Because the Council ordered me to. Because someone's sabotaging your shipments and I'm supposed to figure out who. Because I never stopped thinking about you even when I should have.
But of course, he said none of that.
He was too focused on how sharp and small and absolutely in control of her domain Maeve was.
Ten years ago, she'd been fierce. Beautiful. Untouchable in ways that had absolutely nothing to do with her claws and everything to do with the walls she built.
She'd gotten better at both.
And seeing her again, standing in her tavern with fire in her eyes and ice in her voice, did something to his lion that felt a lot like coming home.
Which was a problem.
Because Maeve Cross had made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
3
MAEVE
The Silver Fang had gone quiet enough to hear snow falling outside.
Maeve kept her hands on the bar, gripping the edge hard enough that her knuckles went white. Every patron in the place stared at the golden-haired lion standing in her doorway like he had any right to be there. Like ten years hadn't passed. Like he hadn't chosen his pride over everything else.
Over her.
Dante looked different. Bigger somehow, broader through the shoulders, though he'd always been tall. His golden hair caught the firelight the same way it always had, falling just long enough to be careless. Sun-browned skin and amber eyes that tracked her every movement with predator focus. He wore jeans and a dark jacket dusted with snow, looking like he'd just stepped out of some recruitment poster for dangerous men who knew it.
Still smug. Still convinced his presence was a gift.
Her lioness snarled, clawing at her ribs.
"Council business," she repeated, keeping her voice level. "That's what you're going with?"
"It's the truth." He took a step inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Varric sent me."
"Varric can go to hell." She grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured herself a shot, downing it before he could comment. "And you can join him."
"Maeve—"
"Don't." She slammed the glass down. "Don't you dare walk into my bar after ten years and act like you're doing me some favor."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." She moved further down the bar, putting more distance between them. Her lioness prowled, wanting to get closer, wanting to mark him or murder him or both. "You show up here with your Council summons and your pretty excuses, expecting what? That I'd be grateful?"
His jaw tightened. "I expected you to listen."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because someone's sabotaging your shipments." His voice dropped lower, that rumble she remembered from arguments that always ended with her wanting to claw his eyes out. Or kiss him. Sometimes both. "Because whatever's happening here is serious enough that Varric called me in personally."
"Then Varric's an idiot." She grabbed another glass, this one for the regular who'd been watching them like they were dinner theater. "Here, Breck. On the house. Enjoy the show."
The bear shifter took the glass with a grin. "Wouldn't miss it."
Dante's gaze flicked to Breck, then back to her. "Can we talk somewhere private?"
"No."
