Chapter 28 Maeve #2
“This is... concerning,” he says, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly controlled tone he uses when he doesn’t want to show his hand.
“Concerning is one word for it,” I say, leaning back in the chair. “I’d go with catastrophic, but I’m sure you’ll just say that’s me being dramatic.”
Adrian’s silence stretches so long I check my phone screen to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.
He hasn’t muted his end this time, so he must be communicating silently with whoever is in the room.
Fucking asshole.
“He’s been in my home, Adrian. He’s been alone with me. He’s been in charge of my security. And all along, he’s been planning this shit,” I say, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. “He’s a siren shifter and has disappeared from the pride with his mate.”
My fingers are twitching against my thigh, and I can feel the bugs crawling beneath my skin again.
“Okay. I need you to stay where you are. You’re safest there, since he won’t chance coming back. How long have you waited before telling me?”
“An hour, maybe? Lucifer found out, came to make sure I wasn’t dead, since he’s a drastic little imp, and then informed the twins.” I deliberately omit Draven’s name so as to not draw any attention with that.
“Has he informed Alpha Phoenix?” Adrian’s tone hardens as his mind whirs into action, already ten steps ahead, already delegating and plotting.
“Yes,” I say, resisting the urge to grind my teeth. “They’ve got a meeting soon.”
“I’ll be there, too.”
What a lovely threat. Good thing I won’t be suffering through that shit. Not a chance.
“I won’t,” I reply.
There’s a moment of silence, both of us holding our ground on either side of the line, and I can sense his irritation, the way he’s calculating how to spin this into a future weapon for his benefit.
It’s never about me. Not even about his fucking nephews, who are clearly in danger by their proximity to me.
You should be there,” he says, quieter this time, as if trying to coax me into submission. “If this is about your safety, don’t you want to be able to weigh in?”
“I told you because you needed to know. That’s all. If you want to play Alpha’s advisor, do it. But I’m not giving you more leverage over me.”
He makes a noise—frustration, maybe, or something like regret, though I doubt he’s capable.
“I need to tell you something,” he admits, and I freeze at the serious tone in his voice.
He seems wary.
“What is it?” I demand, tension clawing at my skin. I hiss, looking down, and I realise it wasn’t imaginary.
It’s me.
Fuck.
I put him on speaker, placing my phone on the arm of the chair so I can focus on my hands properly. So I can stop them scratching my skin raw—again.
“We received another note.”
He doesn’t need to explain further. My fucking stalker is at it again. The sick fucking bastard destroying my room wasn’t enough.
My chromius growls and paces beneath my skin, and I can feel the itch of scales. The walls of my chest vibrate with her anger, my pulse skyrocketing.
“When did it arrive?” The itchy feeling increases, becoming harder and harder to ignore.
I want it to end.
I want to die.
“Wednesday evening.”
“And you’ve waited three fucking days to share this? What the actual fuck, Adrian?” I snap, my fingers digging into my thighs to stop from scratching. “What did it say?”
“I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
“Oh, yes, because hiding the fact that someone is stalking me is so beneficial to my mental health,” I hiss.
“There were complications,” Adrian says smoothly. “It had to be processed properly.”
“Don’t treat me like one of your political goons,” I snap. “You had no intention of sharing this, did you?”
“Maeve, very few people are aware of this. If I didn’t want to tell you, I had no reason to even bring it up.”
The realisation dawns on me almost immediately.
“Yes, you do—you have a reason for everything you do. Don’t try to lie to me. You’re telling me now because you know this is something that will come up in the meeting with Atticus. You’re trying to cover your ass so I don’t make a scene when it inevitably gets back to me.”
I glare at the wall as if Adrian can see my fury through the phone.
“You always think so lowly of me,” he says, his tone dripping with fake sadness.
He’s a shit actor.
“What did it say, Adrian?”
There’s a pause on the line. Then he exhales.
“I’m going to read it to you,” he says. His voice is careful now. Controlled in a way that tells me he’s already read it more than once. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I’m not going to tell him to stop. I can’t.
