Chapter 22 Dante
DANTE
The wind hit like a freight train.
Dante looked up from the timeline he'd been marking, papers scattering as a gust rattled the tavern windows hard enough to make the glass bow. Outside, snow no longer fell in lazy flakes. It drove sideways, thick and vicious, turning the world into white chaos.
"That escalated fast," Maeve said, moving to the window. "Weather report said light snow through morning."
Dante stood, joining her at the glass. Drifts were already piling against the buildings across the square, some reaching window height. "This is going to get worse before it gets better."
"You should leave now while you still can."
He tried the front door. It opened maybe six inches before hitting a wall of snow that had drifted against it. Wind howled through the gap, bringing stinging ice and cold that bit through his jacket. He shoved harder. The door didn't budge.
"Back door?" he suggested.
Maeve tried it with the same result. Snow had drifted against both entrances, packed solid by wind that screamed like something alive. She pushed once more, muscles straining, then stepped back with a curse.
"We're stuck," she said flatly.
"Looks like." Dante surveyed the tavern. Fireplace cold. Windows rattling. The space already losing heat as the storm sucked warmth through every crack and seam. "We should move somewhere smaller. Easier to keep warm."
"My apartment's upstairs." She didn't look at him. "It's connected. Smaller. Better insulated."
"You inviting me up, Cub?"
"I'm being practical." She grabbed the organized stacks of evidence, bundling them carefully. "The tavern has too many windows. Too much space to heat. And I don't need anyone seeing us trapped down here together. Last time that happened, half the town gossiped for days."
He grinned despite the situation. "Worried about your reputation?"
"Worried about giving Hector more ammunition." She headed for the back stairs. "Come on. Before we freeze."
Dante gathered the remaining papers and followed her up narrow stairs.
"More coffee?" she offered, moving to the kitchen.
"Always."
She worked while he spread evidence on her coffee table, organizing it for tomorrow's meeting with Varric. The wind howled outside, shaking windows and making the building groan. Snow piled against the glass, blocking out what little dawn light remained.
Maeve returned with two mugs, settling on the opposite end of the couch. Safe distance. Controlled space between them.
"Could be stuck here a while," Dante said.
"Could be." She sipped her coffee, staring at the evidence spread before them. "At least we got this done. Varric will have everything he needs to shut Hector down."
"He will." Dante picked up one of the forged documents, studying Hector's fake signature. "Your uncle's thorough. I'll give him that."
"He's always been thorough about the wrong things." Her jaw tightened. "Spent more energy maintaining pride hierarchy than actually helping anyone. That's why Callum and I left. We couldn't stomach another decade of watching him punish people for wanting better."
"I should've left with you."
She glanced at him, surprise flickering across her face. "You've said that before."
"Doesn't make it less true." He set the document down. "I made the wrong call. Convinced myself staying was honorable when really it was just easier than walking away."
"Why?" Her voice came quiet. "Why stay when you knew the pride was broken?"
"Pride." He smiled without humor. "Literally and figuratively. I was second in command. Had responsibilities. Thought loyalty meant finishing what we'd started instead of abandoning ship when things got hard."
"You thought we abandoned ship."
"For about five minutes." He turned to face her fully. "Then I watched the pride tear itself apart anyway. Watched Hector take the worst elements and form his own traditional stronghold. Watched everything Callum had tried to build crumble despite my best efforts."
"And then?"
"And then I realized I'd wasted years trying to fix people who didn't want fixing." He held her gaze. “I'd chosen an idea of loyalty over the actual people who mattered. Over you and Callum. Over any chance at something real."
Maeve's hands tightened on her mug. "So you decided to become worthy? That's what you meant about earning the right to claim someone?"
"I decided to become someone who wouldn't make that mistake again." He leaned back, shoulder against the couch. "Someone who understood that real strength isn't about holding failing structures together. It's about knowing when to walk away and build something better."
"Took you long enough to figure that out."
"Yeah." He studied her profile. The sharp line of her jaw. The way firelight caught in her short black hair. "But once I did, I couldn't unknow it. Couldn't pretend the pride mattered more than my own integrity. So I left."
