"Hush." She stroked once, twice, watching his face. "Let me take care of you."
Then her mouth replaced her hand, hot and wet and devastating, and every thought in his head scattered. He groaned, his uninjured hand tangling in her short black hair, careful not to pull but needing to touch.
She took him deeper, her tongue working magic that had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with knowing exactly how to unmake him. When she hummed around him, the vibration shot straight up his spine.
"Cub." His voice came out wrecked. "You're killing me."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I thought I was healing you."
"Both." He laughed, breathless and desperate. "Definitely both."
She returned to her task with single-minded focus, alternating between long, slow pulls and quick, teasing flicks of her tongue that had him seeing stars. His hips wanted to thrust but he kept them still, letting her control the pace, the depth, everything.
When her hand cupped him lower, rolling gently, he felt the warning tingle start at the base of his spine.
"Maeve, I'm close."
She hummed again, doubling down instead of backing off. Her free hand gripped his thigh, anchoring them both as she took him deeper than seemed possible.
The orgasm hit like lightning, white-hot and all-consuming. He came with a groan that might have been her name, his body bowing despite the protests from his injuries. She stayed with him through it, swallowing, gentling her movements as he shuddered and gasped.
When he finally went boneless against the couch, she released him with a final soft kiss that made him twitch with oversensitivity.
"Better?" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking absurdly pleased with herself.
"I might be dead." He reached for her, pulling her up into his arms. "Worth it though."
She laughed, settling against his chest carefully. "Your shoulder okay?"
"What shoulder?" Everything felt distant and warm and perfect. "I don't have a shoulder."
"The endorphins will wear off." But she kissed his jaw, his throat, the mate mark she'd left on his collarbone. "Then you'll remember you're injured."
"Don't care." He tightened his hold. "Stay here. Just like this."
"I'm not going anywhere." She pulled a throw blanket over them both. "Sleep, lion. I'll be here when you wake up."
His eyes were already drifting closed, exhaustion and satisfaction and bone-deep contentment pulling him under. The last thing he felt was her hand across his heart, steady and sure.
His mate. His lioness. His choice.
And he'd choose her every single day for the rest of his life.
39
DANTE
The Silver Fang roared with life.
Dante surveyed the packed tavern from his position behind the bar, noting the exits, the crowd density, the potential flashpoints where drunk shifters might get rowdy. Old habits died hard, even when the threats were gone and Hollow Oak had settled into peaceful routine.
It had been nine days since the battle. Nine days of healing wounds and rebuilding trust and watching Maeve bloom into the leader she'd always been meant to be. His ribs no longer screamed with every breath. His shoulder moved without grinding. And the claw marks on his back had faded to silver lines he'd carry forever.
Worth it.
"Two whiskeys, neat." A wolf shifter leaned against the bar, grinning. "And whatever you're having. Drinks on me for the lion who took on five rogues."
"It was three." Dante poured the whiskeys with practiced efficiency. "And I'm working."
