Page 2 of Hex and the Dragon (Mistwhispher Falls Romances #4)

TWO

DORIAN

T he silence that followed Nico's warning stretched like a taut wire between them, broken only by the soft whisper of autumn wind through the library's tall windows.

Ivy stared at the Chronicle, its scaled cover gleaming innocently in the afternoon light, while her mind raced through possibilities and protocols.

There had to be a way to study this thing safely, to understand what they were dealing with before making any rash decisions.

"We need to approach this systematically," she said, moving toward her desk to retrieve a pair of protective gloves and her research notebook. "Document everything the Chronicle reveals, cross-reference it with existing texts about binding magic, establish a timeline of its influence patterns?—"

"Absolutely not." Dorian's voice cut through her planning like a blade, sharp with the kind of authority that came from someone accustomed to life-or-death decisions. "That thing is dangerous. It's already in our heads, and every second we spend near it makes the situation worse."

Ivy turned to face him, her scholarly instincts bristling at his dismissive tone. "You can't just contain something you don't understand. What if closing it makes the problem worse? What if there are failsafes built into the binding that we trigger by acting without proper knowledge?"

"What if studying it gives it exactly what it wants?

" Dorian countered, stepping closer to her desk with predatory grace.

"You heard what Nico said about other communities.

People choosing dreams over reality. How many of them do you think started with good intentions to 'research' their way to a solution? "

The Chronicle's pages rustled softly, as if it responded to their argument, and Ivy felt a whisper of satisfaction brush against her consciousness. It was pleased by their conflict, feeding on the tension between them like a parasite drawn to discord.

"Both approaches have merit," Nico interjected before their disagreement could escalate further.

"But they're also both irrelevant if we don't address the immediate problem.

" He gestured toward the Chronicle with carefully controlled movements.

"The fragment has bonded with you. It will continue to influence you regardless of whether you choose to study it or try to contain it. "

"Bonded how?" Ivy asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer. The ice-cold presence whispering in her mind had been growing stronger since she'd first opened the book, offering tantalizing glimpses of knowledge that lay just beyond her reach.

"The whispers," Dorian said grimly. "They've gotten worse since I walked in here. Louder. More... specific." He ran a hand through his dark hair, leaving it even more disheveled. "It's like having someone else's thoughts mixed in with my own."

Before Nico could respond, the library's front door chimed, followed by the sound of heavy boots on hardwood. Sheriff Leo Maddox's voice carried through the building with the kind of professional calm that suggested he was dealing with yet another supernatural crisis.

"Nico? You in here? I've got reports of some kind of temporal disturbance centered on the library, and given our recent track record with magical emergencies..."

"Back here, Leo," Nico called, though his pale eyes never left the Chronicle. "And bring Aerin if she's with you. We're going to need her expertise."

Leo entered the archive room moments later, his golden-brown hair slightly windswept and his sheriff's uniform crisp despite the late hour.

The lion shifter's amber eyes swept over the scene with professional assessment, taking in the scattered books, Ivy's protective stance near her desk, and Dorian's obvious tension.

"Temporal disturbance?" Ivy repeated. "What kind of temporal disturbance?"

"The kind where Mrs. Henderson called to report that her afternoon tea lasted four hours according to her kitchen clock, but felt like twenty minutes," Leo said dryly.

"And the Morrison twins' mother is concerned because they went to take a nap two hours ago, but when she checked on them, they insisted they'd only been asleep for five minutes. "

Aerin Thorne appeared behind Leo, her silvery hair perfectly arranged despite the urgency of their arrival and her violet eyes sharp with analytical focus. The fae scholar carried a leather satchel that undoubtedly contained whatever research materials she'd deemed relevant to a magical crisis.

"Time dilation around centers of supernatural power," she said without preamble, her gaze immediately fixing on the Chronicle.

"Usually indicates reality-warping magic of significant sophistication.

" She paused, studying the book's scaled binding with academic interest. "That's not from the entity we just dealt with.

