Chapter 15 Maeve
MAEVE
Maeve woke before dawn, same as always.
She made coffee in her apartment kitchen, watching snow fall past the window. Hollow Oak looked peaceful at this hour. Quiet. The kind of morning that promised calm if you didn't think too hard about uncles making power plays and Council petitions hanging over your head.
She dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, pulling her short black hair into some semblance of order.
Dante's coat hung on the back of her door where she'd left it last night.
She'd meant to return it. Meant to march to the Hearth and Hollow and shove it at him with some cutting remark about not needing his charity.
Instead, she'd wrapped herself in it while reading shipment manifests until her eyes burned.
It still smelled like him. Pine smoke and winter air and something underneath that made her lioness purr.
Traitor.
Maeve grabbed her coffee and headed downstairs, keys jangling as she unlocked the tavern's back entrance. The Silver Fang sat dark and cold, fireplace dead from last night. She'd light it later, once the morning prep was done.
Movement caught her eye.
She froze, coffee cup halfway to her lips.
Dante Deleuve lay sprawled on her office couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, his long legs hanging off the end. He'd taken off his boots but kept everything else on, looking like he'd collapsed there and passed out mid-thought.
Her lioness stirred with interest. Want and annoyance battling for dominance.
Maeve set her coffee down with enough force that ceramic met wood like a gunshot.
Dante jerked awake, his arm flying up as his lion flashed gold in his eyes. He blinked, disoriented, then focused on her standing in the doorway.
"Maeve." His voice came rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
"Early." She crossed her arms. "What are you doing on my couch?"
"I was—" He sat up, running a hand through golden hair that stuck up in several directions. "I was going to head back to the inn. Must've dozed off."
"On my couch."
"Yeah." He stood, reaching for his boots. "Sorry. Long night."
"Doing what?"
"Patrol." He pulled on one boot, then the other, movements stiff like he'd slept wrong. "Varric asked me to help with night watch. Extra eyes with everything going on."
Liar.
Maeve could see it in the way he didn't quite meet her eyes. In the hesitation before answering. In the tension that said he was hiding something and hoping she wouldn't push.
"Patrol that ended on my couch?"
"I was passing by. Figured I'd check the back lot before heading to bed." He stood, tucking in his shirt. "Wanted to make sure this morning's shipment area was secure. Must've sat down for a minute and crashed."
"Must've." She didn't believe him for a second. "And you didn't think to go upstairs and knock? Let me know you were camping out in my office?"
"Didn't want to wake you." He moved toward the door and paused. "Though I guess I did that anyway."
"Yeah, well. Next time try a bed at the inn you're paying for."
"Next time I'll try not to fall asleep on duty." His mouth curved, that insufferable smirk. "Though your couch is surprisingly comfortable."
"It's not meant to be slept on by six-foot-two lions."
"Six-foot-three."
"I don't care if you're seven feet. Stay off my furniture."
"Yes ma'am." He grabbed his jacket from where it hung on her desk chair. "For what it's worth, everything looked fine outside. No signs of tampering."
That should've been reassuring. Instead, it just made her more suspicious. He'd spent all night patrolling and ended up on her couch? That didn't track. Lions didn't just fall asleep in random places unless something had driven them there.
Unless something had made them feel like they needed to stand guard.
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked.
"Nothing." Too fast. Too defensive. "Just doing my job."
"Your job doesn't include sleeping in my office."
"My job includes keeping an eye on potential sabotage targets." He met her gaze, amber eyes steady. "Your tavern qualifies. So I checked it. Found nothing. Crashed for a minute. End of story."
It wasn't the end of anything. But pushing him would just make him dig in deeper. Lions were stubborn that way. Especially alpha males who thought protecting people meant keeping secrets.
"Fine." She moved past him, heading for the main tavern. "But next time you decide to camp out, at least text so I don't think someone broke in."
"You knew it was me."
"I guessed it was you." She started prepping the bar for opening. "Could've been Breck breaking in for free beer."
"Breck would've emptied your taps, not fallen asleep on your couch."
"True." Despite herself, her mouth twitched. "He's got priorities."
