Chapter 10 Dante
DANTE
The Silver Fang was nearly empty when Dante pushed through the door, just past closing time.
Maeve stood behind the bar, wiping down surfaces that didn't need wiping. Her short black hair caught the low light, and the tension in her shoulders said she'd had a long day. She didn't look up when he entered.
"We're closed."
"Good." Dante moved to the bar, settling onto his usual stool. "Then you can talk to me without an audience."
"I can also throw you out without witnesses."
"You could try." He watched her work, noting the tightness around her eyes. Something had happened. "Anything unusual today? More damaged shipments? Strange deliveries?"
"No." She tossed the rag into a bucket under the bar. "Everything was fine. Boring, even. Exactly how I like it."
Liar.
His lion stirred, sensing the lie in her scent. Something floral and anxious underneath the usual woodsmoke and whiskey. She was hiding something. Question was whether it mattered to his investigation or if it was personal business she'd claw his eyes out for asking about.
"You sure?" he pressed. "Because you look like you've had the kind of day that ends with throwing things."
"I'm fine." She moved to the opposite end of the bar, putting distance between them. "And even if I wasn't, it's none of your business."
"Everything about your tavern is my business right now."
"This has nothing to do with the tavern."
So it was personal. Dante filed that away, knowing better than to push. "Fair enough."
She glanced at him, surprise flickering across her face. "That's it? No interrogation? No annoying questions?"
"You said it wasn't tavern business." He shrugged. "I'm here to investigate sabotage, not pry into your personal life."
"Since when?"
"Since you made it clear you'd gut me if I tried."
Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Smart lion."
"Occasionally."
She grabbed two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf, pouring them each a measure. Set one in front of him without being asked.
"What's this?" Dante asked.
"Apology for being difficult all day." She raised her glass. "You were trying to help. I was being stubborn."
"You're always stubborn."
"And you're always insufferable." She clinked her glass against his. "Match made in hell."
They drank. The whiskey burned smooth and warm, expensive stuff she didn't break out for regulars. Dante savored it, watching firelight play across her features. The sharp line of her jaw. The way her dark gold eyes reflected flames.
Beautiful. She'd always been beautiful.
The lights flickered.
Maeve glanced up. "That's not good."
The power died completely, plunging the tavern into darkness except for the fireplace. Its glow threw long shadows across wood and stone, turning the Silver Fang into something intimate and secretive.
"Well." Maeve's voice came from the darkness. "That's inconvenient."
Dante's eyes adjusted quickly, lion vision cutting through shadow. He could see her perfectly, standing behind the bar with whiskey in hand and wariness in her posture.
"Could be worse," he said.
"How?"
"Could be a blizzard. At least we're warm."
She snorted, moving around the bar. The firelight caught in her hair as she added logs to the flames, coaxing them higher. Orange light spilled across her skin, turning her into something caught between shadow and flame.
Dante's lion purred, wanting to get closer. Wanting to wrap around her and never let go.
He told it to behave and stayed on his stool.
"How long do you think it'll last?" Maeve asked, settling into the chair across from him instead of behind the bar. Closer than she'd let herself get all week.
"No idea. Could be minutes. Could be hours."
"Perfect." She sipped her whiskey, staring into the fire. "Just what I needed today."
"Bad day?"
"You could say that."
Silence stretched between them, comfortable in a way that surprised him. No banter. No walls. Just two lions sitting by firelight, drinking whiskey and avoiding the truth.
"Have you talked to Callum yet?" Maeve's question came soft. Careful.
Dante's hands tightened on his glass. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know what to say." The admission tasted like shame. "Hey Callum, I stayed behind while you built something better, and now I'm back investigating. How've you been?"
"You could start with hello."
"Could." He drank, letting the burn distract from the guilt. "But we both know it's more complicated than that."
"It doesn't have to be."
"It is." He met her eyes across the firelight. "I chose the pride. You and Callum chose freedom. That's not something you just say hello and move past."
She was quiet for a moment, her gaze steady on his. "You think we abandoned you."
"Didn't you?"
"No." Her voice carried an edge. "We escaped a toxic situation that would've destroyed us eventually. You chose to stay and try fixing something that couldn't be fixed."
"Someone had to try."
"Why?" She leaned forward, firelight dancing in her eyes. "Why did it have to be you? Why couldn't you just walk away?"
