Page 23 of Love At First Roar
“Yes, Ranger,” she drawled lightly. “Anything else?”
He paused at the threshold, glancing back, expression unreadable. “Just… don’t make me regret agreeing to this.”
The door closed behind him firmly. Cora sighed softly, leaning back against the sturdy wooden frame, heart pounding unevenly. She couldn’t quite read him—did he like her even a little? Or was it all begrudging tolerance, duty-bound supervision?
She shook her head, stubborn optimism surfacing despite the uncertainty. This felt good, she reminded herself firmly. Like before Elric, before fear had twisted around her magic. Here, she felt lighter. Hopeful. A little reckless, perhaps—but alive, and it was dangerously addicting.
She pushed away from the door, smiling faintly as she glanced around the cozy cottage. The space felt welcoming, imperfectly hers—quirky broom and all. She’d make this work. She’d prove she could belong here, find peace again, and earn Hollow Oak’s trust.
Even if the town’s grumpy lion guardian took a little more convincing.
12
CALLUM
From his position near the old oak tree, Callum could see the cottage clearly through a thick screen of tangled vines and brush. He stood there, jaw set hard, arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to look anywhere but directly at Cora Thorne.
And failing miserably.
It was infuriating, this pull she had. Her scent drifted across the distance between them, lilac petals dancing on a spring breeze, sweet enough to make his teeth ache. The fragrance twisted in his chest, settled in his bones, and refused to let go. Worse, every time he breathed it in, his lion stirred restlessly, growling low beneath his skin.
Mine, it said. Mine.
Like hell she was.
Callum shifted his weight, scowling at nothing in particular. He’d stood watch over Hollow Oak for years. He was the town’s guardian, its sentinel. He didn’t get distracted, damn it. Especially not by stubborn enchantresses with cursed magic and wild blonde curls. But every moment spent near her chipped another piece of his carefully built control.
From his hiding spot, he saw Cora step outside, face tipped toward the warm morning sun, her hair bright as spun gold. She wore leggings patterned with bright daisies and a soft blue shirt that hugged curves he had absolutely no business noticing. Yet his gaze lingered anyway, traitorous and defiant.
Gods, he needed to get a grip.
Around her cottage, the forest seemed to soften, branches shifting slightly, leaves whispering secrets he couldn’t quite hear. Even the stubborn trail—which usually twisted and turned unpredictably—now curved toward her door like a damn welcome mat. He hadn’t seen the woods this calm since… well, ever.
And the worst part? Hollow Oak was just as smitten with her as everyone else. He saw it in the way the butcher, a surly bear shifter named Marcus who rarely smiled, had suddenly started leaving little parcels of fresh bread and honeycomb for her at the cottage door. In how the normally gruff Emmett barkeeping at the Silver Fang kept brewing that ridiculously floral tea Cora liked, muttering about “sunshine needing fuel.”
He glared at the trees accusingly. “Traitors,” he grumbled softly.
Because it would’ve been easier—so much easier—if the town had seen Cora as an outsider. As someone to watch, guard against, or outright reject. But no. They’d all fallen under her spell. She laughed, and they laughed with her. She smiled, and they practically tripped over themselves trying to coax another one from her.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered.
Yet he stayed right where he was, hidden among the shadows, silently watching as Cora moved around her yard. She crouched to whisper something softly to the lavender bushes by her porch, her slender fingers brushing tenderly over the leaves.They practically leaned toward her touch, blooming fuller and brighter.
His gut tightened. His lion growled possessively. Neither reaction helped.
“You’re pathetic,” he told himself gruffly.
He had plenty of reasons to keep his distance. Callum had learned long ago the cost of attachment. Once, years before, he’d had someone. A mate. A beautiful lioness named Tessa with laughter like silver bells and eyes that sparkled brighter than the lake. He’d lost her to the chaos of rogue magic and fractured wards, her life extinguished before his eyes as he’d helplessly watched the Veil shudder and break apart. After that, Callum had sworn never again. No closeness, no vulnerability. The price was always too damn high.
Yet here he stood, stupidly rooted, drawn irresistibly toward the enchantress who moved like sunshine incarnate and smelled of lilacs and promise. He watched as she straightened and stretched her arms toward the sky, carefree, relaxed. The smile she wore was softer, brighter than before—as though Hollow Oak was gently teasing out who she’d once been, before shadows and curses had tainted her magic.
He hated how much he liked seeing it.
Footsteps crunched on the path behind him. Callum stiffened slightly, scenting familiar cedar. Miriam paused beside him, her gentle eyes crinkling knowingly.
“Morning, Callum,” she said mildly.
He inclined his head slightly. “Miriam.”