Dante lingered in the doorway, watching her work. The silence stretched, comfortable in ways it shouldn't be. In ways that made her remember firelight and whiskey and the taste of him still ghost-warm on her lips.
Her body remembered too. Remembered the solid weight of him. The way his hands had cupped her face. The heat that had sparked between them like lightning looking for ground.
Damn it.
The front door opened and freezing air rushed in along with Twyla Honeytree, looking far too chipper for this hour. She carried a basket that smelled like chocolate and cinnamon, her hair perfect despite the wind.
"Morning!" She breezed past Dante like he was furniture. "Brought breakfast. You look like you need it." Twyla set the basket on the bar, pulling out fresh pastries and a thermos. "Hot cocoa. The good kind with real chocolate. You'll thank me later."
"I'm already caffeinated."
"You're never caffeinated enough to deal with whatever drama's brewing between you two." Twyla poured cocoa into cups she'd brought, handing one to Maeve and one to Dante. "Drink. Both of you. You look exhausted."
"I'm fine," Maeve said.
"You're wound tighter than a spring." Twyla settled onto a barstool, grinning. "And you—" She pointed at Dante. "You look like you slept on a couch that's three sizes too small."
"How did you—" Dante stopped. "Never mind. Fae."
"Fae," Twyla agreed cheerfully. "We know things. Like how you spent the night on Maeve's office couch instead of going back to your nice warm inn bed. Which is very interesting."
"It's not interesting," Maeve said. "He fell asleep. That's all."
"On your couch. After patrolling all night. Making sure your tavern was safe." Twyla's smile turned knowing. "Almost like he's protective. Territorial, even. Wonder what that means."
"It means he's nosy and has poor time management."
"He looks like a lion who's staking a claim. And you look like a lioness who's too stubborn to admit she wants him to."
"I don't—"
"Please." Twyla waved a hand. "You kept his coat. I saw it hanging in your apartment window. You kissed him during a power outage. You're letting him sleep in your office. These are not the actions of someone who wants him gone."
"These are the actions of someone too tired to throw him out." Maeve grabbed a pastry, needing something to do with her hands. "And for your information, you've been here more in the past week than you have in the past year. What's with the sudden breakfast delivery service?"
"I'm being supportive." Twyla's smile turned wicked. "And maybe a little nosy. Sue me. It's boring at the Griddle and Grind. Nobody there is having dramatic reunions with prodigal lions."
"There's no reunion."
"No?" Twyla glanced at Dante. "You planning to leave soon?"
"Not soon," he said carefully.
"See?" Twyla turned back to Maeve. "Not leaving. Sleeping on your couch. Wearing your kisses like badges. Definitely looks like a reunion to me."
"Twyla—"
"I'm just saying." The fae stood, gathering her basket. "You've been alone a long time, Maeve. Built walls so high nobody could reach you. But this lion?" She gestured to Dante. "He's scaling those walls whether you like it or not. Might be easier to just let him in."
Silence settled over the tavern as Twyla left just as quickly as she had arrived. Maeve busied herself with arranging glasses that didn't need arranging. Dante stayed by the door, cocoa cup in hand, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
"She's right, you know," he said finally.
"About what?"
"About me not leaving." He set his cup on the bar. "About staking a claim. About all of it."
Maeve's hands stilled on the glass she held. "Dante—"
"I'm not asking you to let me in." He moved closer, just outside her space. "I'm just telling you I'm not going anywhere. Not until this thing with Hector is settled. Not until you're safe."
"I don't need—"
"I know." His mouth curved. "You don't need anyone. You've made that clear. But maybe I need to stay anyway. Maybe watching you build this life alone for ten years taught me something about what matters."
He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
"Dante." His name escaped before she could stop it.
He paused, glancing back.
"Your coat," she managed. "It's upstairs. I should return it."
"Keep it." His eyes held hers. "Looks better on you anyway."
He left, the door closing softly behind him.
Maeve stood in her tavern, cocoa going cold and her body remembering things it had no business remembering. The solid weight of him. The taste of his kiss. The way her lioness purred when he was close.
The way every instinct screamed that letting him in would only end in hurt.
But her body didn't care about logic or walls or ten years of protecting herself.
Her body just wanted him.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.