Page 17

CORA

M oonlight slipped through the lace curtains like spilled cream, sketching pale patterns over Cora’s quilt.

She lay on her side, eyes half-lidded, still breathing the lingering scent of pine and hearth smoke clinging to Callum’s shirt.

The cottage felt gentler tonight, as if every beam remembered the warmth of his coffee and low laugh.

Comfort pulled her toward sleep even while nerves buzzed under her skin.

She drifted.

Wind whispered across her thoughts, tugging her somewhere between waking and dream.

The bed vanished. Cool night wrapped around her, damp and mossy.

She stood barefoot in a stretch of forest she didn’t know, trees hunched close like eavesdroppers.

Fog crawled along the ground, parting to reveal a stone altar rising from tangled roots.

The slab looked ancient, carved with curling runes she recognized from the quarry yet deeper, angrier. A jagged crack split the center. Through it pulsed red light, slow and rhythmic, like a giant heart beating just below the surface.

Cora’s breath caught in her throat. She took a step back, but the forest behind her shifted, trees leaning in to block escape. The altar beckoned, heat rolling off it in waves that smelled of singed cedar and iron.

Cora.

The voice slithered from the crack, soft as silk but heavy with hunger. Her name stretched, echoing around her skull. Her feet moved despite herself, carrying her closer.

Elric.

The second name hissed like a struck match, leaving the acrid taste of blood magic in the air. Fear knifed through her belly. She wrapped her arms around her middle, nails digging into her own skin.

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t own me.”

The altar thrummed harder. The crack widened, fissures branching like black lightning. From the broken stone, red mist seeped out, swirling into shapes—chains coiling, hands reaching. She smelled the spicy resin Elric favored, saw the gleam of his cold smile overlay the rock face.

Cora, come home. The words brushed her ear though no mouth spoke them.

She stumbled back until her spine hit a tree. Bark bit into her shoulders. The runes on the altar flared, bright as fresh blood. She raised trembling hands, trying to weave a shield, but sparks fizzled uselessly. Dream magic didn’t obey waking rules.

“Callum,” she breathed, desperate.

Light flickered near the clearing, warm gold struggling against red. For one flashing instant she thought she saw his silhouette, broad and steady, but the fog swallowed it. The altar’s hum rose to a roar, drowning every thought.

Cora. Elric. Cora. Elric . The chant pounded in her chest like twin drums, pulling her forward again. She clenched her teeth, fought the tug, tears stinging her eyes.

With sudden violence, the ground split. The altar sank, dragging the crack of red light with it until only darkness gaped. Her name echoed once more, distant now but certain.

We will find you.

The forest snapped back to silence. Fog thinned. She was alone.

The dream ripped apart. Cora jolted upright in bed, heart thundering so loud she half expected the cottage walls to tremble. She sucked in ragged breaths, damp hair plastered to her temples. The room sat quiet, quilt tangled around her legs, hearth coals glowing faint orange in the grate.

She pressed cold fingers to her racing pulse. “It was just a dream,” she told the dark, but the words shook. Dreamwalking had visited her before, yet never with such razor clarity. The smell, the heat, the voice… too real to dismiss as simple nightmare.

Outside, rain pattered on the roof, steady and soothing. She slipped from bed, padding to the small window. Lanterns down the trail glimmered like sleepy fireflies. Somewhere beyond the pines, Callum’s cabin light was long out.

He had trusted her tonight, shown a piece of himself no one in town touched. One line of poetry, raw and unguarded. And she, hiding her biggest truth behind small smiles, had taken it with grateful silence.

Guilt prickled. She had to tell him. About Elric, the blood binding, the possibility that the relic whispered for her as much as for any dark creature. Waiting risked more than her own skin. It risked Hollow Oak, and it risked the cautious bond growing between her and its lion guardian.

A branch scraped the windowpane, jolting her back to the room.

She rubbed her arms, chasing away the lingering chill of dream fog, and stoked the hearth until flames crackled bright.

Sleep felt impossible now. She made tea—chamomile and clover —hands steadying as the steam rose.

Sipping, she stared at the door, picturing the path to Callum’s place.

Ten minutes at most, even in mud. But knocking in the middle of the night would only set off his protect-first instincts and cloud the conversation with adrenaline.

“I’ll tell him at dawn,” she whispered to the quiet.

She sank onto the sofa, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, notebook balanced on her knees.

With shaking pen she sketched the altar, every crack, every rune—evidence for him, for the council, proof that the threat was more than her nerves.

When the drawing was done, she wrote two names beneath:

Cora Thorne. Elric Durant.

Ink bled slightly on the page, like fresh wounds.

She shut the book and hugged it to her chest, eyes burning.

Rain kept falling, steady hush against shingles, but even the gentle rhythm couldn’t lull her back to sleep.

She watched the hearth die down again, waited for dawn, and counted reasons to trust.

Callum’s steady hand on her wrist. The line of poetry shared in firelight. Maeve’s open laugh when she teased him. Miriam’s quiet faith.

She would add her truth to those gifts.

Outside, somewhere among the pines, an owl hooted. Cora closed her eyes, breathed in lilac-scented air, and waited for first light to break.