Whatever this sick fuck wants me to know, I’ll hear it. It’ll take up space in my mind, tainting my memories, constantly causing me to wonder.
I’m never going to take the ‘just ignore it’ route. I’m not that strong.
“Okay.”
Another pause. Then the faint rustle of paper before Adrian clears his throat.
“Are you sure?” he asks one last time.
“Clearly, he’s a fucking deranged piece of shit, so don’t put any stock into his words, and just bloody read them,” I snap, my voice brittle and full of my anxiety.
Finally, Adrian starts to read.
My pretty little mate,
I can feel how upset you must be with me. My heart aches at the thought of you suffering.
I wish I wasn’t forced to do that to you, but I had no choice.
You left me no choice.
You know how careful I’ve been with you. How long I’ve waited. All of the things I’ve done to make everything perfect for you.
I never wanted your home to look like that. I never wanted you to be frightened of your own bed.
Not when that was meant to be the place I’d finally get to take you. To complete you—to complete us both.
But you ruined it.
You invited those beasts in.
Why would you do that, Maeve?
How could you let those animals into a place that was meant to be ours? How could you think it was appropriate?
You belong to me. My perfect mate. My pure girl.
Not theirs.
Not anyone else’s.
I can’t stop thinking about it. About what they did to you.
Did they defile you, Maeve?
I wonder whether they looked at you the way I do. Whether they imagined they had a right to you simply because you let them stand too close.
If they did—if they crossed that line—then tell me, my love.
I won’t be angry. Not at you.
And I’ll fix it.
Do I need to get rid of them for you, my love? I’ll remove them the way I’ve removed all threats to you.
Will that prove my devotion? Will that finally be enough for you to understand?
Your clothes were an unfortunate casualty. I know how tempting they can be—how perfect they made you look.
But they were tainted, my mate. No longer clean. Exposed to the filth that surrounded you.
The fabric remembered hands that weren’t mine. They ruined everything.
I couldn’t let you wear things that carried that kind of disrespect against our bond.
You understand that, don’t you?
I need you to understand.
Can you try, Maeve? Just a little? Can you thank me for protecting you?
I know it looks bad. I know you’ll think I lost control. But I didn’t. Not really.
I was angry, Maeve. So angry.
But my anger is still devotion.
I’m not yet ready to be yours—not the way you deserve.
Not after I destroyed my plans. My blood wasn’t meant to be wasted that way.
It was meant for something important—something sacred.
I was finally taking back what was stolen from me. My new blood was going to help me achieve my goals.
To finally unlock my true form.
To finally be good enough for you.
He stole it from me, you see? It was always meant to be mine.
You’ll never understand how much I wish things were different.
I ruined months of work. You’ll never know how hard it is to be almost whole and still told you’re not good enough.
I’ll fix it, though, Maeve. I always do.
Soon, my precious mate, I’ll be ready for you. Ready to be what you deserve.
And then you won’t need to invite anyone else into your space ever again.
You won’t need protection because I’ll be there. You won’t ever sleep alone.
Nothing will ever touch you that I don’t allow—not even yourself.
Not those beasts.
Not the Graves.
Not anyone.
Everything I am doing is for you, Maeve. Every sacrifice, every drop of blood.
With all the love my soul can offer,
Your Mate
The line goes quiet. Adrian doesn’t speak. Neither do I.
The words feel louder without his voice carrying them—like they’ve been left behind in the room with me, pressed into the walls, the sheets, the air.
My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. My chromius thrashes under my skin, a violent storm of claws and scales that threatens to tear me apart from the inside out. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can hear is this sick fuck talking about me like I’m some kind of possession.
I can’t breathe. My lungs are contracting, squeezing painfully as if someone’s wrung them out like a wet cloth.
Whoever this person is, they’re completely delusional. They think we’re mates? They think they’re protecting me? This isn’t devotion.
It’s… it’s obsession. Dangerous fucking obsession.
“Read it again,” I plead.
“Maeve—”
“Please, Adrian.”
