Page 14

CALLUM

C allum preferred his patrols silent. The woods spoke in quiet ways if a ranger listened: the hush of breeze over pine needles, the warning click of a squirrel tail, the distant rush of Moonmirror Lake kissing the shoreline. Silence let him hear trouble long before it stepped from shadow.

Silence, however, was in short supply now that Cora walked beside him.

She hummed while they hiked. Not loudly, just a lift of melody under her breath. Sometimes it sounded like a lullaby, other times like tavern fiddle, always soft enough that he could pretend he did not enjoy it. The truth sat hot behind his ribs. He liked it more than he cared to admit.

“Does the tune bother you?” she asked, glancing up through blond lashes. Green eyes glittered with teasing warmth.

He kept his gaze forward, scanning the narrow trail. “I patrol. You hum. We both cope.”

She laughed, bright as morning sun. “That is almost a compliment, ranger.”

He grunted. “Do not let it go to your head.”

The path curved toward a thicket of mountain laurel. Branches shifted on their own, bending politely out of Cora’s way. Callum slowed, brow furrowing. He had trekked this route a hundred times and never once had the shrubs played doorman.

“You noticing this?” he muttered.

Cora trailed fingers over waxy leaves. “The forest says hello.”

He stopped. “It speaks now?”

“In feelings,” she answered, stepping through the new gap. “Warm when it approves, sharp when it doesn’t. Right now it feels… welcoming.”

Callum studied the laurel. No wind. No visible magic. Yet the branches remained parted until he passed, then settled back with a whisper. A small shiver crawled along his spine. Awe twined with unease. The woods had always been alive, but this… this was deference.

“Forest never did that for me,” he said, trying for gruff, missing by a mile.

She flashed a grin. “Maybe it likes daisies more than brooding.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I do not brood.”

“You practice advanced scowling,” she replied. “Different skill altogether.”

A reluctant smile tugged his mouth. He bit it back, clearing his throat. “Stay focused. We check the wards near Hollow Creek, then circle to the lake. Any tug on the Veil, you tell me.”

“Yes, Captain Cross,” she answered, mock salute at the ready.

Since the tavern, she had seemed more herself around him and part of him was pissed at his cousin for that while the other half… well, he tried to ignore that part.

She kept humming as they walked. Birds picked up the tune, warbling in the canopy. Leaves above rustled like applause. Callum’s chest tightened in strange contentment. The lion inside lifted its head, ears angled toward her voice.

Mate.

He forced the thought away, lengthening his stride.

Tall trunks marched on both sides, oak and ash thick with summer green.

Sunlight dappled across her hair, turning strands to pale gold.

The breeze carried her scent, lilac and something warm, almost spicy.

He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself against the pull.

They reached the first ward marker, a smooth river stone wedged between twin maples. Runes glowed faint silver along its surface. Callum pressed a hand to the stone. The ward hummed back: stable.

“Looks good,” he murmured. “No fractures here.”

Cora knelt, palm hovering above the runes. A gentle pulse of light flared then quieted. “Agrees with you. Veil is calm in this spot.”

They continued, weaving deeper into the forest. The farther they walked, the more he noticed odd details.

Vines unclasped their tendrils so her skirt would not snag.

A cluster of mushrooms tilted like little hats as she passed.

Even the squirrel that usually chattered threats at Callum paused to watch her with bright curiosity.

She hummed a new tune, lilting, playful. He found himself stepping in rhythm.

“Tell me something about you,” she said suddenly. “Something not classified.”

He lifted a brow. “Like what?”

“Favorite food. Secret hobby. Anything.”

He adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “I write poetry.” The admission slipped before he could lock it down. What in the hell was he thinking admitting that to her?

Her eyes widened with delighted surprise. “Really? That is wonderful.”

His cheeks warmed. “It is nothing.”

“Not nothing. Words matter.” She nudged his elbow. “Will you share one sometime?”

“Doubtful.”

She chuckled. “Stubborn.”

“Careful, enchantress. Rocks up ahead.”

They crossed a rocky stream bed, stones slick underfoot. Callum offered his hand without thinking. She took it, fingers small but sure in his grip. Heat darted up his arm. He guided her across, releasing her as soon as they hit solid ground yet missing the contact immediately.

