"Maeve—"
"No." She crossed her arms. "You want to investigate? Fine. Start by investigating why I don't want you here."
"I know why." His voice softened, and that was worse than the arrogance. Softer meant he remembered. Meant he knew exactly what he'd walked away from. "But this isn't about us."
"There is no us." She met his eyes, holding steady even though her lioness screamed. "There never was."
Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Or regret. Good. He could sit with that.
"The Council thinks?—"
"I don't care what the Council thinks." She leaned forward, letting him see the gold flare in her eyes. "You want to know what's wrong with my shipments? Someone's damaging crates. Poisoning barrels. Making my life difficult. But I've handled difficult before. I don't need you for that."
"Clearly you do, or Varric wouldn't have called me."
"Varric called you because you're expendable." The words came out sharper than she meant them, but she didn't take them back. "You're not one of us. Not anymore. You made that choice ten years ago."
"I had responsibilities?—"
"So did I." She straightened, shoulders back. "So did Callum. We walked away anyway. Built something better. You stayed with a pride that would've torn itself apart before admitting it was wrong."
"That pride needed me."
"I needed you."
The words hung between them like smoke. Maeve wished she could take them back, shove them down her throat where they belonged. But they were out now, bleeding truth all over her carefully polished bar.
Dante stared at her. His lion had risen to his eyes, turning them molten amber. "Maeve?—"
"Get out." She pointed at the door. "Whatever investigation you think you're running, do it somewhere else. You're not welcome here."
"I'm not leaving."
"Then I'll help you." She started around the bar.
He held his ground, which was either brave or stupid. Probably both. "You always were stubborn."
"And you always were arrogant." She stopped three feet away, close enough to smell him. Pine and smoke and something pure lion. Male. Alpha. Everything her lioness wanted and she refused to acknowledge. "Thinking you could just walk in here and I'd roll over."
His mouth curved. Not quite a smile. "I never expected you to roll over, Cub."
The nickname hit like claws. He'd called her that before, back when they were young and stupid and too proud to admit what burned between them. She'd hated it then. Hated how it made her feel small and protected and like she belonged to him.
She hated it worse now.
"Don't call me that."
"Why?" He tilted his head, studying her. "Still fits."
"I'm not a cub anymore." She stepped closer, lifting her chin. "I'm a lioness who runs her own territory. Who built this place from nothing. Who doesn't need some arrogant male swaggering in like he owns the place."
"Never said I owned anything." His voice dropped lower, intimate in a way that made her skin prickle. "But you're still a cub to me. Still fierce and sharp and ready to bite anything that gets too close."
"Keep talking and you'll find out how sharp."
"Promise?"
The air between them crackled with heat and fury. Her lioness arose, gold bleeding through her vision. His lion answered, amber flaring in his eyes.
