Chapter 30 Maeve
MAEVE
Ican imagine that the only thing better than being asleep would be if I were dead.
Since I’m not, I should probably get my life in gear, and stop moping.
This last week has been… well. It’s been a shit fucking week. Exhausting. Full of betrayals. Honestly, there have been too many conspiracies to keep track of, and I’m running out of colour-coded highlighters.
“We’re using today for a Sunday refresh,” I tell my chromius.
Not that the bitch is listening.
She’s probably mentally cataloguing the number of fucking eyelashes Hadrian has.
“Focus,” I mutter, dragging myself upright.
Hydrate. Shower. Regain control of my existence.
That’s the plan.
I grab an outfit, some towels, and pad out of my room, into the bathroom across the hall. I’m glad I don’t run into Draven—or any of the others—and instead can do this on my own terms.
Waking up after taking a sleeping pill usually has me feeling groggy and uncomfortably slow, but I think I’ve slept long enough that it’s worked its way through my system.
I turn on the shower and let the water warm up while I stare at my reflection. Dark circles under my eyes make me look like I’ve gone ten rounds with an enraged demon. Not too far from the truth, actually.
Except, this time, it was the light and dark pegasi, and the Majestic Unicorn Overlord. Lucifer behaved.
Mostly.
“Get it together, Maeve,” I tell my reflection. “We’re done with the pity.”
My chromius is staring back doubtfully, and I want to wrangle her into submission. Alas, it’s a waste of energy.
I stare at myself in the mirror, and my stomach churns. I’m not exceptionally vain—depending on who you ask—but, fuck me, I hope my hair is just in this nest from an enthusiastic sleep and not something I wore all day yesterday when people actually saw me.
I think there’s actual woodland creatures inside it.
I’m very pale. Slightly dead behind the eyes. But otherwise operational.
Operational is good.
Or at the very least, it’s better than the empty void of yesterday’s latest dark threat.
“Shower first. Then… I’ll shave my head if I need to,” I mutter, opening the top drawer to grab my toothbrush and—oh.
My gaze drops to the small foil packet sitting beside my pink toothbrush, and I wonder which one of them put the meds in here. I doubt it was either of the twins. Lucifer seems the most likely instigator—Draven wouldn’t push me this way.
I can’t decide whether to be annoyed or not. Ultimately, it’s my choice whether to take it, but the arguments for the birth control are much stronger than the ones against it.
I blow out a breath. It feels weirdly invasive but also considerate in a twisted way. I grab the packet, turning it over in my hands as steam begins to fill the bathroom.
I forgot yesterday. And the day before.
If you count choosing to not take them as forgetting.
In my defence, I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, emotionally dismantled, and nearly murdered. So, if my uterus hasn’t been top of mind, I feel that’s fair.
I’m so good at the excuses business.
“Better today than tomorrow,” I murmur, popping the pill free.
My chromius shifts faintly at the back of my mind. Not alarmed, but there’s a weary reluctance in the way she moves that causes me to roll my eyes.
“It’s fine. It’s not like we’re going to die.”
She huffs, and I swallow it dry just to spite her with the bitter taste.
Clearly, it backfires, since I have to endure it, too.
I brush my teeth with unnecessary vigour, trying to scrub away both the bitter taste of the pill and yesterday’s poor choices. The sensation of the brush against my gums is raw, like what I imagine eating razor blades would be like.
I don’t need to feel better, though. I just need to fake it enough that I can function.
The shower running behind me is far too loud. The steam curling towards the ceiling like a quiet threat. I’m not looking forward to it. Not in the slightest, but it’s a requirement for being normal.
Clean skin. Clean clothes.
Clean slate.
Or as close to one as I can fake.
I drag a hand through my disaster of hair and sigh.
“We are not spiralling,” I inform my chromius.
She doesn’t argue. Which is either a good sign.
Or a very bad one.
The steam has officially taken over the bathroom, fogging up the mirror until my reflection is just a pale blob. That’s fine. I don’t need to see myself right now anyway.
Either way, I step towards the steam.
If I can’t wash away the week, I can at least wash away the evidence of it.
And for now? That’s enough.
“Good morning, little angel,” Draven says softly as I pad into his living room in my slippers. They’re soft, and if I actively ignore the feel of them, it’s not awful.
My boss is sitting on his sofa, his posture at all angles. Knees jutting out, a hunch as he works on his laptop screen, the light a sickly blue across his sharp features.
