Chapter 8 Dante
DANTE
Dante stood outside the Silver Fang as dusk settled over Hollow Oak, second-guessing himself for the hundredth time that day.
He shouldn't have told her about the sabotage. Varric's orders had been clear. Discrete. Hush-hush. Keep Maeve in the dark until there was proof solid enough to take to the Council.
But then she'd looked at him with those gold eyes, demanding answers, and his mouth had opened before his brain could stop it. At least he hadn't mentioned Hector. Hadn't told her their uncle was behind it all, building a case to strip her of everything she'd built.
That would've sent her hunting.
So he'd given her just enough truth to explain his presence. Enough to make her tolerate him lurking around her deliveries.
Just enough to make him feel like he was lying to her all over again.
And then there was the spark.
That moment when their hands had touched on the keg, magic flaring gold and amber between them.
The mate bond snapping into recognition, clear as a bell and twice as loud.
His lion had roared in triumph, finally understanding why ten years had felt hollow.
Why no other female had ever interested him.
Because Maeve was his mate.
Had always been his mate. But now, them being older, the veil had shocked them with it to get their attention.
And she'd jerked away like he'd burned her, shutting it down before the bond could fully form. Making it crystal clear she wanted nothing to do with what fate had decided.
His lion growled, restless and agitated. It didn't like secrets. Didn't like the walls between them or the way she flinched every time he got too close. The beast wanted to claim her, mark her, make it clear to every shifter in Hollow Oak that Maeve Cross belonged to him.
Except she didn't belong to anyone. Had made that crystal clear ten years ago when she'd left with Callum and Dante had stayed behind.
When she'd abandoned him to choose a new life without looking back.
No. That wasn't fair. She hadn't abandoned him. She'd escaped. Walked away from pride politics and Hector's poisonous traditionalism and a family structure that would've crushed her spirit eventually.
And Dante had stayed because someone needed to hold things together. Someone needed to try salvaging what was left of the pride they'd all grown up in.
He'd chosen duty over her. She'd chosen freedom over him.
They'd both made their choices. Both paid the price.
Now the price felt impossibly high, standing outside her tavern knowing she'd rather claw his eyes out than acknowledge what had sparked between them that afternoon.
He pushed through the tavern door, cold air following him inside.
The Silver Fang hummed with evening energy.
Shifters clustered at tables, nursing drinks and conversation.
The fireplace crackled, throwing warmth and light across polished wood.
And behind the bar, short black hair catching firelight and a smile playing at her mouth, Maeve laughed at something Breck said.
She looked happy. Relaxed. The sharp edges she wore around him softened into something genuine as she poured the bear another beer. Her movements were fluid, confident, completely at home in her domain.
This was her world. The one she'd built without him.
The hollow years crashed down all at once.
Ten years of staying with a pride that continued eating itself alive, watching Hector grow more bitter and traditional with every reform that failed.
Ten years of wondering if Callum and Maeve had been right to leave, if walking away had been the brave choice and staying had been cowardice dressed up as loyalty.
Their uncle who has been forming his own splinter pride, taking the worst of the old guard with him to build something that looked more like tyranny than family and him telling himself he'd made the right call even as everything fell apart anyway.
Ten years of swearing he'd never claim a mate until he'd earned the right. Until he'd proven himself worthy of someone who wouldn't leave.
Now he wondered if waiting had been the stupidest decision of his life. If holding onto pride and principles had cost him the one person who'd ever made his lion settle.
She was colder now. Walls built so high and solid he could barely see the fierce young lioness he'd known. The one who'd looked at him with hope and heat and the promise of something he'd been too scared to reach for.
And here he was, unable to stop being a smart-ass every time she got within range. Unable to stop pushing her buttons and making her squirm because at least when she was yelling at him, she was looking at him. At least anger was better than indifference.
He knew it wasn't winning him any points. Knew every sarcastic comment drove her walls higher. But he couldn't seem to help himself. The banter came too naturally, the flirting slipping out before his brain could engage.
Maybe because if he stopped being insufferable, he'd have to face the truth.
That she blamed him for staying the same way he blamed her for leaving.
That they were both too proud to admit they might've been wrong.
That the bond humming between them didn't change the fact that she'd built this life specifically to prove that she didn't need him.
"You planning to stand there all night?" Maeve's voice cut through his thoughts. "Or are you going to come in and make yourself useful?"
Dante moved to the bar, sliding onto a stool. "Depends. You offering me a job?"