Something rustled to the right. He tensed, scanning. A young doe stepped from the underbrush, big eyes calm. It dipped its head toward Cora, then trotted off.

Cora’s smile softened. “Your forest is sweet today.”

“Forest is never sweet,” he grumbled.

“Maybe it mirrors who walks through it,” she replied, gaze flicking toward him.

He swallowed hard. Before he could answer, they reached the clearing by Hollow Creek.

Water shimmered between mossy banks. At the edge of the grass, another rune stone stood, taller than the first, lines etched deep and old.

He frowned, stepping closer. The symbol at its center matched the one from the quarry: claw for claim.

Cora slowed beside him, hum dying on her lips. “That wasn’t here before, was it.”

“No.” He crouched, fingertips brushing the stone. Cold bled into his skin, and a dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. “Fresh carving. Whoever is messing with the Veil is moving fast.”

Cora’s hand hovered inches from his shoulder, as if she wanted to offer comfort but hesitated. “Feel anything else?”

He closed his eyes, sensing. A thread of possessive magic coiled through the rune, faint yet unmistakable. It tugged at his lion, pricking territorial instincts. He jerked his hand away and stood.

“Same energy as the Binding Stone,” he said. “Meaning someone dragged it nearer.”

Her face paled. “Why drag it closer to town?”

“To weaken the Veil or tempt someone who carries compatible magic.” He met her gaze. “That thought puts my hackles up.”

She hugged her arms, voice low. “Whoever set this intends to feed on something dark.”

A flicker of dread crossed her face, but she said nothing more.

He caught the unease but chose not to press. “We’ll stop them.”

She managed a tight nod.

He took out chalk, drawing a temporary ward circle around the stone while murmuring an old lion-shifter chant. Golden light flared along the lines, locking the malicious rune in place.

“That will hold a day,” he said, rising. “Long enough for Edgar to brew stronger seals.”

Cora reached out, fingertips brushing his wrist. “Thank you.”

Simple words, soft and genuine. They sank deeper than they should have. He covered her hand with his, letting the warmth anchor him. The forest hushed, leaves stilling as if listening.

Mate.

The lion’s voice thundered behind his heartbeat. He stepped back, breaking contact, and picked up the trail toward Moonmirror Lake.

She walked at his side. Silence settled, gentle but charged. He caught her humming again, quieter now. The tune slipped past his guard, loosening knots tied tight since Tessa’s death. His lips curved before he could stop them.

Her head tilted. “Did you just smile?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed.

“Looked like a smile.”

“It was a grimace.”

She laughed, eyes bright with triumph. Something inside him cracked, and a low chuckle escaped.

They reached the lake as sunset spilled rose gold across the water. Fireflies blinked in the reeds; damp earth carried a hint of rain.

Cora sighed, stretching her arms. “I love this spot.”

He watched her silhouette against the glowing water, gravity pulling him closer. “Lake likes you back,” he muttered before sense returned.

She turned, smile soft. “Maybe because its guardian finally stopped scowling.”

He snorted, but warmth soaked through him. Twilight brushed long shadows across the trees. He faced the path home.

“Time to head back,” he said.

She fell into step. The forest parted for her again, branches bowing gently in their wake. Awe blended with wariness until he could not tell one from the other. Her lilac scent carved the word deeper with every breath.

Mate.

He clenched his fists, focusing on the steady rhythm of boots on soil. Duty first, heart second. Yet as Cora hummed the lake’s melody beside him, he wondered how long he could ignore the song rising in his chest.

They reached the cottage clearing. Fireflies spun lazy spirals around her flowers. She paused at the gate, turning toward him.

“Thank you, Callum, for walking with me.”

He nodded. “Stay inside tonight. Lock the door.”

“Yes, Captain Cross.” She gave a mock salute, smile bright.

He should have left, but lingered, eyes tracing the curve of her cheek. The lion pressed hard, urging him nearer.

“Good night, Cora,” he managed.

“Good night.”

He forced his feet to move. Behind him, the door clicked shut and her humming faded. Owl song and his pounding pulse kept him company while he walked the dark trail.

Mate, the forest whispered, leaves rustling the syllables overhead.

Callum set his jaw. Protect Hollow Oak. Protect her. The rest would have to wait.

Yet his lion was already planning the next patrol at dawn.