Page 8 of Claws for Celebration
"Hence the careful monitoring," Varric replied. "Lucien, your panther has already claimed her, hasn't it?"
The direct question caught Lucien off guard, though he supposed his agitation had been obvious to the experiencedsupernatural leaders surrounding him. "It’s recognized her as a mate, yes."
"Good. Mate bonds provide magical stability during power transitions. Your connection to her might be exactly what she needs to safely channel her inheritance."
Maeve raised an eyebrow. "Assuming she accepts the bond. Humans can be surprisingly resistant to supernatural relationships, even when fate's involved."
"She'll come around," Lucien said with more confidence than he felt. "She's intelligent, adaptable, and already drawn to the magical elements in town, even if she doesn't understand what she's experiencing."
"Speaking of which," Miriam interjected, "I should mention that she's been asking questions about local folklore and family traditions. She's particularly interested in stories about families who 'disappeared' from the historical records."
"The Shadowheart exodus," Varric nodded. "Elara's family left Hollow Oak in the 1890s after a magical accident nearly exposed our community to outside scrutiny. They scattered across the country, most of them suppressing their abilities to blend with human society."
"Until now," Lucien said softly, understanding beginning to crystallize. "Moira's awakening isn't random. Something's calling the bloodline home."
"The spirits at our borders may be connected to that call," Varric agreed. "Old magic recognizes old blood. If they're seeking to exploit awakening power, they'll become increasingly aggressive until they're either successful or definitively repelled."
A distant howl echoed through the forest, raising the hair on Lucien's arms and making his panther pace anxiously. The sound held an otherworldly quality that spoke of creatures that didn't belong even in their world.
"Time to move," Maeve said, rising fluidly to her feet. "Those aren't normal wolves."
"Patrol formation," Varric commanded. "Lucien, take the eastern border near town. If they're specifically targeting Shadowheart locations, they may try for the bookstore."
Relief flooded through Lucien at the assignment that would keep him close to Moira, though he tried to hide his reaction from the other Council members. His panther had been growing increasingly agitated with each minute spent away from it’s mate, and the thought of supernatural threats moving closer to town made his protective instincts scream for action.
"Keep your communications open," Varric continued. "And remember, we're investigating and deterring tonight, not engaging unless absolutely necessary. We don't know how powerful these spirits are or what they're ultimately seeking."
As the Council members dispersed into the forest, each heading toward their assigned patrol routes, Lucien found his thoughts drifting back to the afternoon he'd spent watching Moira work. The way she'd unconsciously traced protective symbols in the air while thinking. Her shocked expression when she'd discovered the truth about her grandmother's identity. The tremor in her hands as she'd photographed the genealogical entry that connected her to centuries of Hollow Oak's magical history.
She was alone at the inn tonight, probably lying awake trying to process revelations that challenged everything she took as facts about her family. His panther wanted nothing more than to check on her, to ensure her safety and comfort during what had to be a terrifying time of adjustment.
Instead, he moved silently through the forest toward Hollow Oak's eastern border, following trails known only to the town's supernatural guardians. The mountain air carried the scent of pine and approaching rain, but underneath those familiar noteslurked something else. Something cold and hungry that made his shifter instincts sharpen with predatory awareness.
Whatever was stalking the edges of their territory, it was drawn by the same magical awakening that had brought Moira to Hollow Oak. And as Lucien settled into position overlooking the town's sleeping houses, their windows glowing warmly in the darkness, he silently promised both his panther and his mate that nothing would reach her while he drew breath.
The spirits could test their borders all they wanted. They would find Hollow Oak's guardians ready and waiting.
6
MOIRA
Three days had passed since Moira discovered her grandmother's secret, three days of restless sleep haunted by questions she couldn't answer and dreams filled with shadowy figures calling her name. She'd thrown herself into her work with renewed determination, photographing page after page of genealogical records while searching for more clues about the Shadowheart bloodline and what "gifts dormant" might actually mean.
The morning light streaming through The Hollow Oak Book Nook's windows felt different today, charged with the same electric tension that preceded summer thunderstorms. Even the ancient volumes seemed more restless, their leather bindings creaking softly as if the books themselves were stirring from long slumber.
Moira had positioned herself at the reading table with the Shadowheart Codex, the midnight-black grimoire that had been calling to her attention since her first day in the rare books section. Lucien had been reluctant to let her examine it directly, citing its fragile condition, but her persistence and obviousexpertise with historical documents had finally worn down his resistance.
"Just be careful with the binding," he'd said that morning, setting the ancient tome before her with reverent hands. "Some books are more temperamental than others."
Now, as she prepared to photograph the first page, Moira understood what he meant. The grimoire seemed to pulse beneath her fingertips, warm and alive in ways that defied rational explanation. The cover bore no title, only intricate silver symbols that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
"Get a grip, Moira," she murmured to herself, adjusting her camera settings. "It's just an old book. Leather contracts and expands with temperature changes. That's all."
But when she opened the cover, revealing the first page of dense, handwritten text, her breath caught in her throat. The ink appeared fresh, as if someone had just finished writing, though the pages clearly dated back centuries. Elegant script filled the parchment in what looked like Latin mixed with symbols she couldn't identify.
She lifted her camera to photograph the page, but as she focused the lens, the impossible happened.
New words began appearing on the parchment.
