Page 30

CALLUM

T he cabin felt too quiet.

Callum’s eyes snapped open, senses flaring. The fire on the hearth had died to a faint orange glow, and dawn slanted pale light across rumpled blankets. His first instinct was reach, gather, protect. His hand met empty linens still warm with her heat.

“Cora?”

No answer.

He sat up, vision blurring for half a heartbeat from the crack Elric’s magic had put in his skull. Pain meant he was alive. Pain meant he had slept too long. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, muscles screaming protest, and saw the folded parchment on the pillow.

He knew before he touched it.

Callum,

I have to end this before Hollow Oak breaks. I need to face him alone. You cannot shoulder my curse any longer. Please forgive me for leaving while you slept.

You mean more to me then anyone ever has. Thank you for showing me what it’s like to be truly accepted.

Cora.

The words blurred as rage and fear crashed together in his chest. He stood, the note crumpling in his fist. She thought walking away would save them. She thought facing a blood-bound monster alone meant safety. For him, for the town.

She thought he would let her.

A low growl rumbled up his throat. He pushed outside, bare feet slapping the porch boards. The forest greeted him with charged silence. Squirrels hid, birds held their breath, the Veil itself felt off balance, like a door left ajar in high wind.

Her lilac scent lingered in the moss near the steps, bright and desperate, leading north. He caught it, lungs filling until they ached.

His skin rippled. Bones stretched. Pain lanced hot, familiar and brutal. Muscle reformed, fur erupted, claws unsheathed. He hit the ground on four paws, golden and massive, the lion finally given its head. The world sharpened to scent and sound, to prey and threat, to one clear purpose: find her.

He took off through the undergrowth, each stride devouring ground. Pine needles exploded under his paws. Branches whipped past. The rhythm of the hunt rode his blood, equal parts terror and fury. If Elric had harmed her, if she had sacrificed herself, he would raze the entire Forgotten Cut to ash.

The ridge trails were wrong. Ward stones that should have hummed silver now flickered red again, veins of dark magic spidering across their surfaces. Roots twisted, trees leaned away, and brambles grabbed at anything passing. The forest itself felt poisoned by the relic’s pulse.

He skidded to a halt at the charred scar where they had fought yesterday. Her scent veered west, faint but steady, laced with blood and something acrid, like burned hawthorn. The lion snarled. He pressed on.

Every heartbeat slammed memory against his skull. The last moments with Tessa, her body cooling beneath his hands, the Veil shattering while he watched helpless. He had not been fast enough then. He would be fast enough now.

He crossed a shallow creek, water splashing cool against his legs. Mud carried tracks: delicate footprints, quick and determined. No second set. She was alone. He scented again, caught the copper tang of blood drops, and ran harder.

The trees changed, bark bleaching paler, branches skeletal. The Forgotten Cut loomed ahead, a place where ley lines tangled and dreams curdled. The air throbbed with red static. His hackles rose, fur bristling. Each breath tasted of rust.

She was close.

Through the trees he saw the altar glade. The white trunks formed a ragged circle around the stone, now unsheathed and glowing, claiming. The runes pulsed like open wounds. And in their center, sprawled on the ground, lay Cora.

She looked impossibly small from this distance, green dress splayed like crushed leaves, blonde hair tangled with earth. No movement. No sound.

The roar tore out of him before he could leash it, a sound that rattled birds from branches and shook leaves free from limbs. Anger, grief, love, terror, all laid bare in one unholy sound.

He bounded into the glade, paws gouging trenches in the soil, eyes blazing amber. He stopped over her, nudging her shoulder with his muzzle, praying for breath, for pulse, for anything.

Her eyelashes fluttered. A weak exhale eased from her lips.

Alive. Barely.

The lion’s roar faded to a guttural snarl as Callum closed the last yards to the altar—only to slam to an invisible halt.

A wall of crimson energy arced up the instant his boot crossed the inner ring, cracking like lightning and flinging him backward onto the moss. Pain streaked through every nerve; the stench of burning ozone filled the glade.

“Cora!” He pushed to his knees, breath ragged.

She lay inside the circle, mere steps away, but a world apart.

The white trees had split their roots, exposing the relic completely: a stone altar half-buried yesterday now fully unearthed, runes blazing, red light roiling in a dome that wrapped her like glass.

Thin chains of scarlet magic coiled from the altar to her wrists, ankles, throat—ethereal but solid, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

Her back arched as a fresh wave of power ripped through the bindings. A strangled cry tore from her lips. Callum lunged again. The barrier met him with a blast of heat so fierce it blistered the skin on his forearm before he stumbled away.

“Stay out, beast,” Elric’s disembodied voice echoed from the runes, smug and distant. “Only the bound may pass.”

Callum’s vision blurred with fury. He paced the edge of the circle, fists clenched, every instinct screaming to shift, to tear, to save. Each time he tested the barrier, red lightning lashed out, searing flesh and driving him back.

Inside, Cora’s eyelids fluttered. Gold sparks tried to flare at her fingertips, only to be swallowed by the crimson chains. Tears slipped down her temples as she fought, silent and trapped.

“Hold on,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

She managed a faint shake of her head—warning or apology, he couldn’t tell. One word formed on her lips, silent but clear.

Run.

He roared in denial, the sound rattling leaves from the high branches. Outside the circle, the forest bent in the gale of his grief; inside, the relic pulsed brighter, savoring her pain.

Callum dropped to his knees, forehead pressed to the barrier so the scorched air singed his skin. “I’m not running. I swear on every star, Cora—I’ll break this. I’ll bring the whole damn forest down if I have to.”

Her eyes met his, shining with equal parts agony and gratitude before fluttering closed again.

The crimson dome pulsed one final time, then settled—quiet, impenetrable, humming with Elric’s renewed claim. Callum stayed rigid on the moss, throat raw, helpless fury pounding in his veins while dawn light bled across the glade and the scarlet runes burned their silent warning into his soul.