Page 1 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)
ONE
IVY
T he autumn air carried the scent of wood smoke and dying leaves through the tall windows of Mistwhisper Falls Library, but Ivy Chen barely noticed.
She sat cross-legged on the polished hardwood floor of the archive room, surrounded by towers of leather-bound volumes that smelled of centuries and secrets.
Her long black hair was twisted into a messy bun secured with two pencils, and her oversized cardigan hung loose around her petite frame as she carefully cataloged each tome in her precise handwriting.
Two weeks had passed since the entity crisis that had nearly torn their supernatural community apart, and Ivy was grateful for the return to quiet routine.
The familiar weight of books in her hands, the whisper of turning pages, the methodical process of recording titles and magical classifications—it all helped steady her nerves after witnessing the kind of cosmic horror that most people only encountered in nightmares.
"Compendium of Lunar Binding Rituals, circa 1847," she murmured to herself, running her fingertips along the book's cracked spine before writing the entry in her ledger. "Protective ward construction using moonstone and silver thread."
The pile of books beside her represented just a fraction of the ancient texts that Nico Beaumont had brought back from his mysterious research expedition.
The usually impeccable fae bookstore owner had returned to Mistwhisper Falls looking like he'd aged a decade, his platinum hair disheveled and his normally pristine clothes replaced by travel-stained garments that spoke of weeks spent in dangerous places.
He'd deposited the entire collection in her care with a haunted expression and a warning to "catalog everything carefully—some of these were sealed for good reason. "
Ivy reached for the next volume and froze.
Unlike the other books, this one seemed to pulse with its own inner light.
The binding wasn't leather but scales that shifted from deep emerald to midnight blue depending on the angle, and they felt warm beneath her fingers despite the cool air in the archive room.
Intricate silver clasps held the covers shut, their surfaces etched with symbols that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them.
"Chronicle of Echoes," she read from the small placard attached to the cover. "Origin unknown. Handle with extreme caution."
Extreme caution had never been Ivy's strong suit when it came to books. Her fingers traced the silver clasps, and she felt a faint vibration run through the tome, like a heartbeat made of paper and ink. The clasps clicked open without resistance, as if they'd been waiting for her touch.
The moment she opened the cover, the library around her seemed to hold its breath.
The pages were thick parchment that felt almost silky beneath her fingertips, but they were completely blank.
Not aged blank, not faded blank, but pristine white as if the book had been created moments ago and was waiting for someone to write its first words.
"That's odd," Ivy whispered, turning page after empty page.
Ancient magical texts were never blank. They contained spells, histories, theoretical treatises, or at the very least some indication of their intended purpose.
This book felt powerful—the magical energy radiating from it made her skin tingle—but it offered no clues about what it was meant to contain.
She was about to close the book and set it aside for Nico to examine when the front door of the library slammed open with enough force to rattle the windows.
"Where are the books?" The voice was deep, rough with exhaustion and desperation, and carried an undercurrent of barely controlled power that made Ivy's pulse quicken. "The founder texts Nico brought back. I need to see them now."
Ivy scrambled to her feet, clutching the Chronicle protectively against her chest as heavy footsteps approached the archive room.
She'd heard that voice before, though she'd never actually spoken to its owner.
Dorian Ashwind, her mysterious neighbor who lived in the overgrown estate next to her small cottage, rarely ventured into town and never visited the library.
He appeared in the archway like a storm front given human form.
Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it and amber eyes that seemed to glow with inner fire.
His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, covered with several days' worth of stubble that gave him a dangerous edge.
A black leather jacket hung open over a dark gray henley that stretched across his chest, and his jeans were worn and practical rather than fashionable.
Everything about him screamed predator, from the way he moved with fluid grace to the careful control he maintained over his supernatural nature.
Ivy had always found him fascinating from a distance—the mysterious dragon shifter who kept to himself and inspired equal parts fear and curiosity among the townspeople.
Up close, he was overwhelming.
"The texts," he repeated, his gaze sweeping over the scattered books before settling on her face. "I need to find something about draconic binding rituals. Ancient ones. Pre-founding era."
"I... what?" Ivy blinked, struggling to form coherent thoughts while her traitorous brain cataloged the way his shoulders filled the doorway and how his amber eyes seemed to see straight through her. "Why do you need?—"
The Chronicle in her arms suddenly flared with heat and light, as if it had been struck by lightning.
The blank pages began to rustle and turn of their own accord, and Ivy gasped as words began to appear across the parchment in flowing script that shifted between languages faster than she could follow.
Dorian's head snapped toward the book, his nostrils flaring as if he could scent magic in the air. "What is that?"
"I don't know," Ivy admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
The book was growing warmer in her arms, and the writing on the pages was becoming more frantic, symbols and text appearing and disappearing in languages she recognized as ancient draconic, proto-Celtic, and something that might have been pre-Columbian.
"It was blank a moment ago, but when you walked in. .."
She looked up at him and found his face had gone pale beneath his tan. "When I walked in, what?"
Before she could answer, the Chronicle's pages suddenly stilled, displaying a single line of text in elegant script that both of them could read perfectly despite its archaic styling:
The vessel has arrived. The binding may commence.
"No." Dorian took a step backward, his hands clenched at his sides. "Absolutely not. Whatever that thing is, I want nothing to do with it."
The book's response was immediate. New text flowed across the page like ink dropped in water:
You cannot run from what you are, child of flame. The whispers have already begun.
Ivy saw Dorian flinch as if he'd been struck. "The whispers," she said, understanding dawning. "That's why you came here. You've been hearing them."
