Page 25 of Love At First Roar
Inside, polished beams crossed a low ceiling. Sturdy tables hugged a hearth where orange flames licked at cedar logs. A wolf shifter strummed a weathered guitar in the corner, soft chords twining with murmured conversation. Copper mugs clinked, laughter puffed warm as cinnamon, and the air smelled of blackberry mead and slow-cooked venison.
She spotted Maeve Cross at once.
The woman moved behind the bar like a sleek cat in dark jeans and a sleeveless leather vest. Short black hair framed tawny eyes that missed nothing. Even polishing a glass, Maeve radiated the same steady authority she had shown at the Council Glade, only here it mixed with easy hospitality.
Cora wove between tables, heart thumping. The last thing she wanted was to look like some lost tourist, yet curiosity tugged her forward.
Maeve’s gaze flicked up, sharp and assessing, then softened into a wry curve of lips. “Lilac girl in my doorway. Took you long enough.”
Heat bloomed in Cora’s cheeks. “I, uh, was exploring. Your tavern is lovely.”
“Flatter the décor all you like. I poured this place with my own two hands.” Maeve set the polished glass aside and pulled a stoneware cup from a shelf. “Blackberry mead or spruce cider?”
“The mead, please.” Cora perched on a stool, the worn leather warm beneath her palms.
Maeve filled the cup with plum-dark liquid and slid it across. “First drink’s on the house. Call it a welcome.”
“Thank you.” Cora tasted, lips quirking in surprise. Sweet berry burst over her tongue, balanced by a faint woodsy bite. “That’s incredible.”
“Family recipe. Fermented in oak barrels, kissed by moonlight, stirred with rumors.” Maeve winked. “Gossip makes everything ferment faster.”
Cora laughed, shoulders relaxing. “I guess rumors travel faster than I do. Folks already call me the fae who talks to brooms.”
Maeve snorted. “That broom of yours tried flirting with my cousin on patrol. Nearly swept his boots right off.”
Cora groaned softly. “I swear it was an accident.”
“Accidental charm is still charm.” Maeve leaned forward, folding sinewy arms atop the bar. “So, enchantress, what brings you prowling my den tonight?”
“I wanted to meet you properly.” Cora sipped again, gathering courage. “You seemed… formidable at the council.”
“Formidable is my day job. Night job too.” Maeve’s smile sharpened. “Someone has to keep the claws sheathed in here. Drink, bicker, flirt. Break my chairs and I break your nose.”
Cora believed her. Yet beneath the edge she sensed fierce loyalty, the same trait she’d seen in Callum. It made her braver. “I get the feeling you and your cousin share more than a last name.”
“Sharp eyes.” Maeve poured herself a finger of amber liquid. “Callum and I grew up like twins. Same pride, same woods, same lessons. He took the woods, I took the bar.”
Cora traced a knot in the wood grain. “He never says much about earlier years.”
Maeve’s gaze softened. “He used to, before the war took the light out of him.”
“The Shifter War,” Cora breathed. She’d heard whispers around town but nothing solid.
Maeve nodded slowly. “We fought off a rogue pride that wanted to rip the Veil open. Callum’s mate, Tessa, led the front line with him.” She paused, eyes losing focus. “A curse flare ripped through our ranks. Tessa shielded our elders, saved half the town, and paid with her life.”
Cora’s chest tightened. Suddenly Callum’s wary distance made sense. The constant scan of his surroundings, the way his shoulders tensed at any hint of danger—it was loss etched into reflex.
“He blames himself,” Maeve said quietly. “But there was nothing he could have done. We keep telling him that. He keeps not believing it.”
Cora swallowed, voice low. “I wish I’d known. I thought he just… didn’t like me.”
“Oh, he doesn’t like you,” Maeve teased, eyes glinting. “He’s too busy trying not to feel a damn thing. And you, sunshine, make him feel plenty.”
“Maeve,” Cora protested, warmth rushing to her cheeks. “I’m?—”
“You’re trouble,” Maeve finished. “And that’s good for him.”
Cora studied the deep red mead, whirlpooling the liquid with a slow tilt. She pictured Callum’s stormy blue eyes, how they’d flicker gentler when he thought she wasn’t looking. She felt the weight of his hand steadying her after the Veil backlash, the rough yet careful touch that had told her she wasn’t alone.
