Page 15

CORA

M orning mist clung to Moonmirror Lake like spun glass.

Sunlight tried to elbow through, turning each veil of vapor pearly pink.

Cora stood on the narrow shore path, hugging herself against the early chill.

A kingfisher cried once before diving for breakfast. Ripples shivered across the water, then went still again.

Callum crouched a few paces away, testing the fresh chalk line he had laid last night to reinforce the lakeside ward. The white ring still glowed faint gold, proof his lion chant remained strong. He straightened, stretching those broad shoulders under a dark t-shirt that fit him unfairly well.

“All clear here,” he said, voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Veil feels steady.”

Cora let out a breath she had not realized she held. “Good. Maybe whoever carved the claim rune backed off.”

He grunted, clearly unconvinced. “Or they are waiting for us to relax.”

She did not argue. Her skin still buzzed with yesterday’s discovery, the Binding Stone runes circling her thoughts like restless moths.

She wanted to blurt out everything about the warlock who might be hunting her, the blood magic that still tugged at her veins but fear kept the confession trapped behind her teeth.

Not yet. She needed to understand more first.

Callum lifted his head, nostrils flaring. “You feel that?”

Wind stirred the trees, ruffling the lake surface. A low vibration danced through the soil, as if unseen footsteps approached. The hairs on Cora’s arms lifted.

“Wild magic surge,” she whispered.

“Back,” he ordered, but the ground bucked before they could move. A pulse shot from the lake, a wave of raw energy rolling across the shore. It slammed into them like invisible wind. Cora yelped, stumbling. Callum lunged to catch her, but a second pulse hit and tossed them both off balance.

Water leapt from the lake in a glittering arc, swept them off the path, and dragged them into a shallow cove. Cold slapped Cora’s skin, stole her breath. She surfaced sputtering, hair plastered over her eyes.

Next to her, Callum popped up with a savage growl, shaking water from his face. His blue eyes, bright with amber, scanned for danger. When no further surge came, he looked at her, expression shifting from warrior to exasperated guardian.

“You all right?” he barked.

Cora coughed, then laughed despite the chill. “Better than my dignity.”

He blinked, a startled huff leaving him. “You find this funny?”

“We just got dunked by a temperamental lake. Either laugh or cry.” She pushed soggy curls back, grinning through shivers.

A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. “Fine. It was a little funny.”

She splashed lightly at his arm. “A little?”

Before he could reply, the water around them stilled, turning mirror smooth. Sun skittered over the surface, throwing coins of light onto their faces. The hush felt deep, like the world held its breath.

Cora’s laughter faded. She realized how close they were, only an arm’s length, both half-submerged, shirts clinging to skin. Water droplets traced the line of his jaw. His hair, darker when wet, curled at his nape. Her amused grin slipped into something softer.

Callum must have felt the shift too. The teasing spark in his eyes settled into careful intensity. Water lapped quietly between them while mossy scents rose from the bank. Time seemed to stretch, suspended between heartbeat and breath.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. She waited, unsure what she wanted him to say. An apology? A joke? Something true? The lion in his gaze flickered, wild and searching. She wished she could read him, wished she knew if the flutter in her chest was mirrored in his.

Silence pressed in, intimate and dizzying.

Her mind flashed to Elric, to chains of blood magic and the fear that he might already be near.

She almost confessed right then, words bubbling behind her tongue, but uncertainty strangled them.

If Callum knew the truth, would he look at her like this or with the same caution he held for every threat to the Veil?

She swallowed, breaking eye contact first. “We should dry off before we freeze.”

Callum blinked, like a spell had cracked. He cleared his throat. “My cabin’s closer than your cottage. Clothes, fire, hot coffee.”

Cora nodded quickly. “Lead the way.”

They waded toward the bank, water tugging at their calves.

Callum offered his hand; she hesitated only a second before slipping damp fingers into his larger grip.

He hauled her onto the muddy bank with ease, his touch warm even soaked through.

The moment she stood, he released her, returning to that polite distance that frustrated and relieved her all at once.

They trudged along a narrow deer trail that snaked through ferns and jack-in-the-pulpits. Their clothes dripped, leaving dark spots on packed earth. Cora hugged herself, teeth chattering lightly. Callum kept pace, eyes sweeping the forest with practiced vigilance.

“Lake never tossed me like that,” he muttered.

“She might be warning us,” Cora said through a shiver. “Or shaking loose whatever energy built up from yesterday.”

He glanced at her damp form, then stripped off his outer shirt in one motion and handed it over. “Put this on. Your lips are blue.”

She stared. The shirt was dark gray, heavy cotton, soaked but warmer than her thin, clingy tee. “What about you?”

“Lion runs hot.” He lifted a brow, not taking no for an answer.

She slid the garment over her head. It hung past her thighs, smelling of him even wet. The scent wrapped her like a secret, chased away the chill. “Thank you.”

He shrugged, pretending the gesture was nothing, though a faint flush warmed his cheekbones.

A wooden cabin appeared through the trees, tucked against a rocky rise. Smoke puffed weakly from the chimney, evidence of a banking fire left earlier. He pushed open the door, ushered her inside.

The interior was simple, tidy. A river-stone hearth dominated one wall, ember glow spilling across sturdy furnishings.

Shelves lined with worn books and bundles of dried herbs hinted at a life of quiet routines.

On a side table sat a battered leather notebook, a pencil tucked into its spine. Poetry, she remembered Maeve saying.

“Sit by the hearth,” he ordered gently. “I’ll grab blankets.”

Cora obeyed, settling on a plaid sofa. Heat from the embers seeped into her chilled bones.

She peeled off shoes and wrung water from her braid, watching Callum stride to a wooden chest, muscles rippling beneath the thin undershirt he still wore.

He returned with two wool blankets, draping one around her shoulders, the other around himself.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Please.”

He busied himself at a small stove, filling a kettle. The domestic scene felt surreal—guardian lion preparing coffee for the fae stray he’d sworn to supervise. Cora tucked her feet under the blanket, gaze flicking to the notebook again. Curiosity itched her fingers.

“Do you ever share your poems?” she ventured.

A pause. Water gurgled into the kettle. “Never.”

“Not even with Maeve?”

“Especially not with Maeve.” He faced her, expression unreadable. “Words get twisted once they leave the page.”

She smiled softly. “They can also heal.”

He looked away, tinder snapping under kettle heat. “Some wounds stay.”

She bit her lip, remembering Maeve’s story of Tessa.

Pain thrummed behind his calm like buried coal.

She wanted to reach across the room, strip away every guarded layer, promise he did not have to hurt alone.

Yet her own secrets weighed heavy. How could she ask his trust when she still hid half her truth?

The kettle whistled. He poured coffee into two chipped mugs, added honey to hers without asking. When he handed it over, steam fogged the air between them.

She took a sip, warmth spiraling through her chest. “Perfect.”

He lowered himself into the armchair opposite, mug cradled in big hands. Silence settled, but it felt different now—softer, less crowded by what-ifs. Firelight painted gold across his face, highlighting the curve of his cheek, the steady line of his jaw.

“Thank you,” she said again, voice low. “For everything today.”

He nodded. “Part of the job.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, meeting his gaze. “But you go beyond the job.”

His throat bobbed. “You make that difficult.”

She laughed lightly. “In a good way, I hope.”

An almost-smile tugged his lips. “Still deciding.”

They sipped coffee, letting the lake’s chill melt away. Outside, wind rustled pine branches, but inside the cabin felt cocooned, safe.