Chapter 29 Hadrian #3
Maeve looks at the tissues but doesn’t move to take them. Instead, her gaze drifts back to me instead—clearer now, but still not fully here. Like she’s looking through me, measuring whether I’m real or just another thing her head made up.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to use them, yet.”
She doesn’t reply. Not a nod or a shake of her head.
Her arms stay locked tight around her ribs, bloodied fingers curling stubbornly into her skin.
Then she makes a sound.
Not a word. Not a sob. Just a broken exhale—wrong in the air, like it was dragged out of her without permission.
It hits me like a blow to the spine.
I don’t flinch. I don’t move. If I react, she’ll read it as judgment—or worse, pity—and I know she won’t tolerate either.
“I need you to make it stop,” she whispers like she truly believes I’m strong enough to do so.
The words are so small they almost disappear as soon as she says them.
My heart slams hard enough I think it might crack a rib. Every instinct in me screams to fix it—to grab her, to ground her, to tear whatever’s hurting her out by force.
I stay still by sheer will alone.
My pegasus strains under my skin, furious and desperate, begging me to reach for her.
She’s asked me for something I can’t give.
I can’t make it stop.
I can’t switch it off.
I can’t take it from her—not even for a second.
I’m useless.
Practically a fucking potato with legs.
I shake my head slowly so she sees it. So she understands I’m not refusing—I just can’t.
“I wish I could,” I say, and my voice is steady only because I’ve already talked myself off the edge. “I wish I could shut it down for an hour. Just to give you the peace you deserve.”
I draw a breath, force the truth out, even though I hate being this fucking honest.
“But I can’t. What I can do is stay.” I hold her gaze. “I can sit with you in the darkness until it passes. I can make sure you’re not alone in your head ever again.”
Her eyes don’t move, but I catch the tension in her jaw—the grind of teeth behind closed lips. Her breathing evens out, just a fraction, like she’s starting to match mine without realising she’s doing it.
Thank fuck.
I know that feeling. The drowning without water. Lungs burning, every inhale scraping raw. And she’s still here, still fighting it.
She’s doing so fucking well.
I plant my forearms on my knees and drop my voice lower.
“The worst part about my demons,” I say slowly, “is the shit they whisper. The way they convince you you’re trapped. That this is it. That it never ends.”
Her body shudders—a full tremor—and for half a second, I think I’ve pulled her back.
But she stays right where she is.
“It’s never going to stop,” she murmurs. It’s a hollow sound. Flat, devoid of emotion. So unlike her. “He’s never going to stop.”
He.
My jaw clenches tight, fury pulsing through my bloodstream, lighting every nerve on fire. The tension between my pegasus and I is electrifying in its rage.
Who the fuck is he?
Does she mean my uncle—Adrian? The ghost of her stepfather scum? One of us?
Someone else entirely?
The vagueness crawls under my skin. I study her face, searching for anything—any clue—but there’s nothing there except raw terror.
The kind that makes me want to burn the whole fucking world down just to be sure it can’t touch her again.
“I’m right here,” I tell her. “I’m not leaving until you tell me to. And even then, I’ll park myself outside the door just in case. Hell, I’ll make Draven stand guard. He’d cum in his pants to do it for free.”
Her lips stay parted. No sound—just shallow breaths like she’s stopped running and is still waiting to see if the monster’s behind her.
But she’s here.
Not all the way. Not enough. But I can work with her better now.
I can help her.
Her eyes finally lock onto mine.
And fuck.
The pain sitting right there—glass-bright, furious, exhausted—hits me square in the chest. I can feel the chromius screaming, demons being shoved back inch by inch. Watching it happen hurts in a way I don’t have words for.
Her tears are a mirage of her agony, and it’s hard to watch—to witness.
She loosens her grip on her arm. Just enough that she’s no longer drawing fresh blood.
“Hey,” I murmur, a corner of my mouth lifting despite myself. “There you are, little starlet. Took you long enough—I was about to start reading the back of your shampoo bottle for entertainment.”
She lets out a soft whimper, shoulders drawing in—not panic this time.
Embarrassment.
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, pointing a finger at her.
“Don’t dare what?” Her voice is husky—raw with tears and exhaustion. I hate it. I hate that anyone made her sound like this.
“Don’t you dare disappear on me.” I drop my hand. “We don’t need to talk about it—”
“About what?” she snaps.
And, fuck me, if I’m not relieved to hear the venom.
She’s back. Really back.
I don’t care if she uses the bite to keep herself upright. If she needs to aim it at me instead of herself, I’ll take it. She can scream. Insult me. Tear strips off my ego.
