Chapter 32 Maeve
MAEVE
Maeve had always come here for official summons, for hearings where she stood accused or defended someone else. Never voluntarily. Never with her own agenda. But as she walked the hidden path through snow-dusted trees, her lioness moved with quiet confidence beneath her skin.
This was her territory. Her town. Time to claim it properly.
Elder Varric waited in the glade, his silver braids draped over his shoulders like moonlit cords, his storm-colored eyes assessing as she approached. He didn't speak, just gestured to the carved stone bench beside him.
"Elder." She inclined her head respectfully but didn't bow. Equals, or as close to it as she could manage.
"Maeve Cross." His voice rumbled like distant thunder. "You requested this meeting. I assume it's not about the reopening of your tavern, given that matter's been settled."
"It's about the Cross line." She sat, keeping her spine straight, her gaze level. "And what comes after Hector's attempted coup fails."
One silver eyebrow rose slightly. "Confident."
"Prepared." She folded her hands in her lap, choosing her words carefully.
"Hector's using tradition as a weapon. The idea that lions need male leadership, that the Cross line is weakening because I refuse to yield to a mate, that Hollow Oak's progressive Council is making us vulnerable to outside threats. "
"All arguments I've heard before." Varric's expression remained neutral. "From Bram, among others."
"Then let me offer a counter." She leaned forward slightly. "I propose formal reforms to the Cross line structure. Shared leadership models that honor tradition while embracing change. Gender balance in all pride decisions. Documentation that proves strength comes from choice, not enforcement."
Varric studied her for a long moment, his ancient gaze seeing far more than she wanted to reveal. "You're asking me to back a restructuring of one of Hollow Oak's oldest bloodlines."
"I'm asking you to back evolution." She held his stare.
"The Veil chose this town as sanctuary for those who don't fit elsewhere.
We've built something unique here, something worth protecting.
But we can't do that if we're constantly fighting internal battles about who's allowed to lead based on what's between their legs. "
A smile ghosted across his weathered face. "Bold words."
"True words." Her lioness rumbled approval.
"I've run the Silver Fang for nearly a decade.
I've served on guard duty, protected citizens, contributed to this community in every way that matters.
The only thing I haven't done is submit to a male alpha's authority, and that's what Hector can't forgive. "
"And Dante Deleuve?" The question came casual, but she heard the weight beneath it.
"Is my choice." The words came easier than expected. "If I choose him. When I choose him. But that decision is mine, not the pride's, not tradition's. Mine."
"As it should be." Varric stood, moving to the edge of the glade where ancient runes carved into stone glowed faintly with protective magic. "Your grandmother would be proud, you know. She fought similar battles in her time, though she did it more quietly."
Maeve blinked. "My grandmother?"
"Delilah Cross." He spoke the name with obvious respect. "She was on this Council thirty years ago. Pushed for the same reforms you're proposing now, though she lacked the support to make them permanent. The old guard was stronger then."
"She never told me." Something ached in Maeve's chest, pride and grief tangled together.
"She knew you'd need to find your own path." Varric turned back to face her, his expression softer than she'd ever seen it. "But she left notes. Instructions for when you were ready. I have them in my archives, if you want them."
"I do." Her voice erupted roughly. "Thank you."
"As for your proposal." He moved back to the bench, settling with the weight of centuries in his movements.
"I'll back it. Formally, publicly, when the time is right.
After the Solstice, after Hector's threat is eliminated, we'll present it to the full Council as a progressive amendment to pride law within Hollow Oak's borders. "
Relief flooded through her so strongly her hands trembled. "You mean it."
"I've been waiting for you to ask for twenty years, Maeve." His smile held warmth and something that looked like paternal pride. "You've proven yourself a hundred times over. It's time the Council recognized that officially."
"Bram will fight it."
"Bram fights everything that threatens his narrow worldview." Varric waved a dismissive hand. "But he's outnumbered now, and he knows it. The younger Council members, the ones who've grown up in this version of Hollow Oak, they'll vote for progress. Especially with you as the example."
