"The only thing I regret is not clawing his eyes out years ago."
"See?" Hector gestured to the crowd. "Violent. Unstable. Exactly the kind of temperament that makes her unfit to manage Cross holdings. Thank you for demonstrating my point, niece."
He walked away, his footsteps measured and calm. The picture of reasonable authority dealing with an unreasonable female.
The crowd began to disperse, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Maeve stood in the square, snow beginning to fall around her, fury and shame burning through her chest. She'd played right into his hands. Given him exactly what he wanted.
Proof she couldn't control herself.
"Maeve—" Dante started.
"Don't." She turned away. "Just don't."
"He was manipulating you."
"I know that." She started back toward the tavern. "Which makes it worse. I knew what he was doing and I did it anyway."
Dante followed, his presence solid behind her. "You were defending what's yours."
"I was losing my temper in front of half the town." She stopped at the tavern door. "Making myself look exactly like he wants. Unstable. Violent. Unfit."
"You're none of those things."
"Tell that to everyone who just watched me scream at my uncle in the square." She pulled open the door.
"Tell that to the Council when they decide he's right about transferring control."
"They won't?—"
"You don't know that." She turned, finding him too close. Close enough to see concern in those amber eyes. Close enough to want things she couldn't afford. "You heard him. Thirty days. Then he petitions for control and I lose everything."
Snow fell heavier now, settling on Dante's shoulders and catching in his golden hair. He looked like something carved from winter and firelight, all sharp edges and dangerous beauty.
He shrugged out of his coat, draping it over her shoulders before she could protest.
The warmth hit her immediately. His scent wrapping around her like protection.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Keeping you from freezing while you process." He stepped back, though his eyes stayed on hers.
"I don't need?—"
"I know." His mouth curved. "You don't need anyone. You've made that clear. But maybe I need to help anyway."
He walked away before she could argue, disappearing into the falling snow.
Maeve stood in her doorway, wrapped in his coat that smelled like pine smoke and promises. Her lioness purred despite her anger, settling at the lingering warmth.
She should give it back.
Instead, she watched him disappear into the white-dark afternoon and tried not to think about how right it felt to be wrapped in something that belonged to him.
14
DANTE
