Page 10

CALLUM

T he forest felt wrong again.

Callum tasted it on the air before he saw anything: a metallic nip under the usual pine and loam, like fresh-struck sparks.

Veil fractures always carried that scent, the way storms warned birds before the first rumble.

He tightened his pack straps and scanned the narrow trail ahead where Cora walked, humming soft to herself while she brushed leaves that leaned into her path.

He kept three strides behind. Not because he distrusted her—though caution never hurt—but because every time she glanced over her shoulder the green in her eyes pulled at something fierce inside him. The lion stalked restless under his skin, grumbling about distance and closeness in equal breath.

“Trail narrowed up here,” he called. “Watch your footing.”

Cora looked back, curly blonde wisps escaping her braid. “I’m fine, ranger. You worry too much.” She winked, teasing light in her voice.

He grunted, quickening his pace until they walked side by side. “I worry exactly enough.”

She lifted her palm, letting a fern frond tickle her fingers. The plant shivered, then stilled, calm as a kitten. “The Veil feels puckered in this direction,” she said quietly. “Almost like it wants us to stitch a seam.”

The simple statement pricked his instincts.

She spoke of the forest as if it breathed secrets only she could hear, and the trees kept proving her right.

He studied her profile: freckled nose, determined chin, optimism shining through caution.

The breeze carried her scent, lilac over warm honey, coiling through him until his pulse drummed in his ears.

Mate.

He shook the word away and pointed ahead. “There’s an old quarry beyond that ridge. Stone outcrops everywhere. If something carved at the Veil, we will see it there.”

She nodded and fell into step. They hiked in silence for several minutes, boots crunching over last year’s leaves. Sunlight spattered gold across moss, and the occasional squirrel scolded from branches. A small, ordinary morning, if not for the invisible snag humming against his senses.

At the ridge crest the trees parted, revealing a shallow limestone hollow. White rock jutted like broken teeth from the ground, cracks running jagged across each slab. Light pooled in the clearing, yet shadows lurked in the crevices, shifting at the edge of vision.

Cora inhaled sharply. “There.” She pointed to a waist-high boulder near the center. Symbols spiraled across its surface, ancient and deliberate.

Callum strode forward, boots grinding gravel. Kneeling, he brushed away dirt from a rune shaped like a mirrored claw. A chill slid over his spine. “I know these.”

Cora crouched beside him, shoulder almost grazing his. “How?”

“My grandmother told stories of the Binding Stone.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “A relic forged to feed on possessive magic, the worst kind. It twists promises into shackles, turns love into obsession.”

Cora’s breath hitched. “That sounds familiar.”

He looked over, caught the flicker of fear in her eyes, then the quick tuck of her chin as she masked it.

Protective instinct roared inside him; the lion pressed hard against muscle and bone.

Callum forced a slow inhale. “The legend said runes like these marked where the relic slept. Generations have searched, found nothing. I figured it was myth.”

Cora traced one symbol lightly; green-gold sparks skittered under her fingertip before she jerked back. “The stone reacts to bloodline magic.”

He grabbed her wrist, careful yet firm. “No touching. We don’t know what price it asks.” The feel of her pulse beneath his thumb jolted through him, hot and steady. He released her too quickly.

She rose, dusting her leggings. “Can we read the runes? Maybe they say how to contain it.”

He circled the boulder, translating edges of memory. “Claw for claim. Interlocked rings for bond. Fissure mark for severed oath.” He tapped a final sigil: twin lions back to back. “That one means jealousy.”

Cora wrapped her arms around herself. “This relic—if it wakes—could twist the Veil into something hungry.”

“Yes.” He met her eyes. “And Hollow Oak cannot survive a feeding frenzy of broken promises.”

Silence stretched. Birdsong faltered, leaving only their breathing and the distant lap of water from Moonmirror Lake.

Cora stepped closer, voice low. “Callum, you volunteered to watch me because you thought I was the biggest risk. What if this stone is?”

He studied the worry etching her brow. “Then we guard it together.” The words surprised him, yet felt true. “I send Maeve and Edgar to raise wards around the site. You and I report to Varric.”

Her lips curved, bittersweet. “You trust me now?”

“I trust your intent.” He hesitated, throat tight. “And my gut.”

Mate.

He almost flinched at the silent echo. Instead, he turned away, scanning the clearing’s perimeter for additional markings. Cora knelt by another slab, scribbling designs in a small leather journal.

Minutes passed, filled with the scratch of her charcoal and his steady footsteps. The forest watched in quiet expectation. He returned to her side, pointing to a faint ring of disturbed earth encircling the boulder. “Something surfaced recently. Fresh claw marks.”

Cora frowned. “An animal?”

“Or someone trying to unearth the relic.” His jaw clenched. He pictured outsiders prying at Hollow Oak’s oldest secrets. The lion bared its teeth.

Cora lifted her gaze. “Someone who knows blood magic.”

Their eyes locked. He read the fear she tried to hide, the memory of chains in her pupils. Without thinking, he reached, brushing a curl from her cheek. The contact sparked heat under his skin, and she sucked in a small breath.

“Cora.” Her name left his mouth half growl, half plea. He dropped his hand. “We will protect the town. And you.”

She nodded, lashes trembling. “We should go.”

They packed quickly. While she tucked her journal away, he knelt once more before the rune-covered stone and placed his palm flat against cool surface. A faint vibration answered, pulsing like a second heartbeat.

Mate.

He yanked his hand back, sweat prickling along his temple. No. He would not surrender to that claim. Not again. To lose once was enough to shatter a life; to risk it twice required faith he no longer possessed.

Cora waited at the trail entrance, eyes glinting in filtered sunlight. “Ready?”

Callum forced a calm nod. They walked side by side down the sloping path. Every few steps her elbow brushed his. Each light contact sent sparks racing down to his fingertips, and the lion hummed with agitated longing.

Halfway to town she stumbled on a root. He caught her waist, steadying her against his chest. Her laugh fluttered warm against his collar. “Thanks, ranger. Graceful as ever.”

He eased her upright yet kept one hand on her back a moment longer than necessary. “Watch the ground.” His voice sounded husky even to his own ears.

“I was distracted,” she teased. “Too many trees flirting.”

Trees, broom, the whole darn town, he thought. With effort he dropped his arm and resumed stride. The path widened; rooftops peeked through pines ahead. Hollow Oak awaited, unaware of the buried threat in its woods.

Cora exhaled softly. “Callum… thank you. For believing me.”

He huffed. “Believe your stubbornness, maybe. You would come back alone if I said no.”

She grinned. “True.”

“I’ll report to the Council. Meet you at the inn later.”

She nodded slowly, disappointment flickering briefly before she masked it with a faint smile. “Okay. Later, then.”

Callum watched her walk toward the square, heart thudding unevenly. His lion was growing agitated beneath his skin, growling softly, more insistent now.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

He turned back toward the woods, jaw tight, muscles tense.

He wasn’t ready to listen to that word, to acknowledge the way his soul reached toward her every time she smiled or touched him.

He’d gone on long enough perfectly fine alone and already had it set in his mind that that’s how it would always be.

But the forest around him whispered it louder, echoing in his bones, relentless and undeniable.

Mate .