Chapter 38 Dante
DANTE
Dante stood beside Maeve at the carved stone table, seeing that an emergency council meeting was held once the wounded had been attended to.
His back screamed protest with every breath, his shoulder throbbing where Hector's lieutenant had gotten lucky.
Freya had done what she could with herbs and magic, but some wounds needed time more than treatment.
Elder Varric presided over the emergency session with five other Council members arranged in a semicircle.
Miriam Caldwell sat with her silver hair gleaming, her expression proud despite the gravity.
Even Elder Bram had shown up, his conservative disapproval obvious but muted by the previous night's victory.
"The matter is settled." Varric's voice carried the weight of centuries.
"Maeve Cross defended her territory, her title, and her people against unprovoked assault.
Hector Cross violated sacred combat law, endangered civilians, and attempted to destabilize Hollow Oak's leadership through violence and manipulation. "
"All charges against Maeve Cross are dismissed," Miriam added. "Her authority as Cross line leader is affirmed unanimously by this Council."
Dante felt Maeve's relief like a physical thing, though she kept her expression neutral. Professional. The lioness who'd torn apart rogues with her teeth now stood calm and collected in borrowed clothes, only the healing marks on her visible skin betraying last night's violence.
"As for Hector Cross and his followers." Varric's stormy eyes held no mercy. "Exile is permanent. They are banned from Hollow Oak's borders and all territories under our alliance. Any who return face immediate imprisonment and trial for treason."
"What about those who surrendered?" Callum spoke up from where he stood with Cora near the glade's edge. "The ones who didn't flee with Hector?"
"Petition for sanctuary denied." Bram's voice rang cold. "They followed a traitor. They participated in attacks on innocents. Hollow Oak owes them nothing."
For once, Dante agreed with the conservative elder. The surrendered lions had made their choice when they'd broken combat rules and targeted civilians. Mercy had limits.
"The ruling stands." Varric looked around the circle, meeting each Council member's gaze. "All in favor?"
Six hands rose. Unanimous.
"Then this matter is closed." Varric stood, his silver braids swaying. "Maeve Cross, you have this Council's full support. The reforms you proposed will be formally reviewed next month, but I see no reason they won't pass."
Something shifted in Maeve's expression. Not quite a smile, but close. "Thank you, Elder."
"Don't thank me." Varric's slight smile held warmth. "Thank yourself for being too stubborn to break."
The Council dispersed slowly, members stopping to congratulate Maeve or discuss cleanup efforts. Dante stayed close but let her have the spotlight. This was her victory, her vindication, her moment to shine.
As they all meandered out of the Glade, Maeve pulled Dante to the side in winter morning quiet. She turned to face him fully. Her dark gold eyes catalogued every injury, every place he'd been bleeding, every sign of damage he'd taken defending her town.
"You're hurt." She moved closer, her fingers ghosting over the bandages visible above his borrowed shirt collar. "Badly."
"I've had worse." Not true, but he didn't want her feeling guilty. "Freya says I'll heal clean."
"Freya also said you need rest." Her hand settled over his heart, feeling the steady beat beneath. "And someone to make sure you don't do anything stupid like patrol or lift heavy objects or generally act like an invincible idiot."
"I don't do that." He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Much."
"Dante." Her expression went serious. "Stay with me tonight. At my place above the tavern. Let me take care of you for once."
His lion rumbled approval immediately, but he hesitated. "You're exhausted too, Cub. You need rest more than I need babysitting."
"I need to know you're safe." The admission came quiet but fierce. "I need to see you healing. I need..." She trailed off, vulnerability flickering across her features. "I need you close."
How could he refuse that?
"Okay." He tugged her against his chest, careful of his wounds, breathing in her scent of whiskey and winter. "I'll stay."
They got to her apartment as they snow became heavy. .
"Sit." She pointed to the couch. "I'm going to check your bandages."
"Freya already—"
"Sit, lion." The command in her voice made his spine straighten reflexively. "Or I'll make you."
He sat, fighting a smile as she disappeared. She returned with a first aid kit that looked better stocked than some clinics, her movements efficient as she knelt between his legs.
"Shirt off." Her fingers found the hem. "Carefully."
He obeyed, hissing when the fabric pulled at the claw marks on his back. She helped ease it over his head, her touch gentle despite her earlier bossiness.
Her sharp intake of breath made him tense. "That bad?"
