Maeve studied the photos, her mind racing. The damaged crates. The poisoned barrels. The pattern she'd been trying to ignore because admitting it meant admitting someone wanted to destroy what she'd built.
"Why didn't Varric tell me?"
"Because he knows you." Dante pocketed his phone. "Knows you'd go hunting on your own. Start a fight that could turn into a war."
"Damn right I would."
"Which is why I'm here." He moved toward the truck, grabbing another crate. "To handle it quietly. Find proof. Stop whoever's doing this before you have to get your claws dirty."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him she could handle her own problems. But the evidence was right there in those photos, undeniable and damning.
Someone was coming after the Silver Fang.
Coming after her.
"Fine," she said. "You can help with the delivery. But that's it. You're not camping out in my storage shed."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"And you're not interrogating my regulars."
"Only the suspicious ones."
"Dante—"
"Relax, Cub." He flashed her that grin, the one that made her want to hit him and pull him closer all at once. "I'm a professional. I know how to be discrete."
"There's nothing discrete about you."
"You say the sweetest things."
Breck appeared in the tavern's back door, coffee cup in hand. "You two done flirting? Some of us are trying to enjoy our afternoon."
"We're not flirting," Maeve snapped.
"Could've fooled me." Breck sipped his coffee, grinning. "Looked an awful lot like flirting from here."
"Get back inside before I ban you."
"Yes ma'am." He retreated, laughing.
Maeve grabbed another crate, carrying it toward the shed. Behind her, she heard Dante talking to Cash, asking casual questions about the delivery route and timing. Smooth. Professional. Like he'd done this a thousand times.
Maybe he had.
They worked in tense silence for the next twenty minutes, moving cases from truck to storage. Maeve kept her distance, hyperaware of every time Dante came close. The way he moved with predator grace, muscles shifting under his jacket. The way he smelled like pine smoke and cold winter and something that made her lioness purr.
She hated it.
Hated how her body responded to his proximity. Hated that after ten years, he could still make her feel like the young lioness who'd watched him choose duty over everything else.
Over her.
Cash finished unloading and left with a wave, promising next week's delivery would be on time. The truck rumbled away, leaving Maeve and Dante alone in the back lot with twenty cases of liquor and enough tension to ignite the snow.
"Last one," Dante said, hefting a keg.
"I've got it." She reached for the other handle.
