"Yes, it is."
"Keep telling yourself that, Cub."
He walked to the door, every step feeling wrong. At the threshold, he looked back. She stood silhouetted against the fire, small and fierce and absolutely alone.
Just like he'd let her be.
Dante stepped into the cold night, snow whipping his face as the door closed behind him with a finality.
Behind him, the Silver Fang glowed with firelight.
And inside, Maeve stayed alone with her whiskey and her walls and the taste of him still on her lips.
11
MAEVE
The whispers started before Maeve even opened the Silver Fang for lunch service.
She knew because Twyla showed up at eleven with that knowing smile and a basket of pastries Maeve definitely hadn't ordered. The fae settled onto a barstool, arranging herself with deliberate casualness.
"So," Twyla said. "Interesting night during the power outage."
Maeve's hands stilled on the glass she was polishing. "It was a power outage. Pretty standard for snowstorms."
"Mmm." Twyla pulled a croissant from the basket, tearing it in half. "Except several people reported seeing firelight in the Silver Fang well past closing. And shadows moving close together by the windows."
"I was tending the fire."
"With Dante Deleuve?"
Maeve set the glass down. "He stopped by to check on deliveries. Got caught in the outage same as me."
"And the kissing?" Twyla's smile turned wicked. "Was that also delivery-related?"
Heat flooded Maeve's cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Breck saw you through the window. Says it looked pretty heated."
"Breck needs to mind his own business."
"Breck was walking home from the Mercantile and happened to glance over." Twyla took a delicate bite of croissant. "Along with Sylvie. And that new wolf who just moved in from Asheville. And possibly Tom Brewster, who's probably already writing it up for the Gazette's gossip column."
Maeve's lioness snarled. "Perfect. Just perfect."
"Hey, at least everyone's excited." Twyla's voice softened. "Most people think it's romantic. The prodigal lion returns, old flames rekindled, fate bringing mates together during a storm."
"We're not mates."
"Your lioness says otherwise."
Maeve grabbed another glass, polishing with vicious efficiency. "It was one kiss. A mistake. It won't happen again."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't need that kind of complication." She moved down the bar, needing distance. "I've got sabotaged shipments, Council investigations, and a tavern to run. I don't have time for Dante Deleuve and his pretty words."
"Pretty words?" Twyla's eyebrows rose. "What did he say?"
