Page 7 of Claws for Celebration (Hollow Oak Mates #3)

LUCIEN

T he 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 my account. 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."

Lucien chose his words carefully. Hollow Oak's supernatural nature was an open secret among residents, but revealing too much too quickly could overwhelm someone still adjusting to their own magical heritage.

"Small communities develop their own cultures," he said. "Especially isolated ones. We've been somewhat cut off from the outside world for generations, so we've maintained traditions and perspectives that might seem unusual to outsiders."

"Traditions like what?"

"Herbal remedies that work better than they should. Weather prediction based on animal behavior. A healthy respect for the natural world and its... moods." He watched her face for signs of understanding or skepticism. "People here tend to be more accepting of things that can't be easily explained."

Moira nodded slowly, tucking a escaped curl behind her ear in the unconscious gesture he'd grown to find endearing. "Mrs. Caldwell mentioned that some families have been here since before the town's official founding. That suggests a pretty stable population."

"Very stable. Most people who find their way to Hollow Oak tend to stay." Lucien allowed himself a small smile. "The mountain has a way of calling to certain types of people."

"What type is that?"

"The kind who don't quite fit in ordinary places. Artists, writers, craftspeople, healers. Independent souls who value community without conformity." He paused, studying her expression. "People with gifts that might not be appreciated in more conventional settings."

"Gifts," Moira repeated, and he heard the weight she placed on the word. "Like my grandmother's bread that never went stale?"

"Exactly like that."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the bookstore's atmosphere wrapping around them like a warm embrace. Outside, Hollow Oak settled into evening routines as street lamps flickered to life and the first stars appeared between gathering clouds.

"I brought tea," Lucien said, rising to retrieve the service he'd prepared earlier. "Twyla's evening blend. She says it helps people process difficult revelations."

"Does Twyla have a tea for every occasion?" Moira asked with a hint of amusement.

"Pretty much. Her grandmother taught her the traditional recipes, and she's added a few innovations of her own over the years.

" Lucien set the elegant china service between them, noting how Moira's eyes lingered on the delicate cups painted with mountain wildflowers.

"She takes pride in matching the blend to the person and situation. "

"What's in the evening blend?"

"Chamomile for calm, lavender for peace, a touch of mint for clarity." He poured steaming liquid into both cups, the herbal fragrance filling the space between them. "And a few other mountain herbs that help people accept changes in their lives."

Moira accepted her cup with that now-familiar brush of fingers against his, and Lucien felt the electric connection that seemed to spark whenever they touched.

Her scent was stronger in the evening quiet, parchment and lavender soap mixing with something uniquely her that made his panther purr with satisfaction.

"Changes like discovering your entire family history is built on lies?" she asked, taking a careful sip.

"Changes like learning that what you thought were lies might actually be protective truths," Lucien corrected gently. "Your grandmother had good reasons for hiding her past. Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is shelter the people we care about from knowledge they aren't ready to handle."

"But I'm ready now?"

The vulnerability in her voice made him flood over with protective instincts that went far beyond his panther's claiming urges. This was purely human concern for someone he was growing to care about deeply, someone whose quick intelligence and quiet strength drew him like a magnet.

"I think you're braver than you give yourself credit for," he said softly. "Not everyone would handle these discoveries with such grace."

"Grace?" Moira laughed, but the sound held more sadness than humor. "I've been wandering around in a daze for days, jumping at shadows and questioning my sanity. That's not graceful."

"You're still here. Still working. Still asking intelligent questions instead of running away or dismissing everything as impossible." Lucien leaned forward slightly, drawn by the need to offer comfort. "That takes considerable courage."

"Or considerable stupidity."

"Courage and stupidity often look remarkably similar from the outside," he admitted. "The difference is usually in the motivation."

"And what do you think motivates me?"

The question hung between them, loaded with implications that had nothing to do with magical awakenings or family secrets.

Lucien found himself studying the soft curve of her lips, the way lamplight caught in her brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, the delicate line of her throat as she waited for his answer.

"I think you're driven by love," he said finally. "Love for knowledge, love for truth, love for the grandmother who raised you even if she kept secrets. You want to understand your heritage not because you're curious, but because understanding it helps you understand her."

Tears gathered in Moira's eyes, and she set down her teacup with trembling hands. "She used to tell me stories when I was little. About mountain magic and special gifts that ran in families. I thought they were just fairy tales."

"Maybe they were both," Lucien suggested. "Fairy tales that happened to be true."

"Is that what this is? Am I living in some kind of fairy tale?"

"The best fairy tales are grounded in reality," he said, fighting the urge to reach across the small space separating them and take her hand in his. "They help us process truths that are too large or strange to understand any other way."

"And what's my truth, Lucien?" The way she said his name made something warm unfurl in his chest. "What am I becoming?"

Before he could answer, a low rumble of thunder rolled across the mountains, and the lights in the bookstore flickered briefly. Both of them looked toward the windows, where storm clouds were gathering with unnatural speed.

"Weather moves fast in the mountains," Lucien said, though his shifter senses detected something more than natural meteorology in the approaching storm. "Why don't I walk you back to the inn? Miriam doesn't like her guests getting caught in the rain."

"That's very kind of you," Moira said, already beginning to pack up her equipment. "Though I should warn you, I'm getting used to Hollow Oak's unpredictable weather patterns."

As they prepared to leave the bookstore, Lucien found himself reluctant to end their evening conversation.

These quiet hours together had become the highlight of his days, a respite from Council duties and supernatural responsibilities.

With Moira, he could simply be a man who loved books and appreciated intelligent conversation, rather than the lone panther enforcer who kept Hollow Oak's shadows safe.

But watching her careful movements as she secured her camera equipment, noting the unconscious grace with which she navigated the bookstore's narrow aisles, he realized his feelings for her had evolved far beyond simple attraction or his panther's territorial claiming.

And that realization was both thrilling and terrifying with the vulnerability of opening his carefully guarded heart.

"Ready?" he asked, offering her his arm as thunder rumbled closer.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow with trust that made his chest swell with protective warmth.

Together, they stepped into the gathering storm, neither quite prepared for how completely their lives were about to change.