is so small—so unlike her—that I almost don’t catch it.
I straighten, letting my spine crack and my lungs fill with air that’s suddenly not enough. Every sense I possess narrows onto Maeve and the tremor she’s trying to hide in her hands.
“Good,” I say, and my voice comes out lower, more feral than I’d like. “We’re going to Draven’s.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t even glance at me. Just nods her head and moves towards the front door.
That alone tells me how badly this rattled her.
My imp coils tight, every nerve in my body on standby—to restrain, to kill, to comfort. All at once, if that’s what she asks for.
But she doesn’t.
We step into the corridor together. After I press the button for Draven’s floor, the doors shut behind me.
There’s only us in the elevator, silence pressing in thick enough to make my teeth itch.
I raise my hand to put my keys into the lock, but before I can, the door swings open.
Draven’s already squared up in the doorway, all ursarix bulk and territorial intent.
He’s dressed like he threw clothes on without thinking—a thick, navy jumper stretched over muscle, black pants, and not even a watch.
Barefoot except for the black socks covering his goblin toes.
At least he’s not a complete heathen.
He ignores me completely, attention locked on Maeve like I’m not even in the room.
His eyes rake over her face before dipping lower to the marks on her skin.
“Morning, Daddy D,” I say, forcing the words out like armour.
Maeve scoots past him, moving through to the living room. He waits until we hear Hadrian’s boisterous greeting before talking once more.