Page 15 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)

NINE

IVY

D awn crept through the library's windows like a wounded animal, pale and hesitant, as if even the sun was reluctant to illuminate what Mistwhisper Falls had become overnight.

Ivy woke curled against Dorian's side, her body still warm from their lovemaking but her mind immediately alert to the wrongness that permeated the air around them.

The Chronicle lay open on her desk where they'd left it, but the pages were no longer displaying the clinical analysis they'd been studying before exhaustion claimed them. Instead, the parchment showed moving images—like a twisted cinema screen made of ancient paper and malevolent ink.

"Dorian," Ivy whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "You need to see this."

He came awake instantly, dragon instincts keeping him alert even in sleep. His amber eyes stared on the Chronicle's pages, his expression shifted from drowsy contentment to sharp alarm.

The images showed the two of them from the previous night, but wrong—distorted in ways that made Ivy's stomach lurch with recognition and horror.

She watched herself and Dorian come together in passion, but this version was tainted with something darker, more destructive.

Their magic didn't weave together in beautiful harmony but clashed and sparked with volatile energy that scorched the air around them.

"It's showing us what could happen," Ivy said with growing dread. "What it wants us to believe will happen."

The scene on the Chronicle's pages shifted, revealing a future where their magical connection during lovemaking went catastrophically wrong.

Ivy watched in horror as her bibliomantic abilities spiraled out of control, rewriting reality without her conscious intent.

Words poured from her lips in ancient languages, and with each syllable, Dorian began to fade—not dying, but being systematically erased from existence as her power rewrote his very presence out of the world.

"That's not possible," Dorian said firmly, though Ivy heard the doubt beneath his conviction. "Bibliomancy doesn't work that way."

"Doesn't it?" Ivy asked, her voice small as she watched the horrific scene play out. "I've been having episodes where I write things I don't remember. What if, in the throes of passion, when my magic is fully awakened and uncontrolled..."

The image shifted again, showing them from Dorian's perspective—his dragon nature overwhelming his human consciousness as their bond deepened.

This version of him was consumed by primal fury, his fire magic burning out of control until it incinerated everything within reach.

Including Ivy, who reached toward him with love and trust even as his flames consumed her.

"Stop," Dorian said sharply, slamming the Chronicle closed. "That's not real. It's showing us our fears, not our future."

But the damage was done. Ivy could feel doubt creeping into her mind like poison, turning the beautiful memory of their connection into something tainted with potential horror.

What if their magical bond really was dangerous?

What if the Chronicle was showing them genuine possibilities rather than manufactured fears?

"The others," Ivy said suddenly, remembering their separated friends. "We need to make sure they're safe."

Dorian was already reaching for his shirt, his movements careful and distant in a way that hadn't been there the night before. "I'll check the perimeter. Make sure the wards are still holding."

"I'll try to contact Leo on the radio," Ivy agreed, though she noticed they were both avoiding direct eye contact, both putting physical distance between themselves as if proximity might trigger the disasters the Chronicle had shown them.

The communication equipment crackled with static before Leo's voice came through, exhausted but alive. "Ivy? Thank god. What's your status?"

"Secure for now," Ivy replied, though the word felt like a lie. "The library's wards held through the night. What about the rest of the team?"

"We're at the town hall with about thirty residents who are still fighting the Chronicle's influence," Leo said. "But it's getting harder to resist. The dreams are becoming more vivid, more tempting. We've lost another dozen people since yesterday."

"Any word from Aerin and Nico?" Ivy asked.

"Aerin's here, researching some disturbing developments about magical bonds and reality anchoring. Nico's... struggling. The Chronicle seems to be targeting him specifically because of his knowledge about the other affected communities."

Ivy felt ice settle in her stomach. If Nico, with all his experience and fae magic, was having trouble resisting the Chronicle's influence, what hope did the rest of them have?

"We'll try to make it back to you before sunset," Ivy said. "The Chronicle's power seems to peak at night."

"Be careful," Leo warned. "The shadow-figures are more active during daylight hours now. Whatever this thing is planning for the equinox, it's not waiting for celestial alignment anymore."

The radio fell silent, leaving Ivy and Dorian alone with the weight of their community's deteriorating situation.

They moved around each other with careful politeness, gathering supplies and checking defenses, but the easy intimacy of the previous night had been replaced by a tension that made every interaction feel awkward and potentially dangerous.

"The perimeter's clear," Dorian reported when he returned from his patrol, though he remained near the archive room doorway rather than approaching her desk. "No shadow-figures within a hundred yards, but I can sense them massing in the town center."

"Gathering for something," Ivy agreed, trying to focus on the tactical situation rather than the way Dorian was avoiding her gaze. "The equinox is still thirty-six hours away. What's it planning?"

As if answering her question, the Chronicle opened itself again, revealing new text that made both of them freeze with recognition and dread:

Distance breeds doubt. Separation weakens resolve. You see now how dangerous your connection truly is, how much safer you both would be apart. But safety is an illusion when reality itself hangs in the balance.

"It's doing this on purpose," Ivy realized with growing horror. "Showing us those visions, making us afraid of our own bond—it wants us separated."

"Because we're stronger together," Dorian said, understanding dawning in his amber eyes. "When our magic works in harmony, when we're emotionally connected, it can't influence us as easily."

Your connection serves as an anchor, the Chronicle confirmed with smug satisfaction. A stable point around which I can reshape reality more efficiently. The stronger your bond becomes, the more power I can channel through it. You were wise to pull apart.

The revelation hit them both like a physical blow.

