Page 16 of Love At First Roar
Callum stopped near the end of the inn porch.
“I’ll tell the council what happened.”
Cora nodded. “Let me know what they say.”
He didn’t move. His eyes scanned her face like he was searching for something. Maybe understanding. Maybe regret.
“Don’t try it again without me,” he said quietly.
Cora met his eyes. “Would you stop me?”
He didn’t answer, he just turned and headed back to patrol.
She went inside, heart aching, throat tight and still unsure if she was welcome.
8
CALLUM
The woods didn’t rustle this morning. They listened.
Callum walked the narrow path to the Council Glade with slow, measured steps, every part of him tense. Mist clung low around the tree roots, and a blue jay darted overhead, squawking like it had something urgent to say. He didn’t stop to listen. Not today.
The earlier incident still burned in his chest like kindling set too close to the flame. He could still feel the jolt of Cora’s magic lashing out. The way her eyes had widened with fear when the backlash hit. That curse, whatever it was, curled around her magic like thorns around a stem—alive and unpredictable.
Still, she wasn’t the enemy. His gut knew it, even if his training barked otherwise.
He crested the slope where the Glade opened up in a wide circle, stones etched with runes forming the meeting ring. Dappled light filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns on the moss-covered ground. Varric Thornwell sat near the center, regal as always, his long gray braids resting over his shoulders like woven branches. His wolf eyes followed Callum’s approach, unreadable and steady.
Beside him sat Miriam Caldwell, hands folded over her knee. Twyla leaned lazily against one of the carved stones, sipping tea like she had all the time in the world. Emmett Hollowell and Maeve stood at opposite ends, both still as sentinels. Edgar Tansley hovered near the edge, face pinched in thought.
Cora stood alone near the center, back straight despite the obvious tension in her shoulders. Her braid hung down her back, a few strands coming loose, and her shirt was wrinkled from pacing. She looked like she hadn’t slept.
Callum’s chest pulled tight.
Varric’s gaze shifted toward him. “You witnessed the event firsthand?”
Callum gave a short nod. “I did.”
“And your report?”
He folded his arms. “She attempted to mend a point in the Veil. Alone. Without telling anyone. Her spell overloaded, and her curse reacted. There was a surge. It stopped short of damage, but it could’ve been worse.”
Varric turned his focus back to Cora. “Is that how you’d explain it?”
Cora drew in a breath. “Yes. I felt something was wrong in that spot. I thought maybe I could help stabilize it. I didn’t expect it to spiral.”
“Why did you go without notifying the Council?” Miriam asked gently.
“I didn’t want to make a scene,” Cora said. “I know I’m still new here. I thought if I could prove I was trying to help—” she paused, her voice faltering for just a second “—then maybe I wouldn’t be watched like a threat.”
Twyla made a small sound, part snort, part sigh. “Sugar, that’s not how this town works. Secrets stick out louder than truth.”
Callum watched her hands twist together. The Cora from the other day—sunny, stumbling over small talk, enchanted by wildflowers and baking herbs—was still there. But now she was edged by uncertainty. And something else he couldn’t name.
“You didn’t mean to cause harm,” Varric said. “But intention alone doesn’t shield a town.”
“I understand that,” Cora said, chin rising. “But the Veil responded to me. It didn't reject me. Maybe it needs me. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I swear I’m not here to break anything.”
