Page 31

CORA

E vening light filtered through the bone-pale trees like thin ribbons, cool and fragile, yet the air inside the crimson dome felt fever-hot.

Every breath Cora drew tasted of copper and smoke.

Her wrists still stung where the chains of spell-light had coiled before fading to faint red cuffs that tethered her to nothing but pulsing air.

She tried to lift her hands, willing even a flicker of golden magic to answer, but the spell muted everything, sluicing her power into the altar the way a dam redirects a river.

On the far side of the circle Callum paced, shoulders tight, eyes glowing ember-bright as he tested the barrier again and again.

Each impact sent scarlet sparks flying, scorching his skin.

She watched every failed attempt with equal parts admiration and dread.

The forest watched too, leaves trembling overhead yet unable to interfere.

“Stop hurting yourself,” she called, voice cracking.

He pressed both palms against the barrier and the red energy hissed at his touch. “Not until it breaks.”

“Callum,” she pleaded. “You said you would find help. Please go.”

His jaw clenched, muscles rippling beneath sun-kissed skin. Anger and fear simmered in his vibrant blue eyes. “I am not leaving you with him.”

“He is not here.” Her heart thudded at the half-lie. Elric was not visible, but she could feel his attention coiled around the relic like a serpent ready to strike. “This field feeds on your fury. You make it stronger.”

He cursed softly, stepping back, flexing his burned hands. “I will be back with Edgar and the council. We will crack it open.”

She nodded, forcing a calm she did not feel. “Be careful.”

He met her gaze, something raw flickering there. She felt as if she knew what he wanted to say, and she did her best to show it back, not daring to speak the words aloud, especially with Elric circling them.

He turned, shifted in a heartbeat, fur rippling gold, then plunged into the trees. The moment his paws left the boundary line, the dome brightened, as if gloating at her solitude. The hush that followed wrapped around her shoulders like a damp cloak.

Cora sank to her knees, palms pressing the mossy ground. The altar pulsed a foot away, runes glowing with Elric’s claim. She closed her eyes, reaching inward, searching for even the faintest echo of her own power. It answered like a bird beating inside a cage, frantic but trapped.

“Talk to me,” she whispered to the stone itself. “You feel everything. You must feel me too.”

No answer came, but the red glow intensified, bathing her pale skin in scarlet. She drew a shaky breath, deciding words were all she had left.

“You feed on bonds, don’t you? On promises twisted by blood. Elric thinks he made me his. But I won’t be another link in his chain. Hollow Oak has been nothing except kind. If you need a sacrifice, take me, not the town.”

The altar sparked as if laughing. Heat licked across her arms, forcing a flinch. Still, she pressed on.

“I know magic chooses its own rules. But I offer a trade. My life for the safety of this place, these people. They never asked for my trouble.” Her voice cracked. “Callum never asked for my trouble.”

Tears blurred the trees, but she blinked them clear.

She imagined the cozy porch of Miriam’s inn, the taste of Twyla’s blackberry mead, the lazy curve of Moonmirror Lake at twilight.

She imagined Callum’s rough hands cupping her face, his scent lingering on her skin after dawn.

These images steadied her, even as the altar’s hum grew stronger, thumping like a second heartbeat.

She inhaled deeper, pushing her thoughts outward, hoping the Veil might still hear her through the cage. “Let his forest thrive,” she murmured. “Let the wards hold, the children grow, the council watch over their own daylight after daylight. Please.”

Silence at first, then a whisper of wind wound through the trees beyond the barrier. Leaves stirred in a small spiral, lifting a handful of dry needles that drifted downward again. She almost believed the relic listened, that perhaps some ancient consciousness lingered in the runes and roots.

But then laughter curled out of the altar like smoke.

Soft, mocking, familiar.

Cora’s stomach twisted. She forced herself to her feet, the red cuffs crackling at her wrists, and turned toward the opposite side of the circle. A shadow seeped from behind a birch trunk, pulling shape as it stepped into the glade.

Elric Durant looked unchanged since her nightmare vision: pale hair immaculate despite the damp air, cloak stitched with runic thread that shimmered faint red under the dome’s glow. His eyes, black as obsidian, glittered with amusement.

“Begging the stone to spare your quaint little village,” he drawled. “How charming.”

Cora steadied her breath. Fear coiled but she refused to back away. “I offered myself. Hollow Oak is innocent.”

“Innocent?” Elric smiled, slow and curved. “You think the Veil cares about innocence? It cares about strength. About appetite.”

He stepped to the edge of the dome. The barrier parted for him like water. He entered without resistance and the red cuffs around Cora’s wrists brightened in response. Pain zinged up her arms, but she kept her face neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a cry.

Elric’s gaze flicked to the spot where Callum had stood, the moss still scorched from his attempts. “Your lion runs in circles, but circles do not break chains.”

“He will come back,” she said, voice firm.

“Oh, I want him to.” Elric’s smile stretched wider. “Rage sharpens the binding. Every time he claws at the barrier, the link between you and the relic tightens. Your sacrifice, as you call it, will not preserve Hollow Oak. It will merge you with the altar, feed it eternal blood.”

Cora’s pulse hammered. “What do you want?”

“Only what was promised.” He reached for her cheek with gloved fingers, but a spark of instinct flared behind her ribs and she jerked back. His smile did not falter. “You belong with me. You always did. And with your power properly harnessed, we will rip open the Veil completely.”

Her stomach rolled. “You want to destroy everything. For what? A twisted fantasy of power?”

“For evolution,” he replied, as if discussing weather. “Fae, shifter, witch, warlock, human, all their magic free to mingle without that flimsy curtain. You should be honored to stand at my side when it falls.”

She spat at his feet. “I’d rather bleed my last drop into the dirt.”

“That can be arranged,” he said lightly. He glanced at the altar. “But first, I must inscribe the final sigil. Your lion may bring more friends. Let them watch. Let them learn futility.”

Elric turned his back to her, drawing a dagger from within his cloak. The blade gleamed silver in the red light. He knelt beside the stone, pressing the tip to a fresh patch of rune-scarred surface. As his blood met the markings, the altar shivered, the dome’s hue deepening to an ominous maroon.

Cora closed her eyes, tears slipping free at last. She thought of Callum’s promise, his roar shaking the glade. If she could hold on, if she could keep breathing, he would find a way. He always did.

But as Elric’s laughter rose, cold and triumphant, hope felt thin as spider silk.