He left, disappearing toward the residential streets.
Dante stood in the square, staring at the Silver Fang's dark windows. Maeve was up there somewhere, probably still furious about the confrontation in the square.
Probably with no idea that foreign lions were prowling around her territory. Testing weaknesses. Looking for opportunities.
His lion wanted to go up there. Wanted to knock on her door and tell her everything. Wanted to stand guard and make it clear that anyone who threatened her would have to go through him first.
But Emmett was right. Telling her now would only make things worse.
So Dante turned away from the Silver Fang and headed back toward the Hearth and Hollow, carrying the knowledge of rogue lions and Hector's escalation like stones in his chest.
Thirty days to stop this and protect Maeve from threats she didn't know existed.
Even if it meant keeping secrets.
Even if it meant she'd hate him when she found out.
His lion settled, accepting the burden. Some fights required patience. Strategy. Waiting for the right moment to strike.
This was one of them.
But when the moment came, when Hector finally made his mistake, Dante would make damn sure the lion regretted ever threatening what was Maeve's.
He thought about the rogue scent he caught from the shed and turned back around toward the Tavern. He knew how to pick a lock and he felt that he needed to play it safe. At least for now.
And maybe, if he was lucky, she'd forgive him for the secrets he was keeping.
15
MAEVE
Maeve woke before dawn, same as always.
She made coffee in her apartment kitchen, watching snow fall past the window. Hollow Oak looked peaceful at this hour. Quiet. The kind of morning that promised calm if you didn't think too hard about uncles making power plays and Council petitions hanging over your head.
She dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, pulling her short black hair into some semblance of order. Dante's coat hung on the back of her door where she'd left it last night. She'd meant to return it. Meant to march to the Hearth and Hollow and shove it at him with some cutting remark about not needing his charity.
Instead, she'd wrapped herself in it while reading shipment manifests until her eyes burned.
It still smelled like him. Pine smoke and winter air and something underneath that made her lioness purr.
Traitor.
Maeve grabbed her coffee and headed downstairs, keys jangling as she unlocked the tavern's back entrance. The Silver Fang sat dark and cold, fireplace dead from last night. She'd light it later, once the morning prep was done.
Movement caught her eye.
She froze, coffee cup halfway to her lips.
Dante Deleuve lay sprawled on her office couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, his long legs hanging off the end. He'd taken off his boots but kept everything else on, looking like he'd collapsed there and passed out mid-thought.
Her lioness stirred with interest. Want and annoyance battling for dominance.
Maeve set her coffee down with enough force that ceramic met wood like a gunshot.
Dante jerked awake, his arm flying up as his lion flashed gold in his eyes. He blinked, disoriented, then focused on her standing in the doorway.
"Maeve." His voice came rough with sleep. "What time is it?"
