Page 5 of Love At First Roar
She patted his bicep. “So do I. That girl’s trouble wrapped in sunshine, and you’re already circling.”
“Someone has to protect this town.”
“Sure,” she said, eyes glittering. “Just remember to protect yourself while you’re at it.”
Callum couldn’t find a retort, so he pushed past. Downstairs, he paused at the inn’s threshold, taking in Hollow Oak. Lanterns bobbed along cottage porches, casting puddles of gold on cobbles. Crickets chirred. Somewhere a baby cried then settled. Peaceful. Home.
He clenched his fists. Whatever ripple Cora had brought, he would contain it. The town depended on him. The lion insidesettled at that promise, though its amber gaze pointed back up the stairwell toward the girl with lilac magic.
Duty first. Always.
He stepped into the night, heading for Council Glade, the scent of lilacs still clinging stubbornly to the collar of his shirt.
3
CORA
Soft birdsong nudged Cora from sleep. She cracked one eye open and found pale light spilling through lace curtains, tracing filigree patterns across a patchwork quilt that smelled faintly of cedar. For one sweet heartbeat she could not remember why her muscles ached or why lilac magic fizzed restless under her skin. Then the memory of fleeing, of roots that moved like snakes, of a lion-eyed ranger lifting her like she weighed nothing, drifted back.
She sat up slow. A dull throb hugged her knee yet the deep burn of exhaustion had eased. Someone had propped a pair of crutches beside the bed and folded fresh leggings on the cedar chest. Care that felt almost parental.
Cora brushed sleep-snarled hair from her face and surveyed the room. Whitewashed walls. A braided rag rug in ocean blues. A small desk held a single daffodil in an inkwell. Everything whispered comfort, nothing flashy, but each detail lovingly placed. The sort of room a traveler might start calling home without noticing.
A knock tapped the doorframe.
“Morning, dear heart. May I come in?”
The voice, warm and unhurried, belonged to the innkeeper from the night before. Cora tugged the quilt higher. “Yes, please.”
Miriam Caldwell stepped inside carrying a wooden tray. Steam curled from a blue-striped teapot and from a plate stacked with flaky biscuits. She wore a cornflower house dress and slippers that scuffed the floor, and her silver hair looked tousled as if she had wrestled it into a bun only after wrestling sleep.
“You gave us a scare,” she said, setting the tray on the washstand. “How’s the leg?”
“Better than yesterday.” Cora flexed her knee and winced. “Hurts like a gremlin gnawed it, but I can move.”
“Gremlins prefer copper wiring. Trust me.” Miriam poured tea into a floral cup, added a drizzle of local honey. “Drink while it’s hot.”
Cora accepted the cup, fingers brushing the older woman’s. A pulse of gratitude bloomed. “Thank you for taking me in. I, um, have a habit of landing places unannounced.”
“Hollow Oak has a habit of deciding who lands.” Miriam opened a small tin of salve and inspected Cora’s bandaged palms. “Still tender but clean. Callum does good field work when he puts his mind to it.”
Cora’s cheeks warmed. The memory of strong arms, the scent of pine and warm spice, fluttered in her stomach like moth wings. She sipped. Honey soothed her throat. “Is he always so… growly?”
Miriam chuckled. “Our ranger was born with a scowl. Underneath he’s pure gold. Folks forget lions guard as much as they growl.”
Cora traced the rim of her cup. “This town, Hollow Oak, it isn’t on any map I’ve seen.”
“That isn’t by accident.” The widow settled into a rocking chair near the bed. “We live under a Veil, a glamour woven by fae ancestors to hide us from the wider world. Shifters, witches, gifted humans—we all fit here, snug as patchwork. Outsiders cross only if the Veil lets them or if they bring trouble on its tail.”
Trouble. The word dripped ice down Cora’s spine. She focused on the biscuit plate instead. Golden, layered, dotted with dried cranberries. “I don’t mean harm.”
“Didn’t think you did.” Miriam rocked, eyes kind behind thin spectacles. “But you shook the forest something fierce and that has the council jittering. They’ll want questions answered.”
Cora set her cup down with care. “Council. As in governing body?”
“Five elders. They keep peace and handle matters of the Veil. You met our ranger already. He is their blunt instrument when claws are required.” A smile softened the words. “They’ll call on you after breakfast. You look rested enough to stand?”
“I can manage.” Cora exhaled. “Low-profile would be ideal. Just until I find my bearings.”