"You took hits meant for children." Her fingers traced the air near the worst gouges, not quite touching. "For families who couldn't defend themselves."
"That's the job." He caught her hand, made her look at him. "Protecting people. Protecting you. It's what I'm here for."
"You're not here to be my shield." She leaned forward, her forehead resting against his chest. "You're here to stand beside me."
"Can't I do both?"
Her lips curved against his skin, warm and soft. "Let me clean these properly. Freya's good, but I'm better."
She worked in focused silence, removing bandages, cleaning wounds with solutions that stung but felt cleaner than Freya's herbs. Her hands moved with confidence born of years managing a rough tavern, dealing with drunk shifters and the occasional bar fight.
"You're good at this." He watched her face, seeing concentration mixed with concern. "Taking care of people."
"I've had practice." She applied fresh bandages to his shoulder, her touch feather-light. "The Silver Fang sees its share of injuries. Comes with the territory."
"Not just the physical stuff." He caught her wrist when she moved to his ribs. "You take care of this whole town. Made them feel safe, welcome, valued. That's a gift, Maeve."
Color touched her cheeks. "You're delirious from blood loss."
"I'm clear-headed for the first time in a decade." He pulled her up, settling her on his lap carefully to avoid his injuries. "You're remarkable. I hope you know that."
"I know I'm bossy and stubborn and occasionally violent." But she softened into his hold, her head tucking under his chin.
"All qualities I adore." He kissed her temple, breathing her in. "Among others."
They sat like that for long minutes, just being close, feeling each other breathe. The apartment was quiet except for the distant sounds of Hollow Oak rebuilding, life returning to normal after chaos.
"Does it hurt?" Her voice came muffled against his chest.
"Not when you're touching me." True enough. Her presence made everything more bearable.
She lifted her head, those gold-flecked eyes searching his. "I could make it hurt less."
"Yeah?" His body responded immediately despite exhaustion. "How?"
"Distraction." Her smile turned wicked as her fingers found his belt buckle. "Very thorough distraction."
"I'm injured." But he was already hardening under her touch, his lion purring approval.
"I'll be gentle." She slid off his lap, kneeling between his legs again but with entirely different intent. "Mostly."
His protest died when she freed him from his jeans, her hand wrapping around his length with confident pressure. "Maeve."
"Hush." She stroked once, twice, watching his face. "Let me take care of you."
Then her mouth replaced her hand, hot and wet and devastating, and every thought in his head scattered. He groaned, his uninjured hand tangling in her short black hair, careful not to pull but needing to touch.
She took him deeper, her tongue working magic that had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with knowing exactly how to unmake him. When she hummed around him, the vibration shot straight up his spine.
"Cub." His voice came out wrecked. "You're killing me."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I thought I was healing you."
"Both." He laughed, breathless and desperate. "Definitely both."
She returned to her task with single-minded focus, alternating between long, slow pulls and quick, teasing flicks of her tongue that had him seeing stars. His hips wanted to thrust but he kept them still, letting her control the pace, the depth, everything.
When her hand cupped him lower, rolling gently, he felt the warning tingle start at the base of his spine.
"Maeve, I'm close."
She hummed again, doubling down instead of backing off. Her free hand gripped his thigh, anchoring them both as she took him deeper than seemed possible.
The orgasm hit like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. He came with a groan that might have been her name, his body bowing despite the protests from his injuries. She stayed with him through it, swallowing, gentling her movements as he shuddered and gasped.
When he finally went boneless against the couch, she released him with a final soft kiss that made him twitch with oversensitivity.
"Better?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking absurdly pleased with herself.
"I might be dead." He reached for her, pulling her up into his arms. "Worth it though."
She laughed, settling against his chest carefully. "Your shoulder okay?"
"What shoulder?" Everything felt distant and warm and perfect. "I don't have a shoulder."
"The endorphins will wear off." But she kissed his jaw, his throat, the mate mark she'd left on his collarbone. "Then you'll remember you're injured."
"Don't care." He tightened his hold. "Stay here. Just like this."
"I'm not going anywhere." She pulled a throw blanket over them both. "Sleep, lion. I'll be here when you wake up."
His eyes were already drifting closed, exhaustion and satisfaction and bone-deep contentment pulling him under. The last thing he felt was her hand across his heart, steady and sure.
His mate. His lioness. His choice.
And he'd choose her every single day for the rest of his life.