"Where'd you go?"
"Nowhere important." He sipped his coffee. "Worked security contracts. Lived light. Kept moving so I wouldn't have time to think about what I'd lost."
"Me." She said it like a fact, not a question.
"You." He let the admission sit between them, honest and raw. "Every day for ten years. Wondering if you'd found happiness. If you'd found someone better. If you still hated me for staying behind."
"I didn't hate you." Her voice came softer than he expected. "I was angry. Hurt. But I never hated you."
"What did you feel?"
She was quiet for a long moment, staring into her mug like it held answers. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the space felt smaller. More intimate. Like the world had narrowed to just them and this conversation.
"Abandoned," she said finally. "I felt abandoned. Like I wasn't worth fighting for. Like duty and pride politics mattered more to you than I did."
"Maeve—"
"Let me finish." She set her mug down, turning to face him.
"I know that's not fair. Know you were trying to do what you thought was right.
But fair doesn't matter when you're watching the person you.
.." She stopped. Started again. "When you're watching someone choose an obligation over you, fair doesn't matter. It just hurts."
"I'm sorry." He wanted to reach for her, pull her close, but forced himself to stay still. "For making you feel that way. For being too stubborn and proud to see what mattered until it was too late."
"And now?" Her gold-flecked eyes held his. "Now you show up after ten years claiming you've changed. Claiming you'd choose differently. How do I know you won't just leave again when duty calls?"
"You don't." The truth tasted bitter but necessary.
"You have to trust that I mean what I say.
That breaking Varric's orders to tell you about Hector's conspiracy proves I'm done choosing duty over you.
That every choice I've made since coming back has been about standing with you instead of trying to control the situation. "
"That's a lot of trust to ask for."
"I know." He did reach for her then, just his hand covering hers on the couch between them. "But I'm asking anyway. Not as your alpha. Not as someone trying to claim you. As your partner. As someone who's spent ten years becoming the lion worthy of standing beside you instead of in front of you."
"You think you're worthy now?"
"I think I'm getting there." His thumb stroked across her knuckles. She hadn’t pulled away yet. "I think showing up. Doing the work. Choosing you over protocol. Those are steps toward earning what I threw away. But ultimately, you decide if I'm worthy. Not me."
She stared at their joined hands, conflict written across her features. Want warring with fear. Trust battling self-preservation.
"This is a mistake," she whispered.
"Probably."
"You're going to hurt me again."
"No. I won’t." He squeezed her hand gently. "But I can't promise perfection. Can't promise I won't screw up or make wrong calls. I can only promise I'll try. That I'll choose you when it matters. That I'll stand with you even when it's hard."
"That's not enough."
"Then tell me what is." He shifted closer, drawn by her warmth and the way her scent wrapped around him. "Tell me what you need and I'll do everything in my power to give it to you."
"I need—" Her voice broke. "I need to not want you this much. Need to not feel like I'm drowning every time you look at me. Need my lioness to stop recognizing yours as mate when I know better than to believe it."
He cupped her face with his free hand, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "What if the bond knows something your fear won't let you see?"
"Don't." But still, she didn't pull away. "Don't make this about fate or bonds or destiny. Make it about choice. About you choosing me. About me choosing to trust you."
"Then choose." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Choose to trust that I've changed. Choose to believe I mean every word. Choose us, Maeve. Just once. Just now. And I swear I'll prove every day after that you made the right call."
She stared at him, gold bleeding into her eyes as her lioness rose to the surface. Her pulse fluttered in her throat. Her breath came faster. Every line of her body screamed want and need and fear all tangled together.
"Damn you," she whispered.
Then she kissed him.
Her mouth crashed into his, all heat and desperation and surrender wrapped in fury. He groaned, catching her waist and pulling her closer, tasting coffee and decision and the woman who'd haunted his dreams for a decade.
She climbed into his lap, legs straddling his hips, hands fisting in his hair. The kiss turned deeper, hungrier.
Dante broke away just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to hers. "Maeve—"
"Shut up." She kissed him again. "For once in your life, just shut up and take what I'm giving you."
He did.