There’s a dark mark on his jaw—a fading bruise, I think—that wasn’t there yesterday, but otherwise, he’s polished and ready for an interview of World’s Most Rugged Man.
Not that I’d admit it to him, of course.
I don’t know what he’s working on or how long he’s been up, but he stops immediately to give me his attention.
“How did you sleep?”
I haven’t had coffee yet, but bitterness lingers up the back of my throat, almost acidic in taste. My stomach feels empty, and the nausea from my shower has yet to fade.
“I honestly don’t remember falling asleep,” I reply brightly. “Slept like the dead, which was a privilege.”
He frowns, his brows drawing together. “Don’t joke about death like that.”
I toss my plait, still wet from the shower, over my shoulder and roll my eyes.
“Okay, Boss, I’ll make a note,” I tease.
His expression softens slightly. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m on a whole cleanse today, I’ve decided. If you don’t mind me staying here for a little bit longer while we figure out my flat, I was hoping to get—”
“Of course,” Draven interjects warmly. “You don’t need to ask, angel. And if you want to move into here, I can—”
“No, no, no.” I rapidly shake my head. I fan my face at the heat, not sure why I’m so… reactive.
My chromius isn’t cheering like she usually would, rather still in a state of wariness. I’m not sure she believes that my good vibes mentality is going to stick.
Smart creature.
“Okay. Well, you’ve got the morning to yourself if you want it. I’ve got a meeting in the office, but if you want company, I can send one of the Graves men up for you.”
I grimace and shake my head again. “Don’t disturb them. I’ll be fine, honest. I was hoping to get some work done, ahead of tomorrow anyway. I need to chase things up with Esme and would rather have a better understanding beforehand.”
Draven smiles. “Don’t work too hard. What would you like for breakfast? I’ll make it before I leave.”
“Um,” I drag out the vowel sounds as his expression darkens. I know that my boss needs me to look after myself so that he can let his protective instincts settle.
But I’m just not going to be able to satisfy that today. My stomach is not cooperating after enduring the week from hell and a shower today. I can’t blame my body, even if I want to.
“Maeve, you know—”
“I’m feeling a little anxious still, Big Bear,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to my fuzzy slippers. “Can we try having food in a few hours instead?”
His frustrated growl rolls through the air between us like distant thunder.
But when I look up, his expression has already smoothed into something unreadable—jaw tight, eyes carefully neutral, the only evidence of his frustration lingering in the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his knuckles have whitened around his laptop.
“We can.” He practically spits the words through his gritted teeth. “I’m sorry you’re affected like this.”
“I’m sorry you’re affected like this,” I offer. He’s the one suffering because of my pathetic inability to control my emotions.
Draven’s jaw tightens.
“Stop that,” Draven says, and the sharpness in his tone makes me flinch. He immediately softens, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’m not... I’m not suffering, Maeve. I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”
I shrug because if I don’t, I might wobble. The room feels warmer.
“You don’t need to be concerned about me,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction. “I’m managing.”
“Managing is not good enough. You deserve more,” he says.
My throat tightens at his words, and I can’t decide if I want to run away or crawl into his lap. I do neither.
The walls have shifted inward, closing in on me. My skin prickles beneath my dress. It feels wrong.
Not anxiety wrong. It’s more like I’m wearing a suit made of my own skin that doesn’t quite fit—the seams pull at odd angles, the fabric bunches in places it shouldn’t.
As if someone hollowed me out overnight and stuffed me back together, leaving me a poorly taxidermied version of myself.
Fuck, I better not speak that into existence, or Adrian will get his next plan.
Imagine waking in my afterlife trapped in the Graves fucking home. Oh, I’d genuinely lose my mind.
“I appreciate your concern,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Really.”
“Do you?” His voice is dangerously soft, and I fight the urge to look away.
My chromius lifts her head. Alert. Concerned.
I ignore her. She’s a judgemental bitch on a good day, and I won’t let her see through me right now.
“Yes,” I lie to my boss without hesitation.
He checks his watch, jaw clenched. Draven stands slowly, closing his laptop with more force than necessary.
“I’ll be back by noon,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous octave that sends a shiver dancing up my spine. “Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I won’t.” I lift my chin, meeting his gaze.
His eyes flash like lightning in the sky. He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“That wasn’t a request, little angel,” he growls, each syllable a warning from the ursarix within.