The magical signature is completely different. "

"Because it's not from the entity," Nico confirmed. "It's something else entirely. Something that's been using the entity's chaos as cover for its own agenda."

Aerin moved closer to the Chronicle, her movements careful and deliberate. "May I?" she asked Ivy, gesturing toward the book.

"I wouldn't," Dorian said sharply. "It's already bonded with Ivy and me. Adding a third person to that connection could make things exponentially worse."

"Bonded how?" Leo's voice carried the sharp edge of someone who'd dealt with too many supernatural crises to take magical bonds lightly.

Ivy found herself explaining the Chronicle's behavior, from its initial blank pages to the text that had appeared when Dorian arrived, to the persistent whispers that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

As she spoke, she became aware of the presence in her mind growing more insistent, offering glimpses of knowledge that made her pulse quicken with anticipation.

"The fragment feeds on desire," Nico added when she finished. "It identifies what people want most and offers them a perfect version of that desire. For someone like Ivy, who values knowledge above almost everything else..."

"It would offer unlimited access to every secret, every answer, every piece of forbidden lore that's ever existed," Aerin finished with the kind of understanding that came from someone who'd faced similar temptations. "And for a dragon shifter struggling with control issues..."

"Power without consequences," Dorian said bitterly. "Strength without the risk of hurting anyone. The ability to protect instead of destroy."

As if it understood their discussion, the Chronicle's pages began to turn of their own accord, revealing text that appeared in flowing script:

Such clever analysis. But understanding the trap does not free you from it. The bond grows stronger with proximity, deeper with time. Soon you will find that separation brings pain, while unity brings... revelation.

Ivy felt a chill run down her spine as the words sank in. "Separation brings pain," she repeated. "What does that mean?"

The answer didn’t come from the Chronicle's pages, but from her own body. The moment she considered leaving the archive room, a sharp headache spiked behind her eyes, accompanied by a wave of nausea that made her grip the edge of her desk for support.

Dorian cursed under his breath, his hand moving to his temple. "It's doing the same thing to me. The further I think about getting from this place, the worse it gets."

"How far?" Aerin asked with clinical precision. "What's the range of the effect?"

Ivy forced herself to walk toward the archive room doorway, monitoring the intensity of the discomfort.

The headache grew worse with each step, but it wasn't unbearable until she reached the main library floor.

By the time she was halfway to the front door, the pain was sharp enough to make her vision blur.

"Fifty feet," she said, returning to the archive room with relief. "Maybe sixty. Beyond that, it becomes... unpleasant."

"Unpleasant enough to make long-term separation impossible," Leo observed grimly. "Which means you're stuck together until we find a way to break the bond."

"Or until we give the Chronicle what it wants," Dorian stated with dark humor. "I'm sure that's not a coincidence."

The Chronicle's pages moved, and let out what seemed to be laughter, and new text appeared:

Proximity breeds familiarity. Familiarity breeds trust. Trust breeds the willingness to listen when I offer you everything you've ever wanted. The bond serves multiple purposes, dear readers.

"It's manipulating us," Ivy stated even with the uncertainty in her own voice. "Forcing us together so it can work on both of us simultaneously."

"Maybe," Aerin said thoughtfully. "But there might be another explanation.

Ancient binding magic often requires specific conditions to function properly.

Multiple participants, shared experiences, emotional resonance.

.." She trailed off, studying the Chronicle with increased interest. "This fragment might need you to work together to achieve whatever its ultimate goal is. "

"Which is what, exactly?" Dorian demanded. "What does it actually want from us?"

The Chronicle's responded:

I want what I have always wanted. Perfection.

Order. The elimination of chaos and suffering through the application of superior design.

Your reality is flawed, broken, filled with unnecessary pain.

I offer the chance to rewrite that reality, to craft something better.

Something worthy of the power required to create it.

"Rewrite reality," Ivy repeated, her scholar's mind immediately grasping the implications. "Not just alter it or influence it. Actually rewrite the fundamental structure of existence."

