Dante parked near the square and climbed out, his boots crunching in fresh powder. The cold bit through his jacket, sharper here than it had been on the road. Mountain weather had teeth. He stood for a moment, breathing in the scent of pine and woodsmoke and something that was pure Hollow Oak. Magic and community and belonging.
Things he'd given up.
He pulled his collar up and scanned the storefronts, looking for something that screamed Callum Cross. His friend would've built something solid. Permanent. The kind of place that said he'd planted roots and meant to keep them.
A bakery with sugar-dusted windows. A bookshop with a sleepy black cat watching him from behind frosted glass. Some place called the Griddle and Grind that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, warmth spilling from its door every time someone entered or left.
And there, set back from the square with warm light spilling from its windows, the Silver Fang Tavern.
Cross-owned.
Had to be Callum's place.
Dante headed toward it, his lion stirring with interest. The beast had been quiet for most of the drive, content to drowse while Dante handled the thinking. Now it stretched, sniffing the air, picking up scents buried under snow and woodsmoke.
Something familiar. Something that made his pulse kick and his steps slow.
He knew that scent.
He pushed through the tavern door anyway, because he'd never been smart about the things that could hurt him.
The place hit him all at once. Polished wood, stone fireplace crackling with real flames, the kind of atmosphere that said sanctuary more than it said bar. A handful of patrons scattered at tables, nursing drinks and low conversation. The scent of whiskey and pine and something spiced he couldn't quite name.
And behind the bar, short black hair catching firelight and dark gold eyes lifting to meet his, stood Maeve Cross.
Not Callum.
Maeve.
She froze mid-pour, whiskey splashing over the rim of the glass she held. Her gaze locked on his, sharp and disbelieving, like she'd just seen a ghost walk through her door.
Maybe she had.
"Dante." His name came out flat, no question in it. Just acknowledgment. Just barely controlled shock.
He found his voice somewhere past the roar of his lion. "Maeve."
The tavern had gone quiet. Every shifter in the place watched them now, tension crackling through the air like a live wire. Dante registered it distantly, most of his attention caught on the woman in front of him.
She'd changed. Ten years had carved away the softness he remembered, leaving behind something leaner and harder. She stood maybe five and a half feet tall, compact power wrapped in a body that moved like a predator even standing still. The black hair he remembered loose now barely brushed her jaw, practical and sharp.
But her eyes were the same. Molten gold with firelight dancing in them, intelligent and fierce and absolutely done with his bullshit.
"What are you doing here?" She set the bottle down with controlled force.
"Council business." He stayed by the door, hands loose at his sides. Non-threatening. "I'm looking for a Cross-owned establishment."
"You found it." Her mouth twisted. "Congratulations."
The word hit him sideways. "You run this place?"
"For the last ten years." She grabbed a rag and wiped up the spilled whiskey, movements precise and controlled. "Callum's got other priorities. Mate. Family. Actual life. I got the tavern."
Callum had a mate. Of course he did. Everyone in Hollow Oak seemed to be finding their fated match these days fromwhat he'd heard. The Veil loved that kind of thing, pulling souls together whether they wanted it or not.
"I didn't know," Dante said.
"Why would you?" Maeve tossed the rag aside. "You haven't been here in a decade. Haven't called. Haven't checked in. Why start now?"
