"Yeah, well." Emmett moved toward the door. "Sometimes what we want and what we need are two different things. Give her time to figure that out."
He left before Dante could respond, the door swinging shut and letting in a blast of cold air. Snow had started falling again, thick flakes that would cover the town by evening.
Dante stood in the storage shed, surrounded by evidence of someone's campaign to destroy everything Maeve had built. Claw marks and poison and careful sabotage designed to make her look incompetent.
Designed to give Hector grounds to take the Silver Fang for himself.
Not going to happen.
Dante didn't care if Maeve clawed his eyes out. Didn't care if she hated him for interfering. He'd come here to do a job, and that job was protecting her whether she wanted protection or not.
His lion purred agreement, already planning how to guard tomorrow's shipment without being obvious about it.
This was business. Council business. A discrete investigation that had little to do with the way his pulse kicked when Maeve's eyes flashed gold, or the way his lion settled when he caught her scent.
Nothing to do with wanting her safe more than he wanted his next breath.
He told himself that all the way back to the Hearth and Hollow, walking through snow that fell like secrets and trying not to focus on amber eyes and that crooked smile that said she knew exactly how to make him bleed.
Tomorrow he'd guard her shipment.
Tomorrow he'd start hunting Hector's people.
And if Maeve caught him doing it, well.
At least she'd be talking to him again.
Even if half those words were threats.
7
MAEVE
The delivery truck pulled up at two-forty-five, fifteen minutes early.
Maeve stood in the Silver Fang's back lot, arms crossed against the cold, watching the driver climb down from the cab. She knew this routine by heart. Check the manifest, inspect the seals, sign off on everything before it came inside. Simple. Efficient.
Until Dante Deleuve materialized from around the corner like some kind of golden-haired plague.
"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered.
He wore the same dark jacket from yesterday, jeans that fit too well, and an expression that said he knew exactly how unwelcome he was. His breath misted in the cold air as he approached, hands shoved in his pockets like he had every right to be there.
"Afternoon, Cub."
"Don't call me that." She turned to the driver, forcing a smile. "Hey, Cash. Everything look good?"
"All sealed and accounted for." The grizzled bear shifter handed her the manifest. "Twenty cases of whiskey, ten vodka, five gin. Premium stuff."
"Perfect." Maeve scanned the paperwork, checking dates and numbers. Everything matched. "Let's get it unloaded."
"I'll help." Dante moved toward the truck bed.
"No, you won't." Maeve blocked his path. "This is my delivery. My business. You can leave now."
"Can't do that."
"Why not?"