Their love, their magical connection, the very thing that made them stronger individually was also making the Chronicle more powerful.

Every moment of intimacy, every shared magical working, every touch that deepened their bond was also strengthening their enemy.

"So we can't be together," Ivy said with hollow understanding. "Our love is literally helping it destroy the world."

"Or it's lying," Dorian said with desperate intensity. "Manipulating us into believing that our connection is dangerous when it's actually the one thing that threatens its plans."

Before either of them could explore that possibility further, the library's front door chimed. Mara Voss entered carrying a basket that smelled of protective herbs and followed by Griff, who looked like he'd been running on determination and coffee for far too long.

"We brought supplies," Mara announced, unpacking her basket to reveal dozens of small sachets and bottles filled with herbal remedies.

"Sleeping draughts that should block Chronicle-induced nightmares, protective teas to strengthen mental defenses, and clarity tinctures to help distinguish real thoughts from external influence. "

"How did you get past the shadow-figures?" Ivy asked with concern.

"Griff knows the old maintenance tunnels under the town," Mara explained. "They're not warded, but they're too narrow for the Chronicle's manifestations to follow."

Griff studied both Ivy and Dorian with the assessing gaze of someone who'd dealt with supernatural crises before. "You two look like hell," he observed bluntly. "And not the good kind of hell that comes from fighting cosmic entities. The bad kind that comes from second-guessing yourselves."

"The Chronicle showed us what could happen if our magical bond goes wrong," Dorian admitted, his hands clenching at his sides. "Futures where our connection leads to destruction, where we accidentally destroy each other or innocent people."

"And you believed it?" Mara asked with the kind of gentle incredulity that only came from someone who'd faced similar manipulations.

"Shouldn't we?" Ivy asked. "Our magic is unprecedented. Bibliomancy and dragon fire working together—we don't know what the long-term effects might be."

"I know what they are," Griff said firmly.

"I've seen magical partnerships before. The entity crisis, Lyra and Cade's bond, my connection with Mara—when two people's magic works in harmony, it creates something stable and protective.

It doesn't create destruction unless one or both partners chooses destruction. "

"But what if we don't have a choice?" Dorian demanded. "What if the Chronicle can force us to lose control?"

"Then you'll face that together," Mara said simply. "The same way you've faced everything else. But pulling apart now, when your community needs you most, when you've finally found something worth fighting for—that's exactly what this thing wants."

She moved to Dorian, studying his face with the clinical assessment of someone trained in herbal healing. "You're exhausted. Not just physically, but magically. Dragon fire isn't meant to be suppressed and controlled constantly. You need to find balance, not perfect restraint."

"Balance," Dorian repeated skeptically. "Easy to say when your magic doesn't have a history of burning down city blocks."

"My magic killed my first husband," Mara said quietly, the admission hanging like a challenge.

"Fae-touched herbal magic, plant growth accelerated beyond all natural limits.

He was trapped in our greenhouse when my power spiraled out of control during a crisis.

I found him three days later, suffocated by vines that grew faster than he could cut them down. "

The revelation shocked both Ivy and Dorian into silence. They'd known Mara was a widow, but they'd never known the circumstances of her loss.

"That's horrible," Ivy said softly.

"It was," Mara agreed. "And for years, I believed I was too dangerous to love anyone again. I suppressed my magic, avoided relationships, convinced myself that isolation was the only way to keep people safe."

"What changed?" Dorian asked.

"Griff," Mara said simply. "He saw me lose control during the entity crisis, saw my magic turn deadly when I was terrified and desperate. And instead of running away, he helped me find my center. Reminded me that magic reflects intent, and my intent was always to protect, not to harm."

Griff moved to stand beside Mara, his large hand settling on her shoulder with casual intimacy.

"Power without connection is just destruction waiting for an excuse," he said.

"But power guided by love, by the desire to protect someone you care about—that's when magic becomes something more than just force. "

"The Chronicle is afraid of what you two represent," Mara continued. "A partnership based on choice rather than magical compulsion, on genuine feeling rather than supernatural bond. That's why it's trying to convince you that your connection is dangerous."

Responding to her words, the Chronicle's pages rustled with displeasure, and new text appeared in flowing script:

Enough sentiment. Enough delay. The equinox approaches, and my patience grows thin. You will accept my offer willingly, or I will demonstrate the consequences of continued resistance.

The temperature in the library dropped twenty degrees in as many seconds, and through the windows, they could see shadow-figures materializing in broad daylight throughout Mistwhisper Falls. Not just dozens this time, but hundreds—an army of the Chronicle's will made manifest.

Every person in this community will face a choice before the sun sets, the Chronicle continued. Accept the perfect world I offer, or watch their loved ones suffer the consequences of your stubbornness. Their pain will be real, their fear will be genuine, and their deaths will be permanent.

"It's bluffing," Griff said, though his voice carried uncertainty.

Am I? the Chronicle responded, and suddenly the shadow-figures throughout the town turned as one to face the library, their movements coordinated with military precision.

You have until sunset to decide. Help me rewrite reality into something worthy of the power required to create it, or watch as I demonstrate exactly what your resistance costs the people you claim to protect.

The ultimatum hung like a death sentence, and Ivy felt the weight of an entire community's survival settling on her shoulders. She looked at Dorian, seeing her own desperate resolve reflected in his amber eyes.

They had less than twelve hours to find a way to destroy an entity that had been planning this moment for centuries. And if they failed, everyone they cared about would pay the price for their defiance.

The real battle was no longer coming—it was here.