Page 33

CORA

T he dagger’s kiss burned.

A single drop slipped from the shallow cut at her throat and slid down to pool in the hollow above her collarbone.

The iron scent mixed with the altar’s heat, turning the air thick as midsummer honey.

Cora tried to steady her breathing, to stay upright, but the crimson cuffs dug into her wrists, siphoning every pulse of her power into the relic behind her. Her legs trembled.

Across the barrier Callum pressed both palms to the wall of red light. His chest heaved, eyes wild with fury and heartbreak. The moment the knife touched her skin he went silent, like grief stole every sound he might make. Now he seemed to breathe only through clenched teeth.

Elric’s smooth voice carried, each word sharpened for cruelty. “Your council pawns will not save you. They walk in circles of my design. The Cut bends to my will.”

Cora felt the earth shudder as he spoke. Somewhere beyond the white trees the wind shifted, returning on itself like a lost traveler. She pictured Maeve and Edgar smashing through brush that only regrew behind them, trails looping back to their steps.

Callum’s focus never left her, not even to glare at Elric. “Look at me, Cora.” His voice came low and fierce. “Stay with me.”

She turned her face toward him. The barrier wavered between them, warping his features, yet the intensity in his eyes cut through every distortion.

He saw her. Not the blood or the chain or the trembling fear.

He saw the woman who laughed in the tavern lanternlight, who coaxed flowers to lean toward her song, who slipped into his bed and called it home.

For a heartbeat she forgot the cuffs. She sank into the memory of last night’s hush, of his hand on her heart, of belonging.

Her magic flickered gold again—a tiny spark but real.

Elric clicked his tongue. “Ah, but that will not do.” He pressed the blade flat over the brand new cut and whispered in the language of binding.

Pain erupted. The cuffs flared scarlet, tightening until her breath came in ragged gasps. Gold sparks winked out, swallowed by red.

Inside her mind she felt the old chain reforge link by link, cold metal biting soul instead of skin. Memories flared: the ritual circle, his blood on hers, the way her magic had screamed but obeyed. She tasted fear, copper and ash.

“No,” she whispered. “I am not yours.”

“Yet you kneel in my circle,” Elric answered. “And your blood answers when I call.”

Cora’s knees hit the moss. She willed herself to stand, but the bond was a stone tower inside her chest, tall and unyielding. Across the barrier Callum slammed a fist against the wall. Lightning snapped across his knuckles. He did not flinch.

“Let her go,” he roared. “Fight me instead.”

Elric laughed, amused. “Why trade the gem for the gravel? She is the conduit. You are the lesson.”

He extended one hand, palm outward. The dome brightened to near white. Heat rolled over Cora’s skin, searing petals of agony rolling down her arms. She cried out—short, sharp. Callum mirrored the sound, voice breaking like a branch ripped from trunk.

“Look at me,” he begged again. “I need you to see yourself the way I see you. You are stronger than this. Stronger than him. We are stronger than this.”

The words cut through haze. She forced her chin up. Their gazes locked.

In his eyes she saw the version of herself he believed in. Not the hunted fae with a curse threaded through her veins, but the enchantress who whispered to seedling vines and coaxed wild wards to purr. She saw the woman who dared to love a solitary lion and make him laugh.

Tears spilled. Not from pain but from the sudden surge of courage that pushed against the chain. She clenched her jaw, tested her hands. The cuffs burned yet a crack formed in the red glow, thin as spider silk.

Elric felt it. His smile slipped. “Enough.” He turned the dagger, slicing his own palm. Blood dripped onto the altar. The relic shrieked, runes crawling brighter. Power roared up Cora’s arms, slamming her back against the stone. She bit down on a scream as the chain pulled tight again.

Callum pounded the barrier. “Stop it, you bastard!”

Elric cast one lazy glance his way. “Watch and learn what true control is.”

He lifted both arms, chanting. The blood on the altar spread like ink in water, tracing new sigils. Each stroke dragged at Cora’s core, siphoning pieces she did not know how to name—hope, memory, maybe love itself. Her vision blurred.

Somewhere she heard Callum’s voice, ragged with panic. “Cora, hold on. Remember the Inn porch. Twyla’s tea. The lake at sunrise. Remember us.”

She clenched those images like lifelines. The Griddle & Grind’s cinnamon haze. Miriam’s cardigan sleeves pushed up as she served pie. The hush of Moonmirror and Callum’s arm around her waist. The lion’s rumble against her back while he slept.

A new spark ignited deep in her chest. Small. Gold-white. She pictured cradling it in her palms. It pulsed once. Twice. The chain buckled. Pain lanced through but she welcomed it. Pain meant pressure. Pressure meant the metal might break.

Elric hissed, feeling the resistance. He stepped closer, dagger angling toward her heart. “Submit.”

Her lips parted, voice no stronger than a breath, yet steady as stone. “I choose me.”

The spark flared brighter, spilling gold veins across her skin. They raced to her wrists, met the red cuffs, and sizzled. The cuffs cracked, fissures of light breaking the ruby sheen.

Elric staggered back, surprise flashing across his perfect features. “Impossible.”

Cora gasped in more air. “The Veil chose Hollow Oak. And Hollow Oak chose me.”

Behind her words she felt the forest lean close, the white birch, the mossy oaks, the lake wind, even the distant hum of Twyla’s lanterns. Callum’s unwavering faith had opened a door. The town added its strength, subtle but sure, feeding the spark.

Elric snarled, raising the dagger. “Then you can burn together.” He slashed his bleeding palm through the air. A bolt of crimson shot toward Callum’s side of the barrier, warping the wall. Crack lines spidered, threatening to rip open.

Callum braced but did not retreat.

The blow struck the barrier. Red shards exploded outward, singing the ground with fire. Callum shielded his face, staggered but held. The dome wavered, half destroyed, half reinforced. For one dizzy moment Cora saw the two halves—his fury and her hope—fighting over the relic’s heart.

Elric turned back, fury warping his calm. “This ends now.”

He plunged the dagger toward her chest.

Cora raised her shackled wrists. Gold met red with thunder.

Blinding light filled the glade. The shockwave hurled Elric across the circle. The dome shattered into jagged arcs, sparks raining down like meteors.

When the glare faded Cora found herself still kneeling, wrists scorched but free. The cuffs lay in broken shards against the altar. Gold light hovered at her palms, no longer strangled.

She looked across the debris. Callum had fallen to one knee, a burn along his cheek, but his eyes met hers with wonder.

Elric rose slowly, cloak torn, hair disheveled. His dagger lay a few feet away. Blood smeared his palm, yet the smile that curved his lips made her blood run cold.

“Well done,” he breathed. “You severed the cuffs. But the chain lives inside you. Let me show your lion just how deep it goes.”

He extended his hand. Pain speared her chest. Her lungs seized, magic searing sideways. The gold flickered erratic, like a candle in a gale. She clawed at her own throat, choking.

Across the ruined barrier Callum roared, shifting mid-charge, golden fur bristling. He slammed the half-formed wall. It held—inches too thick.

Elric’s smile widened. “See? Even free, you are still mine.”

Cora screamed as the chain inside her twisted tight. Vision darkened, sound rushed away in a hollow roar. She felt her body tip, felt moss meet her cheek, distant and numb.

Through a tunnel she heard Callum’s voice breaking, screaming her name.

Then the world went black.