Page 116 of Savage Thirst

"She mentioned the generous commission, too, I'm guessing," Kayden adds dryly.

I elbow him, but he only grins.

Maeve doesn't blink. "Money helps," she says, then tilts her head at me. "But let's be honest—if I were in this for cash alone, I'd be knocking on Darius Hawthorn's door. He'd pay better than any of you could."

My stomach twists. "How did you—?"

She waves a hand. "Darius is the most powerful satyr in North America. You're a nymph, asking for a protective spell against a satyr. Took about five seconds to put it together."

Her dark gaze holds mine. "But don't worry. I haven't reached out to him. I'm not here for leverage. I'm here because I'm curious. And because Eira asked."

She says it like a promise, but I still feel the tremor of unease settling deep in my bones.

"You'll still help us, then?" Asher asks.

I notice the phrasing—us, nother. I appreciate that more than I can say.

Maeve leans back in her armchair, legs crossed with the casual grace of someone fully in control. "Yes," she says, "I know what you need. And since you've got the celestite—" she glances at me.

I nod, pressing a hand to the stone in my pocket.

"Then it won't be difficult. But," Maeve adds, tone shifting slightly, "I want something else. Aside from the payment."

Of course she does.

"I want your story," she says simply. "How you became a nymph."

I tense, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. The memories roll through me like a wave—visceral, vivid, unwanted.

Beside me, Kayden shifts. I can feel the heat change in him, protective energy rising like static. "And if she doesn't agree—"

I place a hand on his knee.

"It's okay," I say quietly, locking eyes with him.

He studies me for a beat, trying to read how much of this is bravado. I can tell he wants to argue, but he doesn't. He gives me that choice.

I turn back to Maeve.

"All right. I'll tell you. But afterward, you'll do the spell. No conditions. No clever loopholes."

Maeve nods, her expression serious now. "You have my word. It's an old rite, but not a difficult one."

I nod, take a breath, and begin.

"I was in my late twenties. Homeless. Lost. I'd burned every bridge back to the life I'd come from—family, privilege, all of it. I fell in with a radical environmental group. At first, it was protests and campfire talks. But over time… it got heavier."

My voice stays steady, but my fingers twitch in my lap.

"We lived in communal barracks, followed the cause like it was religion. We fought for forests, oceans, wildlife. All of it. Some of it was legal. Some of it wasn't. I didn't care."

I glance down, watching the shadows between my fingers.

"One campaign took us to a protected forest in Washington State. Ancient land, sacred, in a way. It had been quietly and illegally sold to a development company. They planned to gut it for condos."

I pause. The next part scrapes at something raw inside me.

"We chained ourselves to trees. Blocked equipment during the day. But we knew that wouldn't be enough. That night… we went back. Sand in oil tanks. Valve removals. Sabotage."