Chapter 13 Maeve
MAEVE
The Silver Fang's lunch rush was winding down when Hector Cross walked through the door.
Maeve knew him immediately. Ten years hadn't softened his arrogance or smoothed the sharp edges of his contempt.
He stood in her doorway like he owned it, dark hair silvered at the temples, pale gold eyes scanning her tavern with proprietary interest. Expensive coat.
The kind of lion who thought money and bloodline made him untouchable.
Her lioness rose with a growl.
"We're fully booked," she said flatly. "Try the Griddle and Grind."
"Now, Maeve." His voice carried that cultured disdain she remembered. "Is that any way to greet family?"
"You're not my family." She moved behind the bar, putting solid wood between them. "You lost that right when you tried to make my life hell for wanting more than breeding stock status."
"Such hostility." He approached the bar, settling onto a stool like he belonged there. "I'm simply here to inspect my new establishment. Make sure it's being run properly."
The words landed like ice water. "Your what?"
"Didn't you hear?" His mouth curved. "I filed a formal complaint with the Council this morning. About your mismanagement of Cross holdings. The Silver Fang bears our family name, operates under our legacy. As alpha of the Cross Pride, I have authority to ensure proper oversight."
Maeve's hands twisted into fists. "This tavern is mine. I built it. I own it. You have no authority here."
He pulled papers out of his coat, spreading them on the bar. "I have documentation of three months of negligence. Damaged shipments. Poisoned inventory. Safety violations. All pointing to incompetent management by a female operating without pride backing."
She recognized the papers. The same damaged shipment reports she'd filed with suppliers.
"You did this." The realization hit like claws. "You sabotaged my shipments."
"I documented your failures." His smile turned cruel. "There's a difference. Though I suppose to someone of your limited understanding, it might seem the same."
"Get out." Her voice came low. Dangerous. "Get out of my tavern before I throw you out."
"This is my tavern now." He stood, buttoning his coat with deliberate slowness. "Or it will be in thirty days. Unless you can prove competent management. Which, given your track record, seems unlikely."
"I said get out."
"Such spirit." He neared the door, pausing.
"You know, you could've avoided all this.
If you'd attended pride functions. Shown proper respect.
Acknowledged that Cross females have responsibilities to their bloodline.
But you had to be stubborn. Had to prove you could run a business alone. Look where that got you."
Maeve came around the bar fast enough that Hector backed up a step.
"I built something here." She kept her voice level through sheer force of will. "Something that matters. Something that helps people. You've built nothing but bitterness and control. Don't you dare walk into my tavern and pretend your poisonous pride politics have any place here."
"Your tavern?" Hector's expression hardened. "This is Cross property. Run under Cross legacy. You've been playing at business owner for over ten years, but blood ties come with responsibilities, niece. Responsibilities you've ignored."
"I'm not your niece anymore." Gold spread into her vision. "I walked away from you and your toxic pride. Built a life where I make my own choices. Where I don't answer to lions who think females should be seen and not heard."
"Damaged goods. Failing inventory. A rogue male sniffing around who'll leave the moment he gets bored. You're exactly what I always said you'd be. Too stubborn to admit you're in over your head."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "But I'm generous. Attend the pride reconciliation at solstice. Show proper respect. Acknowledge my authority as alpha. Maybe I'll reconsider my petition for control."
"Go to hell."
"Already there, dealing with ungrateful females who don't know their place." He straightened, buttoning his coat. "Thirty days, Maeve. Then we'll see who's really in charge of Cross holdings."
He left, the door swinging shut behind him.
Maeve stood frozen, her lioness clawing at her ribs. Rage and fear warred in her chest, both demanding action. Demanding she chase him down and tear his throat out for daring to threaten what was hers.
The door opened again. Hector stood on the threshold, that cruel smile back in place.
"Oh, and give Dante my regards. I'm sure he's enjoying playing hero. Shame he's too loyal to failed pride members to see he's backing the wrong horse."
Maeve moved.
She was through the door before thought caught up with instinct, her lioness rising to the surface. Hector stood in the square, surrounded by early afternoon shoppers. Perfect witness to whatever she did next.