This time, I hear things I didn’t the first time. The certainty. The ownership. The way devotion is twisted until it sounds like a threat.
When he finishes, I don’t thank him. I don’t say anything at all.
Because I finally understand something I didn’t before.
He isn’t just a stalker. He’s a predator.
Someone who genuinely believes the shit he’s saying, and he’s… he’s someone to be scared of.
Every word in that letter shows a mind so detached from reality that it’s created its own twisted version.
“He’s been watching you for a long time,” Adrian says, his voice low and calculated. “And the blood reference is concerning.”
“No shit,” I whisper, my throat dry. “He’s saying he’s not good enough for me yet. That he needs to become something more.”
“This is why I wanted to keep it from you, my love,” Adrian says, his voice annoyingly gentle. “You’re already under—”
My laugh cuts him off. The sound is sharp and hysterical, even to my own ears.
“Oh, that’s fucking rich. No, Adrian, this was never about protection, and we both know it. You were controlling information—writing the narrative your own fucking way.”
His sigh shakes my soul, but I’m not done lashing out.
“You’re the reason I’m in this fucking mess in the first place. You’ve painted a target on my back, and now I’m the one paying the price for it.”
“I know that, Maeve,” he snarls, losing some of his own composure. “And I’m working so hard to undo the mess I’ve made without hurting you in the process. I never wanted them—him—to target you. I only ever wanted to keep you safe.”
“You hurt me every single day, Adrian. Everything you do, every time you move me around your board like a pawn, it hurts.”
I hang up the phone and throw it onto my bed, the movement sharp and sudden, like I’m trying to get it away from me before it can burn through my skin. If only I could fling his words away with it.
It doesn’t help. The sound of it bouncing against the mattress is too loud.
Everything is too loud. The cars on the street. My thoughts. My breathing. My heart.
My chromius surges forward, and the sensation of her claws scraping against the inside of my ribs burns.
I clamp down hard, forcing her to still. If I could shove her into the mental box and lock it, I’d be much better off.
She’s softer now, almost gentle as she tries to offer some comfort. She’s practically reminding me with her touch that if I did manage to lock her away, I’d not be able to pull myself back together again.
I curl forward in the chair, arms wrapping around my middle as if I can hold myself in place.
It’s too much. Everything is too much.
The pressure in my chest spikes, breath coming too fast, too shallow. The fabric of my clothes suddenly feels wrong—every seam, every fold pressing in all at once.
I rip the dress over my head, the tearing sound echoing through the room. My chest is heaving. My lungs are unable to accommodate the amount of air I need.
I can’t sit back down. I can’t let it touch me.
Don’t touch anything.
Don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
The lights are too bright, even though they haven’t changed. The rain tapping against the window is suddenly deafening, each sound landing like a strike against my nerves.
My skin prickles, even though I’ve been stripped bare.
I can feel my heartbeat everywhere—in my fingers, my throat, my teeth—and it’s too much. I can’t escape it. I can’t turn it down.
Even my own body is wrong.
“Why am I so fucking pathetic?” I scream. Nobody comes knocking. Nobody even realises how badly I’m losing myself.
I’m alone. With his words. With my pain.
With all of my damage open for the world to see.
Gradually, the edges start to blur.
The noise in my head dulls first, then the sensations follow, receding like a tide pulling back from the shore. The pressure remains, but it’s distant now—muted, manageable.
Numb.
I stare at the far wall without really seeing it, my reflection fractured in the dark glass of the window. Two versions of me. Both frozen.
This is what my body eventually does when it can’t take it anymore. When it can’t function. When it can’t fight away the panic.
It shuts everything down.
Including me.
It’s safer this way. Safer for me, for my chromius, for everyone.
But somewhere beneath the quiet, the box rattles, desperate to be opened.
Pandora had the wrong idea with freeing it all.
Lock it tight and never, ever open it.
That’s the best way to survive.
But somewhere beneath the numbness, a traitorous voice that sounds identical to my own whispers a truth I wish I could ignore.
He isn’t finished with me.
And if Adrian’s warnings are meant to be listened to… neither is he.