"Using what power source?" Aerin asked sharply. "Reality-warping on that scale would require enormous amounts of magical energy."

The answer came from Dorian's sharp intake of breath. "Dragon fire," he said quietly. "That's why it needs me. Dragon fire can burn the barriers between realities."

"And bibliomancy," Ivy added with growing understanding. "The ability to rewrite reality through words, through stories. That's why it chose me." She felt the Chronicle's satisfaction pulse through their bond, cold and alien and utterly pleased with her deduction.

"So you're the tools it needs to remake the world," Leo said bluntly. "The question is whether you're going to let it use you."

"We don't have much choice," Dorian pointed out. "This bond isn't going to break itself, and I'm betting the Chronicle isn't going to get bored and wander off to find other victims."

"There's always a choice," Ivy declared even if the whispers in her mind were growing stronger, offering glimpses of a world where libraries contained every book that had ever been written or ever could be written, where knowledge flowed like water and answers came as easily as breathing.

The thought was seductive enough to make her breath catch.

"The choice is what kind of partnership you're going to have," Aerin observed with clinical detachment. "You can work together to resist the Chronicle's influence, or you can let it drive a wedge between you and pick you off one at a time."

"Partnership," Dorian repeated, his amber eyes finding Ivy's face. "With someone I barely know, dealing with a magical crisis that could reshape reality as we know it."

"I realize this isn't ideal," Ivy said, trying to ignore the way his intense gaze made her pulse quicken. "But Aerin's right. We're stronger together than apart. And if we're going to make a plan on how to stop this thing..."

"We need to understand it first," Dorian finished, though his expression suggested he was far from happy about the prospect. "Research. Careful, methodical research."

"With appropriate safeguards," Nico added. "No one works with the Chronicle alone. No extended exposure without breaks. And at the first sign that either of you is being overly influenced..."

"You pull us out," Ivy agreed, though she noticed how difficult it was to focus on Nico's words when the Chronicle was offering her whispered promises of ancient secrets and forbidden knowledge.

The ice-cold presence inside her pulsed with satisfaction, and she realized that the fragment was happy with their decision to work together. It wanted them to study it, wanted them to delve deeper into its nature and its capabilities.

Which meant that research might be exactly the wrong approach.

"The entity crisis," Dorian said suddenly. "It left people vulnerable, didn't it? Made them more susceptible to supernatural influence."

"Trauma does that," Leo confirmed. "Breaks down psychological barriers, makes people desperate for anything that promises relief from pain."

"Perfect recruitment conditions for something offering beautiful dreams," Aerin added with growing alarm. "How many people in town are already being influenced?"

The Chronicle's pages turned, revealing a list of names that made Ivy's blood run cold. Half the residents of Mistwhisper Falls were listed, along with detailed notes about their vulnerabilities and the specific dreams the fragment was using to seduce them.

"It's not just studying us," she said quietly. "It's studying everyone. Learning what they want, what they fear, what they'd sacrifice to have their perfect world."

"And we're the keys to giving it to them," Dorian said grimly. "Once it figures out how to use our abilities..."

"It won't need to convince people to choose the beautiful lie," Ivy finished. "It can just rewrite reality so the lie becomes truth."

The Chronicle's final entry appeared at the bottom of the page, written in script that seemed to burn with cold fire:

The lesson begins tomorrow. Class is now in session.

As the words faded, Ivy felt the fragment's presence settle more deeply into her mind, no longer a foreign intrusion but something that felt almost like a second self.

Beside her, Dorian's hands had clenched into fists, and she could see the struggle in his amber eyes as he fought against whatever the Chronicle was offering him.

They were bound now, partners in a dance with something that wanted to remake the world in its own image. And despite every rational thought screaming that they were walking into a trap, neither of them could deny the growing pull of the fragment's whispered promises.

The real question was could they resist long enough to find a way to destroy it, or whether they'd become willing participants in the Chronicle's grand design for perfection.

Time, it seemed, would tell.