Page 67 of Love At First Roar
Callum nodded. “Sealed tight. Might hold centuries if we treat it right.”
Twyla’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Bless every stubborn root in this forest.”
Cora’s knees finally gave. Callum caught her, lifting her gently. “She needs rest,” he said. “I’m taking her home.”
“No arguments,” Maeve replied, waving them off. “Edgar and I will cleanse whatever’s left here.”
Cora’s eyes fluttered as Callum carried her beyond the white trees. New leaves brushed their shoulders. The forest around hummed soft, like it exhaled after holding breath too long.
At the ridge crest she opened her eyes. Early dawn light kissed Callum’s profile, painting him in gold. She reached to trace the cut on his cheek. “You’re hurt.”
“Scratches,” he said.
“You said choice,” she whispered.
“And I’ll keep choosing you, my mate.” His smile tilted crooked, full of promise.
Behind them, the Veil shimmered bright teal. Ahead, Hollow Oak’s rooftops glimmered in first light. The town waited with quiet streets and the smell of baker’s yeast floating on the wind. Ordinary miracles. And even though Elric disappeared, she could hear that the Veil didn’t let him through. He was lost in its unforgiving abyss.
Cora laid her head against Callum’s heartbeat, let fatigue pull her under. She felt no chains, no tug, no fear of belonging. She was exactly where she chose to be.
And the dawn kept rising.
36
CALLUM
Callum didn’t stop walking until the rooftops of Hollow Oak appeared through the trees, dusky in the light of a rising sun. His arms ached from holding her, his back burned from Elric’s magic, and every part of him felt rung out and raw. But his grip never faltered.
Cora was light in his hold, her limbs limp from the fight. She stayed half-awake, murmuring softly now and then, barely more than breath. The trail back from the glade had felt longer than it ever had—like the forest stretched itself to give them quiet, a last bit of grace after what they'd just survived.
His cabin stood against the treeline, squat and sturdy, a silhouette of home. Smoke still drifted from the chimney, faint and curling. He crossed the porch and shouldered the door open, stepping into warmth and shadow.
Cora stirred slightly as he set her down on the bed, tucking a blanket over her before reaching for the kettle on the hearth. He filled it without thinking, muscles moving from instinct, too full of emotion to sit still just yet. The fire cracked back to life, and he poured two mugs of water before remembering she was already half asleep again.
When he turned back, she was watching him.
Her voice came rough and low. “You came back for me.”
He crossed to her, sitting on the edge of the mattress, reaching to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You don’t ever run from me again.”
She nodded, eyes glassy. “I thought I had to.”
“I know,” he murmured. “But you don’t.”
Her lip trembled. “You could’ve died.”
“So could you.”
They sat in silence for a long beat. The fire popped in the hearth. Outside, birds started calling to each other from the eaves like the forest was exhaling with them.
She spoke again, barely above a whisper. “When you said I was your mate… did you mean it?”
He looked at her then, really looked. At the bruises under her eyes and the soft curl of her fingers where they gripped the blanket, as if afraid to let go. Her green eyes held no illusions. She was asking not just for answers—but for truth.
“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. “But not just because I’m a lion.”
She blinked slowly. “Because you chose it.”