They talked for another hour, working through logistics and timing, discussing precedents and potential opposition. By the time Maeve left the glade, the sun had started its descent toward the mountains, painting the snow in shades of amber and gold.
She walked back through town slowly, letting the victory settle into her bones. The Silver Fang would survive. The Cross line would evolve. Hollow Oak would remain the sanctuary it was meant to be.
And she'd done it. Not by yielding, not by submitting, but by standing firm and demanding change.
Maeve unlocked the back door to the tavern, needing the familiar space to process everything. She moved through the empty room, trailing her fingers over tables she'd repaired, chairs donated by neighbors, the bar that had stood here longer than she'd been alive.
This place was hers. But it had never been hers alone.
She thought of Twyla bringing coffee every morning this week. Freya helping with protective wards. Cora organizing the cleaning crew. Kieran and Callum replacing broken furniture without being asked. Emmett coordinating security. Moira researching Hector's weaknesses.
Dante, standing beside her through all of it. Giving her space but never leaving. Letting her lead but offering support. Seeing her strength instead of trying to diminish it.
The realization that had been building all week crystallized into perfect clarity.
She'd been so focused on not being claimed that she'd forgotten what it meant to choose. So determined to prove she didn't need anyone that she'd ignored the difference between need and want.
She didn't need Dante. She'd survive without him, run her tavern, protect her town, live her life.
But gods, she wanted him.
Wanted his steady presence and terrible jokes. Wanted the way he looked at her like she hung the moon. Wanted his hands on her skin and his voice in her ear and his lion tangled with hers. Wanted partnership and passion and everything she'd been too scared to reach for.
She'd been a coward. Hiding behind independence because vulnerability felt like weakness.
But watching him this past week, seeing how he stepped back when she needed space and stepped forward when she needed support, never pushing but always present, she understood what real strength looked like.
It looked like choosing love even when it scared you, like trust built on respect instead of dominance. It looked like Dante.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she let the full feeling sink in. Tonight. She'd tell him tonight. No more deflecting, no more hiding behind banter and defensive walls. She'd be brave enough to say the words that terrified her more than any physical battle ever could.
I love you. I choose you. I want you.
Always had, if she was honest. From the moment they'd met as young lions testing boundaries and finding connection. She'd loved him then, loved him when he left, loved him through every year of absence and every moment since his return.
The difference now was that she understood what that love meant. Not surrender. Not submission. But partnership freely chosen between equals who saw each other clearly and chose to stand together anyway.
The back door opened, and her heart leapt before she turned.
Dante held two cups of coffee from the Griddle and Grind, steam rising in the cold air.
"Figured you might want company." He stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. "And caffeine."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Saw you walking back from the woods. You had that look." He crossed to the bar, setting down both cups. "The one that means you've been making decisions and plotting revolutions."
"Met with Varric." She accepted the coffee he offered, their fingers brushing in a way that sent sparks up her arm. "He's backing my reforms. After the Solstice, we're restructuring the Cross line officially."
Something fierce and proud flashed across his face. "That's my girl."
The possessive endearment should have bothered her.
"Dante." His name came out softer than intended.
"Maeve." He mirrored her tone, his slight smile knowing but patient.
She opened her mouth to say it, to lay her heart bare right here in the afternoon light with the taste of coffee on her tongue and hope fluttering wild in her chest.
But the front door rattled with someone's knock, and the moment fractured.
"Maeve? You in there?" Emmett's voice carried through the wood. "Is Dante with you? Need to go over patrol schedules before tonight."
Dante's expression flickered with something that might have been disappointment before smoothing into easy acceptance. "Duty calls."
"Tonight." The word burst out before she could stop it. "After closing. Can you stay?"
His eyes darkened with heat. "Wild lions couldn't drag me away."
"Good." She forced herself to move toward the door, to handle what needed handling even though every instinct screamed to ignore everything else and finish what she'd started. "That's good."
As she let Emmett in and dove into logistics, she felt Dante's gaze on her like a physical touch. Patient. Steady. Waiting.
Tonight, she'd stop being a coward.
The lioness would claim her lion.