Page 19 of Love At First Roar
“Call it intuition,” Miriam said with a slight shrug. “Or maybe just old eyes seeing familiar shadows. Something binds you, child. Something dark enough that you don’t believe it can be undone.”
Cora stared into her cup. She never spoke of what happened, but Miriam seemed wise enough for the whole town. And safe.
“Blood magic. A warlock named Elric. He bound me with it. I ran, but…” She hesitated, her throat closing on the confession. “I think I carry it still. Like an infection.”
Miriam reached out, gently squeezing Cora’s hand. “Magic born from fear and control is the hardest kind to shake. But not impossible. I’ve seen love and patience heal worse.”
Cora’s lips twitched faintly. “I’m not sure love is on my side, Miriam. Not the way I leave wreckage behind.”
Miriam chuckled softly. “Have you looked around lately? This town loves a bit of chaos, even if they have a strict hand about it. Twyla Honeytree regularly explodes scones in her oven, and Edgar Tansley accidentally magicked his ferret invisible for a week. Imperfection has a home here, Cora.”
Cora smiled despite herself. “It’s more than imperfection. It’s instability. Danger.”
“Then ground it in something steady. Trust yourself first, the rest will follow.” Miriam hesitated, her eyes sparkling knowingly. “Perhaps trust that ranger of ours. He’s more solid than he likes to admit.”
Cora’s cheeks warmed. “Callum is... complicated.”
“Only as complicated as you make him,” Miriam replied lightly, standing and taking the empty mugs. “He doesn’t give his trust lightly. And he’s offered it to you.”
“He barely tolerates me,” Cora protested weakly.
“Child, that man is territorial to the bone. If he tolerates you, it means he’s already let you past his gates.” Miriam smiled, heading toward the door. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow always arrives whether we’re ready or not.”
When Miriam closed the door softly behind her, Cora stood a moment in the quiet, eyes drifting back out the window. She splayed a hand across her chest, where her heartbeat fluttered like a trapped bird.
Maybe Miriam was right. Maybe Callum, with his steady presence and guarded eyes that flashed amber like storm clouds pierced by sunlight, was exactly what she needed. Someone solid enough to hold her chaos, strong enough to anchor the storm that roared beneath her skin.
She climbed into bed, sinking into blankets scented like lavender and cedar, and closed her eyes. But sleep didn’t come easily. Instead, her mind filled with images of Callum’s steady hand reaching out to catch her earlier, his rough voice rumbling low and protective, and the way his eyes softened just enough when no one else was looking.
She turned onto her side, sighing softly. Her chest felt less empty, like something small and hopeful had rooted in the soilof her heart and she wasn’t sure if that made her more relaxed or more anxious.
Maybe she didn’t have to fight her past alone. Maybe Hollow Oak was exactly where she was meant to be found.
10
CALLUM
The forest felt wrong again.
Callum tasted it on the air before he saw anything: a metallic nip under the usual pine and loam, like fresh-struck sparks. Veil fractures always carried that scent, the way storms warned birds before the first rumble. He tightened his pack straps and scanned the narrow trail ahead where Cora walked, humming soft to herself while she brushed leaves that leaned into her path.
He kept three strides behind. Not because he distrusted her—though caution never hurt—but because every time she glanced over her shoulder the green in her eyes pulled at something fierce inside him. The lion stalked restless under his skin, grumbling about distance and closeness in equal breath.
“Trail narrowed up here,” he called. “Watch your footing.”
Cora looked back, curly blonde wisps escaping her braid. “I’m fine, ranger. You worry too much.” She winked, teasing light in her voice.
He grunted, quickening his pace until they walked side by side. “I worry exactly enough.”
She lifted her palm, letting a fern frond tickle her fingers. The plant shivered, then stilled, calm as a kitten. “The Veil feels puckered in this direction,” she said quietly. “Almost like it wants us to stitch a seam.”
The simple statement pricked his instincts. She spoke of the forest as if it breathed secrets only she could hear, and the trees kept proving her right. He studied her profile: freckled nose, determined chin, optimism shining through caution. The breeze carried her scent, lilac over warm honey, coiling through him until his pulse drummed in his ears.
Mate.
He shook the word away and pointed ahead. “There’s an old quarry beyond that ridge. Stone outcrops everywhere. If something carved at the Veil, we will see it there.”
She nodded and fell into step. They hiked in silence for several minutes, boots crunching over last year’s leaves. Sunlight spattered gold across moss, and the occasional squirrel scolded from branches. A small, ordinary morning, if not for the invisible snag humming against his senses.
