Page 56 of Love At First Roar
“Then do it with help.”
She slung his arm over her shoulders. He outweighed her by plenty, but the adrenaline let her manage. Together they staggered down the slope, following the hush of pines until his cabin came into view. Lantern light shone through the single front window; she’d left it burning that morning and felt grateful now for the faint welcome.
Inside, she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress with a grunt, boots thudding on wooden planks. The room smelled of pine resin, burnt coffee from the forgotten pot, and the lingering warmth of last night’s fire from them not banking it properly before leaving.
Cora fetched a clean cloth from the wash basin, dabbed blood from his brow. Callum watched her through heavy lids, expression tight with pain and something softer.
“Tea,” she said, forcing brightness into her tone. “Chamomile, elderflower, a bit of honey. You drink, then sleep.”
He caught her wrist before she could stand. “Stay.”
Just one word, heavy with all the things they hadn’t said in the chaos. It snapped tight around her heart, but she managed a small smile. “I’m not going far. Promise.”
His grip loosened. Exhaustion dragged him down, and soon his breathing deepened, slow and even. She brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead, letting her fingers linger against warm skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never wanted this for you.”
Her magic fluttered tiredly at her fingertips, longing to stay, to keep watch. But guilt slithered in, rough and cold, reminding her of Elric’s words and the Veil’s red wound. If she stayed, Callum would bleed for her, over and over, until nothing of his own life remained.
She rose, moving quietly across the floor. On the table by the door sat his field journal, a battered pen, a folded scrap of blank parchment. She steadied shaking hands and wrote.
Callum,
I have to end this before Hollow Oak breaks. I need to face him alone. You cannot shoulder my curse any longer. Please forgive me for leaving while you slept.
You mean more to me then anyone ever has. Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be truly accepted.
Cora.
Ink blotted at the corner where a tear slipped down her cheek. She folded the note, set it on his pillow beside the steady rise of his breath.
Outside, birds hadn’t started their morning chorus yet—perhaps even they sensed the Veil’s unrest. She slipped through the door, closing it without a sound. She hadn’t lied really, she wasn’t going far.
Mist curled along the path as she crossed the clearing, her sandals soaking through almost instantly. Every footstep felt like a goodbye. The forest loomed ahead, ancient and watchful. For years she’d run from binding, from fear, from a claim forged in blood. Now she moved toward it, every nerve taut with purpose.
The trail to the relic wound north, skirting the edge of Moonmirror Lake before climbing toward the Forgotten Cut. She passed the place where goldenrod and foxglove grew thick, where the path still bore faint scorch marks from the first Veil surge. Morning bees buzzed halfheartedly around the flowers, unaware of storms brewing in deeper shadows.
Half a mile in, she paused, catching her breath against the trunk of a maple. Her legs trembled, not from fatigue but from the ghost of Callum’s warmth, the memory of being safe in his arms. She pressed a fist to her chest, willing herself not to turn back.
“If you love him, you keep him safe,” she told the quiet.
The forest didn’t answer. It listened.
She walked on.
As the land rose, the air grew colder, heavy with iron. The canopy thinned, branches reaching like skeletal fingers toward a sky blushing pink. When she crested the final ridge, the glade spread before her—white trees encircling the altar that pulsed faintly even in daylight. The runes glowed a dull crimson.
Cora swallowed hard, stepping past the ring of carved stones. The moment her foot touched the inner circle, the ground vibrated. Heat licked up her calves, and the altar’s pulse quickened.
She unclasped the satchel at her hip, pulling free a bundle: Miriam’s grounding charm, a sprig of hawthorn from Twyla, and a vial of silver ash Edgar had handed her “in case you need to dull a spell.” They felt like small weapons against something as vast and vile as Elric’s claim, but they were all she had.
She drew a chalk circle around her feet, whispering the old fae words of anchoring that her grandmother had taught her, words she’d barely used since childhood games turned into grown-up trauma. The air shimmered, gold flecks swirling as her magic answered. The altar’s pulse stuttered, recognizing opposition.
Then a voice slithered from the stone.
“Dove.” It curled around her name like smoke, dripping with amusement and hunger. “You came.”
Cora’s throat tightened. She forced her voice steady. “Let the claim go, Elric. End this.”