"I'm offering you a chance to stop lurking in my doorway like some kind of creepy stalker."
"I don't lurk."
"You're lurking right now."
"This is strategic observation."
Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Better than admitting I'm watching you work because you're fascinating when you're not trying to claw my eyes out."
The almost-smile vanished. "Flattery won't work on me, Deleuve."
"Wasn't trying to flatter." He leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "Just stating facts."
She grabbed a glass and poured him whiskey without asking. Set it down hard enough that liquid sloshed over the rim. "You get one drink. Then you tell me why you're really here."
"Can't a lion just want a drink?"
"Not when that lion spent all afternoon hovering around my deliveries."
"I was helping."
"You were insufferable." She wiped up the spilled whiskey with sharp, efficient movements. "But at least you were useful. That's the only reason I'm not throwing you out right now."
"Progress." Dante sipped the whiskey. Good stuff. Smooth burn that settled in his chest like warmth. "Did you check the morning delivery yet?"
Her hands stilled on the bar. "Why?"
"Because I know you had one before I showed up and if someone's targeting your shipments, they're not going to stop just because I'm watching the some of the runs.
" He kept his tone casual, like he was discussing weather instead of sabotage.
"Morning delivery would be the perfect time to slip something past you. Before you're expecting trouble."
"I checked it." She continued moving down the bar, putting distance between them. "Everything was fine."
"You sure?"
"I know how to inspect my own inventory, Dante."
"I know you do." He turned on the stool, watching her work. "But humor me. What came in this morning?"
She shot him a look that could've stripped paint. "Produce from a local farm. Herbs from Freya's apothecary. Nothing that could be tampered with."
"Fresh goods?"
"All of it." She grabbed a tray of empties, carrying them to the kitchen. "Signed for them myself at six a.m. You want to tell me what you're getting at?"
"Just being thorough." Dante finished his whiskey, setting the glass down. "Someone who knows your routine would know you're less vigilant with morning deliveries. Might try to slip something through while you're distracted."
"I'm never distracted."
He couldn't help it. The words came out before he could stop them, lower and rougher than he meant. "Well, you seemed pretty distracted earlier when our hands touched."
Gold flared in her eyes. "That was static."
"That was a lot more than static."
"Don't." She pointed at him, finger jabbing the air. "Don't start with that. Whatever you think you felt, you're wrong."
"Am I?" He stood, moving around the bar before she could stop him. "Can you even hear your lion anymore? Because my lion seemed pretty damn sure about what that spark meant."
"Your lion can stuff it." She backed up a step, then caught herself and held her ground. "Along with whatever ego told you I'd be interested."
"I never said you were interested." He stopped just outside her space, close enough to catch her scent. Woodsmoke and whiskey and something completely Maeve. "Just said there was a spark. Could mean anything."
"It means nothing."
"If you say so, Cub."
"Stop calling me that."
"Make me."
Her jaw clenched. "You're impossible."
"You're stubborn."
"I'm practical." She moved past him, shoulder brushing his arm in a way that sent heat racing down his spine. "And practically speaking, you need to get out from behind my bar before I remember I banned you last night."
"You can't ban me. Council business."
"Watch me." But there was no real heat in it. Just exhaustion and wariness and something that looked a lot like resignation.
Dante stepped back, giving her space. "I need you to be careful, Maeve. With all your deliveries. Morning and afternoon. Someone's playing a long game here, and they're good at it."
"I'm always careful."
"Be more careful." He moved closer to the door, then paused. "And next time I offer to help, maybe don't fight me quite so hard."
"Where's the fun in that?"
He looked back, finding her watching him with those gold-flecked eyes. The firelight caught in her short black hair, making her look fierce and beautiful and absolutely untouchable.
Just like she'd been ten years ago when he'd been too much of an idiot to fight for her.
"No fun at all," he said quietly. "But it might keep you alive."
He stepped out into the cold night air. Snow had started falling again, soft flakes that melted on his skin.
Behind him, the Silver Fang glowed warm and welcoming. Maeve's sanctuary. Her pride.
And Dante was outside looking in.
His lion snarled, wanting back inside. Wanting her attention and her fire and everything she'd built these walls to protect.
But walls could be climbed. Defenses could be breached.
He'd just have to be patient.
Even if being a smart-ass to make her squirm was the only way he knew how to get under her skin anymore, the only way to make her see him instead of the ghost of the lion who'd stayed behind.
He'd waited ten years already.
What was a little longer?