Page 11 of Furever Bound
"Two weeks," he told Ember, who listened with the grave attention of someone who understood implications. "Varric's giving me two weeks to make her understand without terrifying her into fleeing."
Ember's response carried images of Sera's growing comfort with supernatural concepts, her natural acceptance of phoenix companionship, the way she'd adapted to their academicpartnership without questioning the unusual elements she encountered.
"She's stronger than they think," he said, though his wolf paced with anxiety about exposing their mate to supernatural politics before she understood what she was agreeing to join. "But strength doesn't prepare someone for discovering that half their research subjects transform under the full moon."
His phone buzzed with a text from Sera: "Found something interesting in the historical records. Can we meet earlier tomorrow? I think there might be patterns we're missing."
The message complicated emotions. Her genuine enthusiasm for the research that was endangering her, her trust in him to provide honest answers he wasn't ready to give, her unconscious movement toward discoveries that could either save or doom them all.
"She's finding connections we hoped she'd find," he told Ember as they prepared to leave the glade. "But every breakthrough brings her closer to truths that could shatter everything if revealed too quickly."
His phoenix's response suggested that some truths were too important to delay indefinitely, especially when the alternative was allowing unconscious manifestation to spiral beyond anyone's control.
The walk back to town felt like preparing for war, though Maddox wasn't sure whether he was fighting supernatural manifestation, Council politics, or his own heart's demand to claim and protect the woman who had become the center of everything he hadn't known he needed.
9
SERA
Sera's discovery in the town's historical archives left her buzzing with excitement about her genuine academic breakthrough. She'd found documentation that suggested Grimjaw manifestations followed a predictable pattern tied to community stress levels and specific seasonal transitions.
"Look at this timeline," she said, spreading copied documents across Maddox's study table the next morning. "1847, 1923, 1956, 1982—all Grimjaw sightings, all occurring during October, all following periods when the community experienced significant upheaval."
Maddox studied her research with the focused intensity that made her pulse quicken, his piercing blue eyes moving between documents while his fingers drummed against his coffee mug in the rhythm she'd learned indicated deep thought.
"What kind of upheaval?" he asked, though something in his tone suggested he already suspected the answer.
"Economic stress, population changes, conflicts that divided community loyalty." She pointed to specific entries in the historical record. "1847 was the year the original mining families left. 1923 followed the influenza outbreak that killedfifteen residents. 1956 was right after the highway project that threatened to bisect the town."
"And 1982?"
"The year the federal government tried to claim eminent domain over the forest for a military training facility." She looked up from her notes to find him watching her with an expression that mixed admiration with something that looked suspiciously like concern. "Every manifestation period coincided with times when Hollow Oak's residents felt isolated from each other and threatened by outside forces."
"Impressive analysis," he said with genuine respect that made her cheeks warm with pleasure. "You've identified patterns that most researchers miss entirely."
"Because most researchers don't approach folklore as living cultural response to community psychology," she replied, settling back in her chair with satisfaction. "But that's what this is, isn't it? Grimjaw isn't just a random monster story—it's a manifestation of collective anxiety about isolation and abandonment."
The way Maddox went very still suggested she'd hit closer to truth than casual academic observation should allow.
"That's... one interpretation," he said carefully.
"It's the only interpretation that explains the consistency of details across different historical periods," she continued, warming to her theory. "If Grimjaw were just evolving folklore, the descriptions would change over time. But they don't. The creature appears the same way, in the same circumstances, following the same behavioral patterns."
"And what does that suggest to you?"
"That either the storytellers have remarkable collective memory, or they're documenting encounters with something that actually exists."
The silence that followed her statement felt charged with significance, and she watched Maddox's internal struggle play across his features as he weighed how much truth to reveal.
"Sera," he began, then stopped as his phone buzzed.
She was getting tired of being interrupted just when conversations turned interesting, but this time she caught a glimpse of the message before he could hide it: "Manifestation accelerating. Electronics failing in geometric progression. Need immediate assessment."
"Manifestation?" she asked, her journalist instincts sharpening with the scent of real story. "That's an interesting word choice for whatever's happening around town."
"Local term for unusual weather patterns," he said, but his dismissive tone couldn't hide the way his shoulders tensed with obvious anxiety.
"Maddox," she said, leaning forward with direct attention that had served her well in interviews, "what exactly is happening in Hollow Oak? And don't give me another academic non-answer about mountain atmospheric conditions."
