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CALLUM

T he scent of lilacs clung to his shirt.

Callum yanked it off and tossed it across the cabin. It landed in a heap on the back of the chair, still damp with Cora’s magic and the faint trace of whatever the hell that moment had been between them.

He paced. Floorboards creaked beneath his boots. The fire had gone out an hour ago, but sweat still beaded at his temple like he’d run the perimeter of Hollow Oak twice. He rubbed the back of his neck and swore under his breath.

“You don’t want what I am.” The words had slipped out, harsh and final, but even now they rang false in his head. He didn’t regret saying them—he meant them. He just hated the truth sitting underneath it.

Because gods help him, he wanted her.

The kiss had cracked something open. She’d leaned in with soft certainty, and for a second he’d let it happen. Let himself want it. Her lips had tasted like heat and heartbreak. Her hands had moved like she already knew the rhythm of his scars.

And that was the problem.

He didn’t get to want things anymore.

Wanting led to Tessa, to blood-soaked forest ground and the sickening stillness of a body that didn’t rise again. Wanting meant getting soft. Getting attached. Getting shattered.

Cora was a storm wrapped in sunlight. She made the forest hum when she laughed. The Veil leaned toward her like it was listening. Everything about her terrified him in an addicting way.

His lion hadn’t stopped pacing since he walked her home the first time.

It clawed at his chest, insistent, growling mine even while he shoved the thought down.

She was temporary. A flicker. A breeze. She would leave like all things did.

He had learned that lesson, carved it deep into the marrow of his bones.

Still, when he shut his eyes, all he could see was her face.

“Shit,” he muttered, snatching his coat. The walls were too tight, the silence too loud. He needed a drink. Or a distraction. Or a damn exorcism.

The Silver Fang was quiet this early. The regulars hadn’t rolled in yet, and the fire in the hearth was still stretching itself awake. Maeve stood behind the bar, her dark hair pulled back in a short choppy ponytail, sleeves rolled, polishing a set of glasses like she’d been expecting him.

“Trouble,” she said without looking up.

He grunted, sliding onto a stool. “Is that what you’re calling me now?”

She set the glass down. “Nope. That’s what’s written all over your face.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You brood. Grumble. Stare at walls like they insulted your mother.” Maeve poured two fingers of dark liquor and set the glass in front of him. “And you only come here before noon when you’re unraveling.”

Callum took the drink, let it burn down his throat. “She kissed me.”

Maeve blinked, leaned on her elbows. “Ah. So the enchantress made the first move.”

He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.

Maeve studied him. “Did you kiss her back?”

He nodded once.

“And?”

He drained the rest of the glass. “Then I told her she didn’t want what I am.”

Maeve’s brow lifted. “Real smooth, Casanova.”

“She deserves better.”

“Better than what? A loyal, hardheaded ranger who’d throw himself in front of a cursed relic if it meant keeping her breathing?”

He scoffed. “She doesn’t know the worst parts yet.”

“She told you her worst.”

He looked away. “She’ll leave. People like her always do. She’s already been running. Why should this town be any different?”

Maeve crossed her arms. “Because she’s still here.”

Callum ran a hand through his hair, shoulders tight. “I can’t lose someone again, Maeve. I don’t come back from it a second time. You want me to be honest? She’s gotten under my skin. Hell, I think she’s halfway in my bones. And that scares the shit outta me.”

Maeve’s expression softened. “You’re allowed to be scared, Cal. But don’t punish her for staying when everyone else didn’t.”

He stared down at the bar. “She makes me feel like something’s still alive in me.”

“That’s not a weakness.”

“It is when it makes me careless. She’s lightning in a jar, Maeve. And the Veil sings when she walks.”

“Maybe that’s not danger. Maybe it’s calling her home.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He just knew the weight in his chest hadn’t budged.

Maeve leaned over and smacked his arm. “Get out of your own damn head.”

Callum grunted, pushing back from the bar. “Appreciate the therapy.”

“Come back when you stop being a coward.”

He paused at the door. “I’m not a coward.”

“You are when it comes to letting someone love you,” she said without heat. “Stop punishing the world for what you lost.”

Outside, the sun had crested over the pines. Morning birds sang in the distance. The scent of fresh bread floated from the bakery across the square, and his boots crunched over early dew.

He didn’t go to patrol. He didn’t head for the council glade. His feet found the trail to her cottage without asking.

Still, he stayed in the tree line when he saw her.

Cora knelt near the herb beds, fingers covered in soil, hair braided messily over one shoulder. She laughed at something one of the birds seemed to have said, her head thrown back, voice bright as their song. The breeze picked up, and the flowers near her gate seemed to sway toward her.

The scent of lilac hit him like a memory. His lion sat down inside him. Not pacing. Not growling. Just waiting.

Callum knew the truth even if he couldn’t say it yet.

She wasn’t temporary.