Page 9 of Love At First Roar
“You didn’t look happy to be assigned to me.”
“I wasn’t.”
She looked sideways at him, but not offended. Amused, somehow. “Honest. That’s refreshing.”
“Didn’t say I disliked you. Just don’t trust what I don’t understand. You’re a walking mystery.”
Cora nodded slowly. “I guess I am. But I’m not the threat here.”
“The Veil disagrees,” he said.
“It hasn’t been gentle with me,” she said softly. “But it didn’t throw me out. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t have a response for that.
They passed through a grove where foxglove clustered thick around the trunks, their purple bells nodding in the breeze. Birds flitted overhead, and the air grew warmer, sweeter, as if even the town itself was leaning in to hear what Cora would say next.
She reached out and touched a low branch, fingers brushing new leaves.
“I’m not trying to break anything,” she said. “I’ve done enough breaking for one lifetime.”
Callum watched the way her shoulders hunched, just for a moment, before she caught herself and straightened again.
“Then maybe stop trying to fix everything too,” he muttered.
She looked at him, puzzled.
“Just, don’t make things worse while you’re here.”
Cora smiled faintly. “Is that your version of a welcome?”
He didn’t answer, but he did move just a little closer as they turned the corner into town, walking shoulder to shoulder. A few townsfolk nodded their way. A witch mended a cracked lantern with a whisper and a flick of her finger. A panther shifter swept his porch with too much attention, clearly eavesdropping.
They walked in silence the rest of the way, but not an unfriendly one.
And though Callum told himself this was duty, only duty, his lion wasn’t convinced. Not with the way her scent settled in his lungs. Not with the way her voice lingered in the quiet after. Not with the way the Veil pulsed like a heartbeat every time she stepped closer to him.
Something had shifted, and he knew it wasn’t just the magic as his lion began pacing at her closeness.
5
CORA
Twilight draped Hollow Oak in velvet hues of blush and plum. Cora drifted along the cobbled lanes with no destination in mind, toes sinking into worn leather boots that felt lighter than they had in years. Each breath tasted of woodsmoke, river stone, and honeysuckle, the blend looping around her pulse like music.
A baker closed his shutters as she passed, yet paused long enough to hand her the heel of a cinnamon loaf. “Fresh from the brick,” he murmured, cheeks ruddy from heat. She thanked him, tore off a bite, and frowned when sugar dusted her chin. She could not recall the last time a stranger offered kindness without wanting coin or secrets.
The square revealed itself in lazy turns. Lanterns flickered awake, stitched together by looping strands of glowing witch-light that bounced off painted shop signs. The Hollow Mercantile smelled of beeswax and curiosity. Outside its door, two men who looked like brothers, argued about moon phases while enchanted feather quills circled their heads like opinionated birds. Farther along, Maeve Cross, who she had met briefly at the Council meeting, propped the tavern windowswide, letting music tumble into the street, and called a dare at Luka Ashe to try her newest blackberry stout. Luka grumbled yet reached for the pint, shoulders the size of oak trunks crowding his work apron.
Cora’s chest warmed at the ordinary magic of it all. A place where shifters and witches bickered over drinks instead of blood and where fae girls with shaky curses could breathe without flinching.
She stepped around a tangle of children playing hopscotch. Their chalk squares glowed until a sprite dove at the pattern and scrambled it into giggles. A boy with shaggy hair and wolf-bright eyes looked up. “Evening, miss,” he chirped. “The forest likes you.”
Her lips parted. “The forest told you that?”
“Sort of. It hummed at me.” He grinned then skipped off.
She tugged her braid, bewildered and delighted in equal measure.
