Page 10 of Claws for Celebration
Something flickered in his expression, too quick to interpret, but his voice remained steady. "Hollow Oak is an old place, with old stories. Sometimes the line between history and legend gets a bit blurred."
"That's not really an answer."
"Isn't it?" He leaned forward slightly, and she caught that wild, cedar scent that always seemed to surround him. "What kind of impossible things are we talking about?"
Moira hesitated, torn between her desire to confide in someone and her fear of appearing insane. How could sheexplain that she'd just watched an ancient book write itself? That it had somehow known her name and seemed to be claiming she possessed magical abilities?
"Hypothetically," she said slowly, "if someone were to witness something that defied rational explanation, something that suggested the world wasn't quite what they'd always believed it to be, what would you advise them to do?"
"Hypothetically?" Lucien's lips curved in a small smile that suggested he understood exactly what she was really asking. "I'd tell them to trust their instincts. Sometimes our rational minds get in the way of accepting truths that our hearts already know."
"And if those truths were frightening?"
"Then I'd remind them that fear often accompanies discovery. The unknown is always scary until it becomes familiar." His voice dropped to a softer register, warm and reassuring. "And I'd tell them that they don't have to face the unknown alone."
The sincerity in his words was unexpected. Since arriving in Hollow Oak, Lucien had been her constant anchor, providing stability and kindness during what had become the most confusing period of her life. The thought that she might be able to trust him with the impossible things she'd witnessed felt like a lifeline.
"Hypothetically," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "what if someone discovered they weren't entirely human?"
Lucien went very still, his entire attention focused on her with predatory intensity. "Then I'd tell them that humanity comes in many forms, and that being different doesn't make someone less worthy of love and acceptance."
"You make it sound so simple."
"Simple doesn't mean easy," he said gently. "But some journeys are worth taking, even when they're difficult."
Moira looked down at the closed grimoire, its silver symbols seeming to pulse faintly in the afternoon light. Whatever was happening to her, whatever she was becoming, she didn't have to face it alone. Maybe it was time to stop running from the impossible and start embracing it.
"Lucien," she said, meeting his eyes with newfound determination. "I think there's something you need to see."
But as she reached for the grimoire's cover, ready to show him the supernatural writing that had shaken her world, the book remained stubbornly ordinary. No flowing script appeared on its pages, no magical words materialized in response to her touch.
The ancient tome had returned to silence, keeping its secrets locked away until she was truly ready to accept what they meant.
7
LUCIEN
The scent of awakening magic clung to Moira like morning mist, growing stronger each day she spent among the ancient texts. Lucien had dealt with enough newly awakened supernatural beings to recognize the signs: the unconscious gestures that traced protective symbols, the way her eyes unfocused when powerful artifacts called to her, the tremor in her hands when she touched objects that resonated with her bloodline.
What he hadn't expected was how profoundly her presence would affect him beyond his panther's claiming instincts.
"I think I'll work late tonight," he announced to the empty bookstore as he flipped the sign to 'Closed' and turned the deadbolt. It was the fourth evening this week he'd found excuses to stay after hours, ostensibly to catch up on inventory and shelving. In reality, he wanted to be nearby in case Moira's magical awakening took a dangerous turn.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Moira looked up from her laptop where she'd been organizing the day's photographs, lamplight catching the copper highlights in her mahogany curls. "You don't have to stay on myaccount. I know you must have better things to do than babysit the obsessive researcher."
"I like the quiet evening hours," Lucien said, which was partially true. "Good time to get caught up on the behind-the-scenes work that keeps a bookstore running."
What he didn't mention was how much he'd come to treasure these twilight conversations, when the rest of Hollow Oak settled into evening routines and left them alone among the books and growing shadows. Moira was different from the supernatural folk who made up most of his social circle. Where they took magic for granted, she approached each impossible discovery with wonder and careful analysis. Where they gossiped about territorial disputes and Council politics, she asked thoughtful questions about history and folklore.
She was modest in a way that made her intelligence shine brighter, quiet until she had something meaningful to contribute, and possessed of a dry humor that caught him off guard at the most unexpected moments.
"Can I ask you something?" Moira said, closing her laptop and turning to face him fully. The movement brought her cardigan closer around her shoulders, and Lucien caught himself noticing how the soft gray fabric complemented her skin tone.
"Always," he replied, settling into his usual chair across from her workstation.
"This town," she began carefully, "there's something different about it. Something I can't quite put my finger on. It's not just the historical preservation or the mountain isolation. It's like everyone here is part of some shared understanding that outsiders aren't privy to."
