Chapter 3
MAEVE
The Silver Fang had gone quiet enough to hear snow falling outside.
Maeve kept her hands on the bar, gripping the edge hard enough that her knuckles went white. Every patron in the place stared at the golden-haired lion standing in her doorway like he had any right to be there. Like ten years hadn't passed. Like he hadn't chosen his pride over everything else.
Over her.
Dante looked different. Bigger somehow, broader through the shoulders, though he'd always been tall.
His golden hair caught the firelight the same way it always had, falling just long enough to be careless.
Sun-browned skin and amber eyes that tracked her every movement with predator focus.
He wore jeans and a dark jacket dusted with snow, looking like he'd just stepped out of some recruitment poster for dangerous men who knew it.
Still smug. Still convinced his presence was a gift.
Her lioness snarled, clawing at her ribs.
"Council business," she repeated, keeping her voice level. "That's what you're going with?"
"It's the truth." He took a step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Varric sent me."
"Varric can go to hell." She grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured herself a shot, downing it before he could comment. "And you can join him."
"Maeve—"
"Don't." She slammed the glass down. "Don't you dare walk into my bar after ten years and act like you're doing me some favor."
"I'm not—"
"You are." She moved further down the bar, putting more distance between them. Her lioness prowled, wanting to get closer, wanting to mark him or murder him or both. "You show up here with your Council summons and your pretty excuses, expecting what? That I'd be grateful?"
His jaw tightened. "I expected you to listen."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because someone's sabotaging your shipments." His voice dropped lower, that rumble she remembered from arguments that always ended with her wanting to claw his eyes out. Or kiss him. Sometimes both. "Because whatever's happening here is serious enough that Varric called me in personally."
"Then Varric's an idiot." She grabbed another glass, this one for the regular who'd been watching them like they were dinner theater. "Here, Breck. On the house. Enjoy the show."
The bear shifter took the glass with a grin. "Wouldn't miss it."
Dante's gaze flicked to Breck, then back to her. "Can we talk somewhere private?"
"No."
"Maeve—"
"No." She crossed her arms. "You want to investigate? Fine. Start by investigating why I don't want you here."
"I know why." His voice softened, and that was worse than the arrogance. Softer meant he remembered. Meant he knew exactly what he'd walked away from. "But this isn't about us."
"There is no us." She met his eyes, holding steady even though her lioness screamed. "There never was."
Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Or regret. Good. He could sit with that.
"The Council thinks—"
"I don't care what the Council thinks." She leaned forward, letting him see the gold flare in her eyes. "You want to know what's wrong with my shipments? Someone's damaging crates. Poisoning barrels. Making my life difficult. But I've handled difficult before. I don't need you for that."
"Clearly you do, or Varric wouldn't have called me."
"Varric called you because you're expendable." The words came out sharper than she meant them, but she didn't take them back. "You're not one of us. Not anymore. You made that choice ten years ago."
"I had responsibilities—"
"So did I." She straightened, shoulders back. "So did Callum. We walked away anyway. Built something better. You stayed with a pride that would've torn itself apart before admitting it was wrong."
"That pride needed me."
"I needed you."
The words hung between them like smoke. Maeve wished she could take them back, shove them down her throat where they belonged. But they were out now, bleeding truth all over her carefully polished bar.
Dante stared at her. His lion had risen to his eyes, turning them molten amber. "Maeve—"
"Get out." She pointed at the door. "Whatever investigation you think you're running, do it somewhere else. You're not welcome here."
"I'm not leaving."
"Then I'll help you." She started around the bar.
He held his ground, which was either brave or stupid. Probably both. "You always were stubborn."
"And you always were arrogant." She stopped three feet away, close enough to smell him. Pine and smoke and something pure lion. Male. Alpha. Everything her lioness wanted and she refused to acknowledge. "Thinking you could just walk in here and I'd roll over."
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile. "I never expected you to roll over, Cub."
The nickname hit like claws. He'd called her that before, back when they were young and stupid and too proud to admit what burned between them. She'd hated it then. Hated how it made her feel small and protected and like she belonged to him.
She hated it worse now.
"Don't call me that."
"Why?" He tilted his head, studying her. "Still fits."
"I'm not a cub anymore." She stepped closer, lifting her chin. "I'm a lioness who runs her own territory. Who built this place from nothing. Who doesn't need some arrogant male swaggering in like he owns the place."
"Never said I owned anything." His voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that made her skin prickle. "But you're still a cub to me. Still fierce and sharp and ready to bite anything that gets too close."
"Keep talking and you'll find out how sharp."
"Promise?"
The air between them crackled with heat and fury. Her lioness arose, gold bleeding through her vision. His lion answered, amber flaring in his eyes.
The tavern had gone silent again. Every shifter in the place watched them with held breath, waiting to see if this would end in blood or something worse.
Maeve pulled back first. Forced herself to step away, to breathe, to remember she'd built walls for a reason.
"Out," she said. "Now."
"Maeve—"
"Now." She turned her back on him, a calculated insult. "Before I forget I'm a businesswoman and remember I'm a lion."
She heard him exhale. Heard his boots on the wooden floor as he approached the door. Heard the soft chime as he pulled it open, letting in cold air and the promise of snow.
"This isn't over," he said.
"It never started."
The door closed behind him.
Maeve waited until his footsteps faded before she let herself lean against the bar. Her hands shook. Her lioness paced and snarled and wanted to chase after him, to claim or kill or something in between.
"Well," Breck said into the silence. "That was something."
"Shut up and drink your whiskey."
"Yes ma'am." He raised his glass. "For what it's worth? He looked like he'd been gutted."
"Good." She poured herself another shot. "He earned it."
The other patrons stirred, conversation starting back up in low murmurs. Speculation about who Dante was, what history lay between them, whether Maeve Cross had finally met a male she couldn't handle.
Let them talk. Let them gossip. She'd weathered worse.
But when she closed her eyes, all she saw was amber fire and that crooked almost-smile that said he knew exactly how to push her buttons.
Damn him.
Damn him for coming back.
And damn her lioness for wanting him to stay.