I’ll take it all and ask for more as long as it means she’s not hurting herself.
Better me than her skin.
“About whatever scared you that badly.”
“I’m not weak, Hadrian,” she hisses. “I’m not pathetic. I’m not soft. I’m not scared—I’m—”
“You’re not broken,” I cut in, firm. No room for argument, not that she has the energy to try. “And you’re not weak. You’re the strongest person I know. Stubborn. Capable. And”—a pause—“a little annoying.”
Her jaw drops.
Then she laughs, and the sound hits me right in the chest.
In a good way, this time.
“Are you being serious?”
“I’d also argue you’re mean,” I add, lifting a finger like I’m building a case. “And I’m fairly certain you enjoy it. Plus, there’s this little thing you do that—”
“Adrian told me he got another note,” she says suddenly, cutting me off without hesitation. Her eyes lock on mine, flat and steady. “It… wasn’t good, Hades.”
“Fucking cunt,” I snarl.
My hands fist in my jeans, knuckles aching as I force myself not to move the way Lucifer accused me of.
“Adrian pissed me off, but…” She trails off, glancing down at herself, colour blooming along her skin. “I can’t get his words out of my head. It’s shit.”
Not that I’m willing to look too far down and see how south the blush goes.
“I’m a mess,” she mutters.
“Sure, but who isn’t? You’ve said it yourself, the Graves name is only good for causing trauma. You’re having a valid moment.”
I hold her gaze. “Do you want to talk about it? With me—or any of us?”
She shakes her head, sharp and immediate. “Not right now.”
“Dr Abbott?”
She scoffs. “So he can tell me life’s sunshine and roses, and this creep is just misunderstood?”
My anger pulses hot and fast, my vision tinging red. “That’s the kind of shit he says to you?”
“No,” she sighs. “But I’m allowed to be miserable and hate everyone right now. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She hesitates, then quieter says, “I hate how pathetic I feel. How he’s making me feel.”
“Well, when we find the cunt,” I say evenly, “you can decide how he dies.”
She scrunches her nose as if the idea is disgusting.
“You get one rotting head in the post, and now death isn’t fun. What a bore,” I tease, winking at her.
She laughs—properly this time.
“Want to tell me what the note said?” I ask carefully.
“No, but I’m sure Adrian will in your little mother’s meeting.”
I scowl. “You think I’m going to that shit? Not a chance. I’ll stay right here with you. Luc’s probably already run off with Drav, and maybe we’ll find ourselves lucky, and they’ll have dragged my useless twin with them.”
“Don’t be mean. He’s not… I don’t even know why I’m trying. He is pretty useless. It’s not his fault he’s the golden child, though, Hades. Pettiness doesn’t suit you.”
“Neither does cooking,” I snap good-naturedly. “Did you know the pompous prick hasn’t cooked a single thing since he got here, yet hasn’t stopped eating?”
She giggles.
“He claims he needs the calories to heal. Maeve, he was healed the day after the fucking attack. Sleep, shifting, and pain relief solved that problem. Not fucking bacon sandwiches.”
Her laughter lightens, becomes more twinkling and soft.
And just like that, the room loosens—air lighter, atmosphere brighter, and the tension gone.
It’s almost comforting now.
“Thank you for coming in,” she whispers.
“Thank you for not slitting my throat,” I reply.
She winks. “Oh, that’s still coming. You’ve seen my boobs now—it’s only fair.”
Her laughter feels like a victory, a small one maybe, but I’ll take it. The way her shoulders loosen slightly, the way her eyes no longer look completely vacant.
It’s all I need.
“That’s fair,” I say lightly. “Though, in my defence, you were already stripped when I got here, and I made a very conscious effort not to look.”
Her laughter fades into something softer, more vulnerable. The shift is so subtle I might have missed it if I wasn’t watching her so carefully.
“You saw more than my breasts,” she says, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You saw me.” A pause. “And don’t let it inflate that already oversized head of yours, but… I don’t think I’d have come out of that panic attack without more damage if it weren’t for you.”
The words land heavy.
I don’t thank her. Don’t joke. Don’t argue.
I just nod once like that settles it.
“Yeah,” I say after a beat. “Well. You’re never going to have to do that shit alone now.”
I shift back slightly, giving her space again, replanting myself where I am—solid, unmoving.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I add, quieter now. “So, if you need to sleep… I’ll be right here.”
She doesn’t answer.
But she doesn’t pull away either.
And that’s how I know the worst of it has passed—for now.
So I stay.