Chapter 27 Lucifer #3
“What the fuck is going on?” he hisses the question, keeping it as quiet as possible. I appreciate the discretion.
“We know who picked up the contract for the head. It’s a shit show. She’s struggling with the news, and well…”
Draven wastes no time.
“Inside,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for debate.
I let him off with it.
This time.
Draven doesn’t even blink before the latch clicks, locking us into the privacy of his flat. He rounds on me the instant it’s closed, his jaw set and arms folded tight.
He’s not even pretending to be casual.
“What can you share?” he demands, voice a low rumble that I can feel in the soles of my feet.
“We’ll do this once. I’m not recounting it twenty thousand times,” I say, raking a hand through my hair. “I’m already murderous at the thought of the cunt.”
He narrows his eyes, scanning me with an uncomfortable inspecting gaze.
“You good?” he asks, softer this time. Not gentle, exactly—Draven doesn’t do gentle with anyone except Maeve.
I nod out of habit, but it’s bullshit.
Last night, I was energetic and so excited to feed my blood thirst on those cunts that interrupted his night with Maeve.
Draven’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t press. Instead, with a heavy sigh, he grips my shoulder hard—one squeeze, then another.
I don’t pull away, but I don’t lean into it either. When he lets go, I roll my shoulders like I’m shaking off a threat.
My imp recoils in disgust, the selfish creature that can’t stand comfort.
“Right,” I say. “Let’s get this done.”
In the living room, Maeve’s perched on the edge of her armchair, hands twisted tight in her dress, eyes fixed on nothing.
She’s too still.
Too exposed.
Hadrian and Julian are a distance behind her, lurking near the kitchen door, likely talking silently through the mind link so as to avoid upsetting Maeve.
Same build. Different damage. Both of them wound tight, looking for something to hit.
Julian’s pale blue eyes are wide with unease, white shirt rumpled against his sunlit presence. Beside him, Hadrian looms darker, black shirt clinging to coiled fury, baby blue gaze sharp and unforgiving, power bristling beneath his skin.
“Right, what the fuck is going on?” Hadrian demands angrily.
I don’t waste time. I lay it all out—Myles, the contract, Caspian, the delivery, the timing. I don’t sugarcoat it, and I don’t soften the implications.
Maeve listens without interrupting, curled into the corner of the sofa, eyes distant but alert.
When I finish, silence locks down the room.
Then Maeve exhales, slow and shaky, and folds her hands in her lap like she’s afraid they’ll betray her.
She’s tense, wound tight enough I can feel it across the room.
“He always made me nervous,” she says with a sigh. “I should’ve… well, in my defence, everyone makes me nervous.”
“In what way?” Draven demands, his words more of a growl than human.
“Why didn’t you say something to Atticus sooner?” Hadrian adds.
“Well, he was watching me. Being overly familiar. Too… invested? I don’t know, it’s nothing I can really pinpoint or argue against. I mean, it was just… uneasy being around him,” she murmurs. “Luc fired him for me.”
“And you didn’t mention any of your discomfort to anyone?” Hadrian demands, sounding even more angry with her.
“Oh, fuck off, Baby Cuz,” I snap. “She did.”
“And it’s not like I could complain that my literal bodyguard was watching me too much,” she hisses, and I clock it instantly.
There she is. There’s her teeth.
She swallows. “Nothing overt or dramatic. Just… little things. He stood too close. Asked questions that didn’t quite make sense. Watched more than he needed to.”
“Oh, Maeve,” Julian whispers.
“I told myself I was projecting my hatred of all men onto one who seemed to care,” she continues. “That I was being paranoid. But every time he was around, my skin crawled. I hated being alone with him.”
My imp snarls, furious and vindicated all at once.
“You weren’t wrong,” I say. “And you weren’t imagining a damn fucking thing. Not just this, but even the parting bullshit he tried when I fired him—”
“You remember those?” Maeve huffs out a laugh, some amusement creeping into her face.
I waggle my brows. “I remember anyone who argues against my claim, pretty princess. Bastard thought he could muscle me out of my position.”
She laughs now. “No, he didn’t.” Her face pales, and she shakes her head. “Or maybe he did. Who fucking knows?”
“What were the parting words?” Draven interjects.
“I’m sorry, Maeve. I hope that one day it all becomes clear,” I repeat, word for fucking word. “I said he was a cunt or something and told him to fuck off.”
“I’ve not had very many interactions with him since, only when he’s been watching over Ari and in passing,” Maeve adds. “You did scare him off a bit.”
Draven paces, his shadow cutting back and forth across the living room floor like a caged threat.
“We need to tell Atticus. Immediately. And Alvie, since this could impact Ari.”
“We’ve already got a meeting with him sorted for an hour’s time,” I say, looking up at the clock. “But our options are limited. If he’s already left, our choices are to hunt him down or see if he resurfaces.”
“I think… ugh, I’d rather die than actually admit that we need him, but I think that we may need to tell Adrian,” Maeve says.
My imp stills. That’s not panic talking.
That’s strategy.
“You want to contact him,” Draven says slowly.
“My uncle. You want to call my uncle?” Julian adds, looking around the room as if searching for some hidden camera.
Maeve meets his gaze without wavering. “He’ll help me, and we need that right now. He’s a mythical, remember? He could access any location and go under the radar.”
There it is. The mind everyone underestimates.
Draven studies her for a long moment, then nods. “Do it.”
“Wait, what?” she jumps up, somehow not losing balance at all in those fucking heels. “That’s not fair!”
I laugh at her disappointment. “Course it is, princess. It was your genius idea.”
Hadrian smirks, his arms crossed over his chest. “I agree. You made the suggestion. You should make the call.”
She gapes at us like we’ve just told her that the circus is in town, and we’ve just volunteered her for the main attraction.
“What?” Her tone is flat.
“I’m sorry, little angel, but I think he’d take the news better from you,” Draven says carefully. “And, he might be open to providing intel, if you’re the one to ask.”
Maeve looks like she’s about to combust—that pink in her cheeks is building rage. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides, and her mouth is parted in what might be disbelief.
“Fine, but the next time we need to make a shitty decision, I’m not doing it.”
“Did you really make the decision, little starlet?” Hades teases, and my mate glowers at my cousin.
Tension spikes sharp enough to prickle my skin, and I roll my shoulders, burning it off.
I ignore the pointed glare from Draven, instead focusing on the contemplative expression on Julian’s face.
I watch her pull out her phone, fingers steady despite everything, and something cold and lethal locks into place.
Caspian didn’t just make a mistake.
He underestimated her.
And that’s going to cost him more than his place in this pride.
It’s going to cost him his life.