Page 4 of Furever Bound
But as she opened her notes app, something made her pause. The way the afternoon light slanted through the windows, the distant sound of wind in the trees, the scent of woodsmoke drifting up from the fireplace below—it all felt too precious to immediately translate into content strategy.
For the first time in years, Sera closed her phone without posting anything and simply sat in the quiet beauty of the moment. Tomorrow, she'd hunt down this mysterious historian and see what stories Hollow Oak was willing to share. Tonight, she'd try to remember what it felt like to experience something without immediately planning how to package it for an audience.
The mountain mist swirled outside her windows, and something about its movement made her think that maybe, she'd finally found the place where she could stop performing and start living again.
4
MADDOX
Maddox was deep in cross-referencing pre-manifestation energy patterns when someone began pounding on his front door with the enthusiasm of a caffeinated woodpecker. His pen stuttered across the page, marring careful notes about territorial preparation that had taken him three hours to compile from scattered reports.
"Seriously?" he muttered, glancing at Ember, who ruffled her copper feathers in obvious irritation. The phoenix had been helping him analyze the supernatural disturbances through their telepathic bond, and the sudden disruption sent waves of annoyance rippling between them.
The pounding continued, accompanied by a bright female voice calling, "Hello? Professor Thorn? I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was hoping we could chat!"
Ember fixed the front door with a glare that suggested she was considering demonstrating why phoenixes had historically been considered formidable creatures. Her telepathic commentary carried distinctly unfriendly undertones about unexpected visitors and their poor timing.
"I know," Maddox said, pushing back from his desk. "But if we ignore her, she'll probably just come back later with more enthusiasm."
His wolf stirred with cautious interest rather than territorial irritation. The building supernatural energy had his animal instincts on alert, and this unexpected arrival felt significant in ways he couldn't yet define.
The woman waiting on his porch was not what he'd expected.
She was a strawberry blonde storm armed with professional lighting equipment, a smartphone gimbal, and the kind of aggressively cheerful energy that should have made his wolf bristle with annoyance. Everything about her screamed outsider—from her designer ankle boots to the perfectly coordinated autumn-colored outfit that looked like it had been selected specifically for mountain photography.
But underneath the polished exterior, his enhanced senses picked up something else: uncertainty masquerading as confidence, desperation dressed up as enthusiasm, and beneath it all, a resonance that made his wolf sit up and pay attention.
"Professor Thorn! Hi!" She launched into motion before he could respond, extending a manicured hand with the practiced enthusiasm of someone accustomed to making first impressions. "I'm Sera Quinn. Miriam at the inn said you might be able to help me with some research."
The moment their hands touched, electric shock raced through his system like wildfire. Not just physical attraction, though there was certainly that, but something deeper. Recognition. His wolf's sudden, intense interest crystallized into something that made his breath catch.
Sera Quinn. This had to be the content creator Varric had mentioned, the potential catalyst whose arrival coincided perfectly with the supernatural energy building around HollowOak. But his wolf's response suggested she was far more than a simple trigger for manifestation.
"I'm working on this amazing project about authentic local culture," she continued, seemingly oblivious to the way that simple touch had tilted his world sideways. "I want to document the real stories of places like Hollow Oak, you know? Share the beautiful heritage with people who'd never otherwise encounter it."
The way she spoke about folklore made his academic instincts flare with protective concern. Not irritation, as he'd expected, but something deeper. His wolf recognized someone who belonged here, even if she didn't understand it yet.
"Folk-lore," she said, and Maddox winced at the pronunciation while noting how her enthusiasm seemed genuine despite the mispronunciation. "I'm thinking we could really bring these old stories to life with some careful documentation, maybe do some atmospheric shots that honor the traditional setting."
Behind him, Ember's hiss escalated to what could only be described as intrigued squawking. The phoenix's telepathic commentary flooded him with images of potential and possibility, her ancient wisdom recognizing something in their visitor that his human mind was still processing.
"Ms. Quinn." His voice came out carefully controlled, though his wolf wanted to step closer to this woman who smelled like vanilla and possibilities. "Folklore isn't content to be packaged for mass consumption."
Something flickered across her expression—hurt, maybe, or embarrassment—but she recovered with the resilience of someone accustomed to handling rejection. Her hazel eyes flashed with determination.
"Of course not," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to suggest... I have deep respect for cultural heritage. That's why I'm here,actually. I want to learn from someone who really understands these traditions."
Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it automatically before tucking it back into her jacket pocket. The gesture was unconscious, habitual, but something about her relationship with that device felt different than he'd expected. Less obsessive, more complicated.
"What exactly are you hoping to document?" he asked, crossing his arms. The motion emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and he caught her gaze flickering briefly downward before snapping back to his face with a flush that made his wolf preen with satisfaction.
"Well, Miriam mentioned that Hollow Oak has incredible legends. Spirits in the woods, mysterious creatures, families with special gifts." Her enthusiasm bubbled up again despite his obvious skepticism. "I want to capture the essence of mountain folklore, show how these stories shaped the community."
"And then share them with how many people?"
"I have about eight hundred and fifty thousand followers across platforms," she said, straightening with what looked like defensive pride mixed with uncertainty. "I know that probably sounds superficial to someone like you, but I believe in the power of storytelling to connect people. These stories deserve to be heard."
Eight hundred and fifty thousand. His wolf's protective instincts stirred as he imagined sacred knowledge scattered to digital winds, but something in her tone suggested this wasn't about exploitation. Her motivation felt more complex, more personal.
