Chapter 11 Maeve
MAEVE
The whispers started before Maeve even opened the Silver Fang for lunch service.
She knew because Twyla showed up at eleven with that knowing smile and a basket of pastries Maeve definitely hadn't ordered. The fae settled onto a barstool, arranging herself with deliberate casualness.
"So," Twyla said. "Interesting night during the power outage."
Maeve's hands stilled on the glass she was polishing. "It was a power outage. Pretty standard for snowstorms."
"Mmm." Twyla pulled a croissant from the basket, tearing it in half. "Except several people reported seeing firelight in the Silver Fang well past closing. And shadows moving close together by the windows."
"I was tending the fire."
"With Dante Deleuve?"
Maeve set the glass down. "He stopped by to check on deliveries. Got caught in the outage same as me."
"And the kissing?" Twyla's smile turned wicked. "Was that also delivery-related?"
Heat flooded Maeve's cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Breck saw you through the window. Says it looked pretty heated."
"Breck needs to mind his own business."
"Breck was walking home from the Mercantile and happened to glance over." Twyla took a delicate bite of croissant. "Along with Sylvie. And that new wolf who just moved in from Asheville. And possibly Tom Brewster, who's probably already writing it up for the Gazette's gossip column."
Maeve's lioness snarled. "Perfect. Just perfect."
"Hey, at least everyone's excited." Twyla's voice softened. "Most people think it's romantic. The prodigal lion returns, old flames rekindled, fate bringing mates together during a storm."
"We're not mates."
"Your lioness says otherwise."
Maeve grabbed another glass, polishing with vicious efficiency. "It was one kiss. A mistake. It won't happen again."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't need that kind of complication." She moved down the bar, needing distance. "I've got sabotaged shipments, Council investigations, and a tavern to run. I don't have time for Dante Deleuve and his pretty words."
"Pretty words?" Twyla's eyebrows rose. "What did he say?"
"Nothing." Everything. Things that made her want to believe and hope and reach for something she'd buried ten years ago. "It doesn't matter."
"Maeve—"
"I said it doesn't matter." She set the glass down, harder than she meant. "He'll finish his investigation and leave. Back to whatever pride he's loyal to now. Back to his life that doesn't include me. Same as before."
Twyla studied her with those too-knowing eyes. "You're scared."
"I'm practical."
"You're terrified." Twyla stood, moving around the bar with fae grace. "Terrified that if you let yourself feel what's between you, he'll leave again. That you'll lose him twice and you're not sure you'd survive it this time."
Maeve turned away, staring at bottles lined up behind the bar. "You're reading too much into it."
Twyla's hand touched her shoulder, gentle. "You look like a lioness who's been alone too long. Who built walls to protect herself and now doesn't know how to let anyone in."
"The walls work fine."
"Do they?" Twyla squeezed her shoulder. "Or do they just keep you lonely?"
Thankfully the door opened with a group of regulars filing in, laughing about something and shaking snow from their coats. Lunch crowd starting early.
Twyla stepped back, picking up her basket. "Think about it. That's all I'm saying."
She left before Maeve could argue, melting into the growing crowd with a wave.
Maeve threw herself into work. Taking orders, pouring drinks, making small talk that required none of her brain and all of her focus.
The regulars didn't mention the kiss. Didn't gossip where she could hear.
But she caught the looks. The knowing smiles.
The way conversations paused when she got too close.
Everyone knew.
Of course everyone knew. This was Hollow Oak. Privacy didn't exist when you lived in a town small enough that everyone recognized your footsteps.
By mid-afternoon, Maeve's nerves were frayed and her patience was shot. She'd snapped at Breck twice, over-poured three drinks, and broken a glass in the sink hard enough to cut her palm.
Then her skin prickled knowing the presence before he even walked through the door.
Callum Cross.
Maeve's stomach dropped.
Her cousin looked good. Healthy. Happy in ways he'd never been back in their old pride.
His sun-warmed skin had that glow that came from being well-loved, and his blue eyes held contentment instead of the constant wariness she remembered.
He wore jeans and a work shirt, his shaggy brown and gold hair tied back, looking every inch the ranger who'd found his place.
"Maeve." He moved closer to the bar, sliding onto a stool. "We need to talk."
"If this is about the kiss—"
"It's about the fact that you didn't tell me Dante was back." His voice carried an edge. "Had to hear it from Emmett. Who heard it from Varric. Who apparently trusts Dante more than he trusts me to handle my own family business."
Guilt twisted in her chest. "I was going to tell you."
"When? After he left again?" Callum's jaw tightened. "He's been here almost a week, Maeve. A week of him investigating your tavern, hanging around your deliveries, and apparently kissing you during power outages. And you didn't think I should know?"
"I didn't want to drag you into it."
"I'm already in it." He leaned forward, those alpha eyes boring into her. "Dante was my friend. My pride brother. We walked away together and he stayed behind. That's not something I just forget because ten years passed."
"Then why haven't you gone to see him?"
"Because I wanted to talk to you first." His voice softened. "Figure out what's really going on. Whether this is Council business or something else."
"It's Council business." The lie tasted bitter. "Varric asked him to investigate the sabotage. That's all."
Callum tilted his head, studying her. "Well, from what I hear, there's a lot more than investigating happening between you two."
"People gossip."
"People saw you kiss him." Callum's expression turned knowing. "Saw the way you looked at each other through those windows. And knowing you, knowing Dante, that wasn't just some casual thing."
Maeve's hands became fists. "It was a mistake." She grabbed a rag, wiping down the already-clean bar. "He'll leave. Same as before. I'm not setting myself up for that again."
"What if he doesn't leave?"
"He will." She met Callum's eyes, willing him to understand. "He always chooses duty over everything else. Over us. Over me. That's who he is."
"That's who he was." Callum's voice gentled. "People change, Maeve. I did. You did. Maybe he did too."
"Or maybe he's still the same lion who watched us walk away and didn't follow."
"Maybe." Callum reached across the bar, catching her hand. "But you won't know unless you give him a chance. Unless you let go of the hurt long enough to see what's actually in front of you."
"Not everyone needs a mate."
"No." His mouth curved. "But everyone needs connection.
Family. Someone to come home to who sees past the armor.
" He stood, pulling coins from his pocket and dropping them on the bar.
"Don't let pride steal what's yours again, Maeve. We did that once already. Lost ten years because we were too stubborn to fight for what mattered. These are things I’ve reflected on. "
"I fought," she whispered. "I fought and he still chose the pride."
"Did you?" Callum's expression turned sad. "Or did you walk away assuming he'd follow? Did you ever tell him what you wanted? What you needed? Or did you just expect him to know?"
Silence was all Maeve offered him so Callum nodded. “Think about it.” And with that, he left.
Maeve stood behind her bar, surrounded by bottles and glasses and the life she'd built alone. The life she'd convinced herself was enough.
Callum's words echoed in her head.
Don't let pride steal what's yours again.
But what if what was hers had already been stolen? What if Dante had taken it with him when he'd stayed behind, and there was nothing left to fight for?
What if she was just too scared to find out?
Her lioness paced, restless and agitated, wanting things Maeve refused. Wanting him.
"Damn it.”