"Because walking away felt like giving up." The words came harder than they should. "Felt like admitting defeat. Like proving Hector right that we were too weak to hold the pride together."
"Hector was never right." Her voice went cold. "About anything."
"I know that now."
She set her glass down with controlled force. "You threw away ten years trying to prove something to a lion who would never respect you anyway. Who would never see you as anything but a tool to use."
The truth hit like claws. "Maybe."
"Not maybe." She stood, pacing in front of the fire. "Definitely. You stayed because you thought loyalty meant sacrifice. Thought being the good soldier would earn you something. But all it earned you was a decade of watching everything fall apart anyway."
"And what did leaving earn you?" He stood too, unable to sit still. "A tavern you built alone? Walls so high nobody can touch you? The satisfaction of being right?"
"It earned me peace." But her voice wavered. "It earned me a life where I make my own choices. Where I'm not constantly fighting traditionalists who think I should be barefoot and pregnant instead of running a business."
"You could've had that with me." The words escaped before he could stop them.
"But you stayed." She moved to face him, gold bleeding into her eyes. "You stayed. Made your choice. And I made mine."
"We both made the wrong choice."
"Both of us?" She stepped closer, anger and heat rolling off her in waves. "I built something here. Something that matters. What did you build, Dante? What do you have to show for ten years of loyalty?"
Nothing. He had nothing except regrets and the memory of her walking away.
"This," he said quietly, closing the distance between them. "I have this. Right here. Right now. You and me in your tavern, finally being honest."
"We're not—"
"We are." He stopped just outside her space, close enough to feel her heat. "We're being honest for the very first time in a decade. Admitting we both screwed up. That we both lost something we can't get back."
Her breathing quickened. "Dante—"
"Tell me you don't feel it." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Tell me that spark when we touched meant nothing. That your lioness doesn't recognize mine. Tell me I'm alone in this and I'll walk away right now."
She stared at him, fire and shadow playing across her face. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because it would be a lie." The admission came like pulling teeth. "And I'm tired of lying."
The air between them crackled, magic and heat and ten years of wanting compressed into the space of three feet. Her scent wrapped around him, sweet and wild and absolutely Maeve. His lion roared, demanding he close the gap.
Dante moved first, stepping into her space.
Maeve met him halfway.
The kiss was slow. Aching. Years of longing poured into the press of lips and the slide of tongues. She tasted like whiskey and fire and coming home. Her hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer while her lioness purred against his chest.
Dante cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones while he memorized every sensation. The softness of her mouth. The small sound she made when he deepened the kiss. The way she fit against him like she'd been made for this.
Like they'd been made for this.
His lion settled, finally understanding what it had been missing.
Her.
Always her.
Maeve broke away with a gasp, stepping back fast enough that she nearly stumbled. Her eyes blazed gold, her breathing ragged, and her expression caught between want and fear.
"Not again," she whispered.
"Maeve—"
"No." She held up a hand, warding him off. "That was a mistake."
"Didn't feel like a mistake."
"Well, it was." She turned away, busying herself with adding logs to the fire that didn't need adding. "The power will come back on soon. You should go."
"I'm not leaving."
"Yes, you are." She didn't look at him, all her focus on the fire. "Before I do something we'll both regret."
"Like what? Kiss me again?"
"Like believe you'll stay this time." Her voice cracked. "Like let myself hope for something that's just going to hurt when you leave."
The words gutted him. "Maeve—"
"Go, Dante." She straightened, shoulders rigid. "Please."
He stood there, torn between pushing and respecting her walls. Between fighting for what he wanted and giving her the space she needed.
His lion snarled, wanting to stay.
But Dante was more than his lion.
And Maeve deserved the choice.
"Alright," he said quietly. "I'm going. But this conversation isn't over."
"Yes, it is."
"Keep telling yourself that, Cub."
He walked to the door, every step feeling wrong. At the threshold, he looked back. She stood silhouetted against the fire, small and fierce and absolutely alone.
Just like he'd let her be.
Dante stepped into the cold night, snow whipping his face as the door closed behind him with a finality.
Behind him, the Silver Fang glowed with firelight.
And inside, Maeve stayed alone with her whiskey and her walls and the taste of him still on her lips.