"You want to talk about failures?" Her voice carried across the square. "Let's talk about how you drove Callum away. How you poisoned every reform attempt with your traditional bullshit. How you created a pride so toxic that the best members walked away rather than stay."
Hector turned, his expression satisfied. "Making a scene, Maeve? How very like you."
"I'm making a statement." She stalked toward him, not caring who watched. "You want the Silver Fang? You'll have to pry it from my cold dead claws. I don't care what authority you think you have. I don't care what the Council says. This is my town. My tavern. My life. And you're not taking it."
"Threatening me in public?" Hector's smile widened. "How very unbecoming. Though I suppose it proves my point about your inability to manage responsibly."
"The only thing I can't manage is my temper around lions who think bloodline trumps ability."
"Then perhaps you should've considered that before operating under the Cross name."
Half the square had stopped to watch now. Shoppers frozen mid-errand. Merchants emerging from stores. A crowd gathering to witness the shouting match between two lions who clearly had history.
"I earned that name." Maeve's voice rose. "Through birth, through blood, through being part of a family that you destroyed with your poisonous politics. You don't get to reclaim it now because you see an opportunity."
"I'm reclaiming what's mine by right."
"Nothing here is yours."
"Everything with Cross legacy is mine." Hector stepped closer. "Including you, like it or not. Blood ties, niece. They matter more than your delusions of independence."
A hand caught Maeve's shoulder before she could lunge.
"That's enough." Dante's voice came low. Dangerous. "Both of you."
Maeve spun, snarling. "Stay out of this."
"Can't do that." He kept his grip firm but gentle. "You're about to shift in the middle of town square. That's exactly what he wants."
"I don't care what he wants."
"You should." Dante's amber eyes held hers. "He's pushing buttons until you lose control and prove his point. Don't give him the satisfaction."
"Listen to your guard dog, Maeve." Hector's voice dripped smugness. "At least someone around here has sense."
Dante's grip tightened on her shoulder. Warning. Support. Both at once.
Maeve shook him off. "I don't need you fighting my battles."
"I'm not fighting." He stepped back, hands raised. "Just keeping you from doing something you'll regret."
"The only thing I regret is not clawing his eyes out years ago."
"See?" Hector gestured to the crowd. "Violent. Unstable. Exactly the kind of temperament that makes her unfit to manage Cross holdings. Thank you for demonstrating my point, niece."
He walked away, his footsteps measured and calm. The picture of reasonable authority dealing with an unreasonable female.
The crowd began to disperse, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Maeve stood in the square, snow beginning to fall around her, fury and shame burning through her chest. She'd played right into his hands. Given him exactly what he wanted.
Proof she couldn't control herself.
"Maeve—" Dante started.
"Don't." She turned away. "Just don't."
"He was manipulating you."
"I know that." She started back toward the tavern. "Which makes it worse. I knew what he was doing and I did it anyway."
Dante followed, his presence solid behind her. "You were defending what's yours."
"I was losing my temper in front of half the town." She stopped at the tavern door. "Making myself look exactly like he wants. Unstable. Violent. Unfit."
"You're none of those things."
"Tell that to everyone who just watched me scream at my uncle in the square." She pulled open the door.
"Tell that to the Council when they decide he's right about transferring control."
"They won't—"
"You don't know that." She turned, finding him too close. Close enough to see concern in those amber eyes. Close enough to want things she couldn't afford. "You heard him. Thirty days. Then he petitions for control and I lose everything."
Snow fell heavier now, settling on Dante's shoulders and catching in his golden hair. He looked like something carved from winter and firelight, all sharp edges and dangerous beauty.
He shrugged out of his coat, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.
The warmth hit her immediately. His scent wrapping around her like protection.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Keeping you from freezing while you process." He stepped back, though his eyes stayed on hers.
"I don't need—"
"I know." His mouth curved. "You don't need anyone. You've made that clear. But maybe I need to help anyway."
He walked away before she could argue, disappearing into the falling snow.
Maeve stood in her doorway, wrapped in his coat that smelled like pine smoke and promises. Her lioness purred despite her anger, settling at the lingering warmth.
She should give it back.
Instead, she watched him disappear into the white-dark afternoon and tried not to think about how right it felt to be wrapped in something that belonged to him.