Page 60 of Love At First Roar
“Innocent?” Elric smiled, slow and curved. “You think the Veil cares about innocence? It cares about strength. About appetite.”
He stepped to the edge of the dome. The barrier parted for him like water. He entered without resistance and the red cuffs around Cora’s wrists brightened in response. Pain zinged up her arms, but she kept her face neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a cry.
Elric’s gaze flicked to the spot where Callum had stood, the moss still scorched from his attempts. “Your lion runs in circles, but circles do not break chains.”
“He will come back,” she said, voice firm.
“Oh, I want him to.” Elric’s smile stretched wider. “Rage sharpens the binding. Every time he claws at the barrier, the link between you and the relic tightens. Your sacrifice, as you call it, will not preserve Hollow Oak. It will merge you with the altar, feed it eternal blood.”
Cora’s pulse hammered. “What do you want?”
“Only what was promised.” He reached for her cheek with gloved fingers, but a spark of instinct flared behind her ribs and she jerked back. His smile did not falter. “You belong with me. You always did. And with your power properly harnessed, we will rip open the Veil completely.”
Her stomach rolled. “You want to destroy everything. For what? A twisted fantasy of power?”
“For evolution,” he replied, as if discussing weather. “Fae, shifter, witch, warlock, human, all their magic free to mingle without that flimsy curtain. You should be honored to stand at my side when it falls.”
She spat at his feet. “I’d rather bleed my last drop into the dirt.”
“That can be arranged,” he said lightly. He glanced at the altar. “But first, I must inscribe the final sigil. Your lion may bring more friends. Let them watch. Let them learn futility.”
Elric turned his back to her, drawing a dagger from within his cloak. The blade gleamed silver in the red light. He knelt beside the stone, pressing the tip to a fresh patch of rune-scarred surface. As his blood met the markings, the altar shivered, the dome’s hue deepening to an ominous maroon.
Cora closed her eyes, tears slipping free at last. She thought of Callum’s promise, his roar shaking the glade. If she could hold on, if she could keep breathing, he would find a way. He always did.
But as Elric’s laughter rose, cold and triumphant, hope felt thin as spider silk.
32
CALLUM
The council chamber smelled of candle wax and fear.
Callum’s voice had torn through the roundhouse not an hour ago, pouring everything he witnessed into the stunned silence: the crimson dome, the runes bleeding light, Cora’s body chained by spell lines. Maeve cursed under her breath, Edgar fumbled vials of ward-ash, and Varric’s weathered face turned grey beneath wolf-etched braids.
They argued. They debated sigils and counter-runic geometry. They spoke of gathering every witch and warlock for a full-circle severance, of bringing down the moonstone staff kept under lock at the Glade library. All good plans, but each required time Hollow Oak did not possess and Cora could not afford.
Callum felt every second like barbed wire scraping his lungs.
He left while they waited on consensus, rage simmering hot enough to warp reason. Maeve grabbed his arm at the door, nails digging in.
“Do not go alone,” she hissed.
“I already did,” he answered, voice low. “And I will again. She doesn’t have time for our committees.”
“Council backup will come. Give us half an hour.”
“Half an hour is eternity when you’re bleeding,” he said, and broke away.
Now twilight bled over the ridge as he sprinted, boots pounding the leaf litter. The forest looked sick under the fading light, bark leaching color, brambles choking paths that should have been clear. The Veil murmured wrong notes against his skin, humming of fracture. Above him clouds smothered the sky; the moon hid her face behind bruised dusk.
Cora’s scent led him, lilac drowned in copper and ash. Fear bit deep, sharper than any claw. He would not lose her. Not like Tessa, not like the others whose names ghosted his dreams. His lion prowled just beneath his skin, urging claws, urging teeth, urging to tear the world until she was free.
The glade broke open ahead, a wound of white trunks and crimson glow.
She was still there, kneeling before the stone, shoulders bowed as if under a weight no mortal spine could bear. The red cuffs on her wrists pulsed with each labored breath. Her skin looked too pale, lips cracked from whispered pleas. Callum’s heart roared. He stepped forward and red flame whipped up like a living wall, searing the moss at his boots.
Elric stood on the far side of the altar, hands clasped behind his back, cloak rippling like spilled ink despite the still air. His eyes gleamed black, reflecting the dome’s light.
