Chapter 19 Maeve
MAEVE
Morning came too soon and too bright.
Maeve sat at her kitchen table, nursing coffee that had gone lukewarm while she stared at nothing. Her apartment felt smaller than usual. Walls pressing in. The silence too loud.
Her body ached in all the right places. Reminded her with every shift of muscle exactly what she'd done last night. What she'd let Dante do to her against the tavern wall while her defenses burned to ash.
Her lioness purred at the memory. Satisfied. Smug.
Maeve told it to shut up and drank cold coffee.
She should open the tavern. It was almost nine, past her usual start time. But the thought of going downstairs, of seeing that wall, of smelling him still lingering in the wood and air, made her stomach twist.
She'd used him. Let him touch her because she'd needed to forget Hector's words, needed something fierce and hot to burn away the shame of almost shifting in front of everyone who mattered.
And Dante had given her exactly that. Had looked at her as if she hung the moon while he made her forget her own problems.
That was the problem.
He'd looked at her like it meant something. Like they were building toward something instead of just scratching an itch born of rage and proximity and a mate bond she refused to acknowledge.
A knock at her apartment door made her jump, coffee sloshing over the rim of her cup.
She knew who it was before she opened it. Could smell him through the wood. Pine smoke and frigid winter and the lingering scent of her own arousal that probably still clung to his skin.
Maeve set her cup down and opened the door.
Dante looked like he hadn't slept. His golden hair was rumpled, his jacket unzipped, and his amber eyes tracked over her face like he was checking for damage. He held two cups from the Griddle and Grind, steam rising from the lids.
"Brought coffee," he said. "Figured you might need it."
"I have coffee."
"Better coffee." He held out one cup. "Can I come in?"
"No."
"Maeve—"
"I said no." She crossed her arms, blocking the doorway. "Whatever you're here to say, say it from there."
His jaw tightened. "Fine. I'm checking on you. Making sure you're okay after last night."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine and your tavern’s still closed."
"Thanks for that." She started to close the door. His hand caught it, holding it open with effortless strength.
"Don't do this," he said quietly. "Don't shut me out."
"I'm not shutting you out. I'm asking for space."
"Same thing when you do it." He stepped close enough that she caught his scent stronger now. Close enough to remember how he'd tasted. "Talk to me."
"About what? About how I used you last night to forget my uncle's bullshit? About how we had sex against a wall and it was great but it doesn't change anything?" Her voice came out sharp, giving away her anger and guilt. "There's nothing to talk about."
"It changes everything."
"It was sex, Dante. Physical release. Don't make it into something it wasn't."
His eyes flashed gold. "You're lying."
"I'm being honest." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I needed to forget. You were there. It happened. Now it's done."
"Done." He repeated the word like it offended him. "That's what you're going with?"
"That's the truth."
"The truth is you're scared." He set the coffee cups on the floor, freeing his hands. "Scared of what you felt last night. Scared of admitting there's something between us that goes beyond physical."
"There's nothing between us."
"Liar." He stepped into her doorway, forcing her back into her apartment. "You felt the bond snap tighter. Felt your lioness recognize mine. Don't tell me it was just sex when we both know better."
"Get out of my apartment."
"Not until you stop lying to yourself." His voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that made her skin prickle. "You wanted me. Not because you needed to forget. Because you wanted me. Specifically. The way I've wanted you for ten years."
"This is manipulation." She backed up another step. "You're twisting what happened into something it wasn't."
"I'm stating facts." He followed her into the kitchen, all predator grace and determined focus. "You kissed me first. Pulled me down. Told me not to stop. Those weren't the actions of someone using me as a distraction."
"They were exactly that."
His eyes held hers, seeing too much. "Then why did your lioness purr against mine? Why did you hold on like you were afraid I'd disappear?"
Heat flooded her cheeks. "Stop."
"Why? Because I'm right?" He moved closer, backing her against the counter. "Because admitting you wanted it, wanted me, wanted us, terrifies you more than Hector's threats?"
"You don't know what terrifies me."
"I know you." His voice gentled. "Know you've built walls so high you can't see over them anymore. Know you'd rather be alone than risk getting hurt again. Know you're using anger right now to push me away because it's easier than admitting what last night meant."
"Last night meant nothing." The lie tasted like ash. "It was a mistake."
"The only mistake was you walking away after." He braced his hands on the counter behind her, caging her in without touching. "Walking away instead of staying. Instead of acknowledging that something shifted between us."
"Nothing shifted."
"Everything shifted." His eyes searched hers. "And you're terrified of it."
"I'm not terrified." But her voice shook. "I'm realistic. You'll leave. Same as before. The moment this investigation is done, you'll go back to whatever life you've built and I'll be here. Alone. Again. I'm not setting myself up for that pain."
"What if I don't leave?"
Those words were dangerous to Maeve.
"You will." She ducked under his arm, putting the table between them. "You always choose duty over everything else. That's who you are."
"That's who I was." He straightened, frustration bleeding into his expression. "I'm trying to be different. Trying to show you I've changed. But you won't let me close enough to prove it."
"Because I don't trust you." She shifted to face him. "I can't trust you. Not when trusting you before got me left behind. Not when letting you in means giving you the power to destroy me."
"I would never—"
"You already did." Her hands curled into fists. "Ten years ago when you stayed with a pride that was eating itself alive. When you chose loyalty to Hector's poisonous politics over coming with us. You destroyed me then. I'm not giving you a second chance to finish the job."
He flinched like she'd struck him. "Maeve—"
"Get out." She pointed at the door. "This conversation is done."
"We need to talk about this."
"There's nothing to talk about." She moved to the door, yanking it open. "Last night was a mistake. This morning is making it worse. Just go."
"I'm not giving up on us."
"There is no us." She met his eyes, forcing steel into her voice even as her lioness whined in protest.
He stood there for a long moment, jaw tight and eyes blazing with things she refused to name. Then he moved to the door, pausing in the threshold.
"For what it's worth," he said quietly, "I'm sorry. For staying behind. For hurting you. For making you feel like you weren't worth fighting for. But I'm here now. Fighting. Whether you believe it or not."
"Save your breath." She started to close the door. "I'm not interested in apologies or fighting or whatever else you think this is."
"You will be." His mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "Eventually you'll run out of walls to hide behind. And when you do, I'll be waiting."
She slammed the door before he could say anything else. Locked it. Pressed her forehead against the wood and tried to breathe through the panic clawing at her ribs.
Her lioness snarled, furious at the at pushing away their mate.
But he wasn't their mate. Couldn't be. Not when acknowledging the bond meant opening herself up to the kind of hurt she'd barely survived the first time.
Maeve moved back to the kitchen, her coffee cold and her body still aching with sense memory. She could smell him in her apartment now. Pine smoke and winter and something underneath that was pure Dante.
Her scent still clung to him too. She'd seen it in the way his pupils had dilated when he got close. Smelled her arousal and satisfaction written all over his skin.
Marked him without meaning to.
Her lioness purred approval.
Maeve grabbed her cup and dumped the cold coffee in the sink trying not to break it.
Last night had been a mistake. This morning proved it.
And if she kept telling herself that, maybe eventually she'd believe it.
Maybe.