"For three days," he admitted through gritted teeth. "Voices speaking in languages I shouldn't understand, offering things I..." He shook his head violently. "I thought it might be connected to the entity crisis. Some kind of lingering effect."
The Chronicle's pages turned again, revealing new text that made Ivy's blood run cold:
The crisis merely prepared the way. Your community's pain has made them vulnerable to better promises. Sweeter lies. I offer perfection where chaos reigned.
"Nico," Ivy breathed, setting the Chronicle carefully on her desk and backing away from it. "We need to get Nico. He'll know what this is."
As if summoned by his name, Nico Beaumont appeared in the archive room entrance.
Gone was his usual air of amused detachment—his pale face was sharp with alarm, and his normally perfect appearance showed signs of haste.
His platinum hair was mussed, his expensive shirt partially untucked, and his breathing suggested he'd run from wherever he'd been when he sensed the magical disturbance.
"The Chronicle," he said without preamble, his gaze fixing on the open book with the intensity of a hunter who'd found dangerous prey. "You opened it."
"I was cataloging the books you brought back," Ivy said defensively. "It opened for me. The pages were blank until..." She gestured toward Dorian.
"Until I arrived," Dorian finished grimly. "And then it started talking to us."
Nico's expression grew even more grim. "It chose you.
Both of you." He moved toward the book with careful, deliberate steps, as if approaching a wild animal.
"The Chronicle of Echoes isn't just a repository of knowledge.
It's a prison. A fragment of something ancient and malevolent was bound inside it centuries ago. "
"A fragment of the entity we just defeated?" Ivy asked, though she suspected the answer would be worse than that.
"No." Nico stopped just short of the desk, his hands hovering over the Chronicle without quite touching it.
"Something else. Something that learned to mimic the entity's power and fed on the chaos it created.
I've been tracking it across multiple supernatural communities for months, following reports of people losing themselves to beautiful dreams and perfect promises. "
The book's pages rustled, and new text appeared:
Such passion, dear Beaumont. But you understand so little about what you've found. This is not a prison—it is an invitation. A gift offered to those worthy of transcendence.
"Transcendence," Dorian repeated with a bitter laugh. "Right. Because supernatural beings offering to make everything perfect always have our best interests at heart."
More text flowed across the page, and this time it seemed to be addressing him directly:
Your fire burns wild and uncontrolled, child of dragons.
How many have you hurt with that unchecked flame?
How many will you fail to protect because you refuse the power to save them?
I offer dominion over your nature, mastery over your gifts.
I offer the strength to shield everyone you might learn to love.
Ivy saw Dorian's jaw clench, saw the way his hands trembled slightly before he shoved them into his jacket pockets. Whatever the Chronicle was offering, it had found a target that resonated.
"Don't listen to it," Nico warned, though his voice held a note of desperation that suggested they might already be past the point of simple warnings.
"The fragment feeds on desire, on the gap between what we have and what we want.
It offers perfection because perfection is a trap—a beautiful cage that becomes smaller every day until there's nothing left of who you were. "
The Chronicle's responded immediately and cuttingly:
Says the creature who abandoned his responsibilities, who fled when his people needed guidance. Tell them, Beaumont, about the communities that fell while you played at being a simple bookseller. Tell them about the children who chose beautiful dreams over waking nightmares.
Nico's face went white, and Ivy felt a chill slithering through her spine. How many supernatural communities had already fallen to whatever this thing was? How many people had chosen the Chronicle's perfect world over the messy, painful reality of their actual lives?
"It's already started, hasn't it?" she said quietly.
"The people in town who've been having unusually vivid dreams lately.
Mrs. Patterson at the market, who keeps talking about dreams where her late husband is still alive.
The Morrison twins, who've been sleeping sixteen hours a day since the crisis ended. "
"The dreams are just the beginning," Nico confirmed. "Once people start preferring the perfect world to the real one..."
"They stop waking up," Dorian finished. "They choose the beautiful lie."
The Chronicle's pages turned one final time, revealing text that seemed to pulse with malevolent satisfaction:
Such clever readers. Yes, the choice will come to all of them, as it comes to you now. But you two are special. You are the keys that will unlock not just this small refuge, but worlds beyond number. Through you, I can offer perfection to every reality that has ever suffered the indignity of chaos.
Choose wisely. Choose soon. The whispers will only grow louder until you surrender to what you were always meant to become.
The text faded, leaving the pages blank once more, but the damage was done.
Ivy could feel the Chronicle's presence in her mind like a splinter of ice, offering glimpses of a world where her every question had an answer, where her knowledge could heal instead of simply cataloging the damage others had done.
Beside her, Dorian was rigid with tension, his amber eyes flickering between human and something far more dangerous. The Chronicle had found his weakness too—the fear that his power would hurt the people he cared about, the desperate desire to be a protector instead of a potential threat.
"We can't let it loose in the town," Ivy said, though her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "If it can do this to us after a few minutes..."
"It won't be contained much longer," Nico said grimly. "The Chronicle chooses its readers, and once that bond is formed, it can influence them from any distance. The only question is whether you'll fight its promises or surrender to them."
Dorian looked at Ivy, and she saw her own mixture of terror and temptation reflected in his eyes. Whatever this thing was, it had chosen them for a reason. And despite every rational thought screaming that they should run, neither of them could deny the seductive pull of its whispered promises.
The Chronicle might be their enemy, but it was also the most dangerous kind of adversary—one that offered them exactly what they'd always wanted, wrapped in a package too beautiful to refuse.
But where they strong enough to say no?