Page 12

CALLUM

F rom his position near the old oak tree, Callum could see the cottage clearly through a thick screen of tangled vines and brush. He stood there, jaw set hard, arms crossed tight over his chest, trying to look anywhere but directly at Cora Thorne.

And failing miserably.

It was infuriating, this pull she had. Her scent drifted across the distance between them, lilac petals dancing on a spring breeze, sweet enough to make his teeth ache.

The fragrance twisted in his chest, settled in his bones, and refused to let go.

Worse, every time he breathed it in, his lion stirred restlessly, growling low beneath his skin.

Mine, it said. Mine.

Like hell she was.

Callum shifted his weight, scowling at nothing in particular.

He’d stood watch over Hollow Oak for years.

He was the town’s guardian, its sentinel.

He didn’t get distracted, damn it. Especially not by stubborn enchantresses with cursed magic and wild blonde curls.

But every moment spent near her chipped another piece of his carefully built control.

From his hiding spot, he saw Cora step outside, face tipped toward the warm morning sun, her hair bright as spun gold.

She wore leggings patterned with bright daisies and a soft blue shirt that hugged curves he had absolutely no business noticing.

Yet his gaze lingered anyway, traitorous and defiant.

Gods, he needed to get a grip.

Around her cottage, the forest seemed to soften, branches shifting slightly, leaves whispering secrets he couldn’t quite hear.

Even the stubborn trail—which usually twisted and turned unpredictably—now curved toward her door like a damn welcome mat.

He hadn’t seen the woods this calm since… well, ever.

And the worst part? Hollow Oak was just as smitten with her as everyone else.

He saw it in the way the butcher, a surly bear shifter named Marcus who rarely smiled, had suddenly started leaving little parcels of fresh bread and honeycomb for her at the cottage door.

In how the normally gruff Emmett barkeeping at the Silver Fang kept brewing that ridiculously floral tea Cora liked, muttering about “sunshine needing fuel.”

He glared at the trees accusingly. “Traitors,” he grumbled softly.

Because it would’ve been easier—so much easier—if the town had seen Cora as an outsider.

As someone to watch, guard against, or outright reject.

But no. They’d all fallen under her spell.

She laughed, and they laughed with her. She smiled, and they practically tripped over themselves trying to coax another one from her.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered.

Yet he stayed right where he was, hidden among the shadows, silently watching as Cora moved around her yard.

She crouched to whisper something softly to the lavender bushes by her porch, her slender fingers brushing tenderly over the leaves.

They practically leaned toward her touch, blooming fuller and brighter.

His gut tightened. His lion growled possessively. Neither reaction helped.

“You’re pathetic,” he told himself gruffly.

He had plenty of reasons to keep his distance.

Callum had learned long ago the cost of attachment.

Once, years before, he’d had someone. A mate.

A beautiful lioness named Tessa with laughter like silver bells and eyes that sparkled brighter than the lake.

He’d lost her to the chaos of rogue magic and fractured wards, her life extinguished before his eyes as he’d helplessly watched the Veil shudder and break apart.

After that, Callum had sworn never again.

No closeness, no vulnerability. The price was always too damn high.

Yet here he stood, stupidly rooted, drawn irresistibly toward the enchantress who moved like sunshine incarnate and smelled of lilacs and promise.

He watched as she straightened and stretched her arms toward the sky, carefree, relaxed.

The smile she wore was softer, brighter than before—as though Hollow Oak was gently teasing out who she’d once been, before shadows and curses had tainted her magic.

He hated how much he liked seeing it.

Footsteps crunched on the path behind him. Callum stiffened slightly, scenting familiar cedar. Miriam paused beside him, her gentle eyes crinkling knowingly.

“Morning, Callum,” she said mildly.

He inclined his head slightly. “Miriam.”

Her gaze followed his to where Cora fussed happily over flowerbeds that definitely hadn’t existed yesterday. “She’s settling nicely, isn’t she?”

“Too nicely,” he muttered sourly.

Miriam chuckled softly. “You know, for someone so determined not to like her, you spend an awful lot of time watching her.”

He bristled slightly, glaring down at the petite human widow who had always seen straight through him. “I’m supervising. Someone has to keep her from blowing up the Veil.”

She patted his arm gently. “Sure you are, dear. And I’m just here picking daisies.”

He scowled, unable to summon irritation toward her gentle teasing. Miriam had been a steadfast figure in Hollow Oak for decades, running the Hearth & Hollow Inn with quiet grace, always the calm center amidst chaos. He respected her immensely, even if her insight unnerved him.

“I don’t trust how the town responds to her,” he admitted roughly. “It’s too soon, too easy.”

Miriam’s gaze softened. “Maybe easy is exactly what we need. Not every good thing must be earned with pain, Callum.”

He didn’t answer, throat tight. Good things came with steep prices, he’d learned that truth hard enough. Yet the stubborn set of Miriam’s jaw told him arguing would get nowhere. She squeezed his arm once more before moving off toward town, leaving him to his watchful solitude again.

He turned back to Cora, and the sight stopped him cold.

She’d lifted her face to the sun, eyes closed, expression serene. Magic curled gently around her fingertips like silk ribbons, pale green and gold, dancing in the warm air. It flowed outward, brushing tenderly against the trees, weaving softly through the undergrowth.

Instantly, the woods exhaled. Leaves rustled contentedly, vines relaxed their tangled grip, and a soft breeze lifted around her like the forest itself was sighing in relief. She looked like she belonged there—right there—in Hollow Oak’s quiet heart.

Mate, his lion growled insistently again.

“Enough,” he whispered fiercely to himself, fists clenching.

But the stubborn word lingered, burrowing deeper into his heart every time he pushed it away. And as Cora finally turned, her soft green eyes finding his hiding spot with surprising ease, he saw a shy smile curve her lips. His pulse raced unwillingly.

“Were you planning on coming over,” she called playfully, “or just standing there brooding all day?”

He stepped out from the shadows with an irritated grunt. “I don’t brood.”

She laughed softly, a warm, addictive sound. “Oh, of course not. Just casually lurking in bushes, then?”

“Supervising,” he corrected stiffly, but found himself walking closer anyway. The lilac scent grew stronger, sweeter, harder to resist.

“Right,” she agreed lightly. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Want tea while you supervise?”

“I’m working,” he protested gruffly.

“You can work and drink tea at the same time,” she teased gently, smile hopeful, eyes inviting.

Against all better judgment, he found himself nodding once. “Fine. But no enchantments this time.”

She held up both hands innocently, laughter brightening her face. “Promise.”

He followed her reluctantly toward the cottage, heart pounding unevenly in his chest, every instinct both protesting and celebrating. This was dangerous. Reckless. Tempting fate in ways he couldn’t afford.

As Cora turned to beam brightly up at him, her lilac scent curling softly around his senses, Callum knew he was already lost.

And damn if a stubborn part of him wasn’t starting to like it.