Page 66 of Love At First Roar
Cora didn’t open her eyes. “I would live for them. And living means stopping you.”
She felt Callum rise again behind her, his presence at her back like a mountain. The subtle brush of his shoulder against her wings of magic steadied her pulse. Without looking, she extended her left hand sideways. A moment later his massive paw pressed against it, claws retracted, fur singeing under her gold. She could feel his heartbeat, steady, thunderous, offering power without demand.
Their magics touched.
Gold poured into him, pine-rich lion aura flooded into her. The mixture snapped bright, dazzling. Together they funneled the combined force into the altar. Runes cracked along every groove like dried riverbeds. The crimson glow dimmed, flickered, dimmed again.
Elric’s eyes went wide. He hurled a last desperate spell, crimson knives of light spinning toward them. Callum lunged, intercepting, mane bristling. The blades shattered on his shoulders, leaving only scorch marks that healed as golden aura ran with new energy.
Cora shouted words older than the Veil itself, fae pledges to land and light, and drove gold deeper. The altar shrieked, a sound like split stone and dying storms. Hair whipped around her face, dress snapped in violent wind, yet she pushed on.
One final rune—Elric’s primary mark—glowed bright as a forge. She slammed her palm on it. Gold flared. Red imploded.
A rippling silence followed, profound and ringing. Then the altar split down the center with a thundering crack, crumbling into dust that shimmered before dissolving into the soil. The crimson dome collapsed, shattering like glass. Light rushed upward in a column of pure white, punching through cloud cover. The sky itself caught the glow, painting dawn across storm clouds.
Elric stumbled, dagger falling from numb fingers. The crimson lines on his hands sputtered out. His connection to the relic snapped with an audible pop like a string drawn too tight and severed. He looked down at his palms, horrified, trembling.
“No. No!”
Cora rose on shaky legs, Callum close at her side, shifting back to human form. The golden aura faded, but calm warmth remained, linking them as surely as any chain.
The white trees, freed from corruption, straightened. Leaves unfurled lush green despite the season, their branches weaving upward until they formed a living archway around the broken stone. In the clearing’s heart, a faint teal shimmer rippled—the Veil knitting closed. It sealed with a soft sigh, brighter, smoother, stronger than before.
Cora exhaled, tears sliding free. Joy, relief, and bone-deep fatigue tangled in her chest. She turned to Elric. He looked smaller than she remembered, pale hair limp, eyes fraying at the edges like burnt paper.
“It’s over,” she said, voice steady.
Elric’s laugh was a ragged thing. “You naïve child. Power doesn’t die. It changes shape.”
The air behind him warped, a portal of dark crimson swirling open, eager to claim him. He stepped back toward it, resolve flickering. Callum growled low.
Cora lifted her hand, a final pulse of gold dancing in her palm. “You’re right. But love conquers the dark every time. You carry chains on your soul. The Veil might let you through, but it will bind you on the other side. You’ll never wield this power again.”
He hesitated, fear cracking beneath arrogance. For a heartbeat he looked nineteen again, the prodigy who’d bound her with a promise of belonging. Then bitterness contorted his features and he spat at the moss.
“This isn’t the last story,” he sneered, stepping through the portal. Crimson swallowed him. The circle snapped shut with a hollow thud, scattering leaves across the moss.
Silence returned.
Cora swayed, knees buckling, but Callum’s arms wrapped around her, solid and warm. She pressed her face to his chest, inhaling pine and smoke and lion. His hand cradled the back of her head.
“It’s sealed,” she murmured.
“I watched it,” he said, voice thick. “You did it.”
“We did.” Her fingertips brushed the fresh burns on his shoulders. “You took the hits.”
He huffed a laugh against her hair. “Your choice.”
“My choice,” she agreed, lifting her face. Their lips met, soft and sweet and aching. In that kiss lived grief for what almost was lost and gratitude for what remained.
Hoofbeats pounded up the ridge. Maeve burst into the glade first, crossbow raised, Edgar panting behind, Twyla glowing with warding charms. They froze at the sight of the ruins of altar dust, healed Veil, Cora shining pale gold in Callum’s embrace.
Maeve lowered her weapon slowly. “Well, looks like we missed the fireworks.”
Cora managed a tired smile. “Plenty of sparks left for cleanup.”
Edgar’s gaze darted from the ground to the glowing stitches in the air. “Is the tear… stronger?”
