Chapter 5 - Cora
Cora fumbled with the bakery’s keys. Her hands trembled just enough to make the simple task infuriating, and she willed herself to calm down.
Normal. That’s what today was supposed to be.
She was back in Bellefleur, back at work, and if she could just focus on the smell of fresh pastries and the familiar routine of the kitchen, she’d be fine.
Right?
The door finally opened, and the bell above it jingled as she stepped inside.
The scent of sugar and butter wrapped around her like an old friend, and for a moment, she let herself believe that everything could go back to the way it was.
Before the auction. Before Grayson. Before her entire life had spiraled into something she didn’t recognize.
“You’re early,” Laila called from behind the counter, not looking up as she kneaded dough on a floured surface. Her friend’s hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she had a streak of flour across her cheek. It was so perfectly Laila that the scene made something behind Cora’s sternum ache.
“Figured I’d make up for lost time,” Cora responded, dropping her bag on the counter and slipping behind it.
Laila stopped kneading and turned. “You sure that’s a good idea? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Cora forced a smile. “Gee, thanks. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.”
Laila wiped her hands on her apron and crossed her arms. “I’m serious, Cora. You don’t have to push yourself. After everything with the auction—and the bond—no one would blame you for taking more time.”
“I’m fine,” Cora cut in. She winced and softened her tone. “Really, I just… I need this. I need something normal.”
Laila studied her for a long moment before sighing and motioning toward the back. “Fine. If you’re insisting, you can start by pulling the morning orders from the freezer. But if I see you wobbling, I’m kicking you out.”
“Deal,” Cora replied, grateful to move.
She disappeared into the small storage room, relishing the cool air against her skin.
The neatly labeled boxes of croissants, danishes, and muffins were exactly where they’d always been, a quiet reminder that some things hadn’t changed.
She grabbed what she needed, stacked the trays carefully, and brought them to the front.
The first hour passed in a haze of baking, glazing, and setting out displays.
It wasn’t until the bell over the door chimed again that she remembered why this had felt so important—Bellefleur was quiet this early, and the few regulars who trickled in didn’t demand much more than a smile and a cup of coffee. It gave her space to breathe.
“Morning, ladies,” a familiar voice called. Mrs. Jensen, a sweet older woman who came in every Tuesday, shuffled up to the counter with a warm smile. “How’s my favorite bakery today?”
“Better now that you’re here,” Laila said smoothly, winking at Cora as she handed over the bag of cinnamon rolls the woman always ordered.
Cora chuckled as the tension eased from her shoulders. She could do this. Friendly customers, quiet routine—it was everything she needed.
Until it wasn’t.
It started small, with a man she didn’t recognize stepping up to the counter. He was tall and broad, and his jacket was just a little too bulky for the mild weather. Something about how his eyes shifted around the room got her attention, not in a good way.
“What can I get you?” she asked, eyeing him.
He glanced at the menu above the register, then pointed toward the display case. “That one.”
“The Danish?” she clarified, reaching for the tongs.
“Yeah. Sure.”
She placed the pastry in a bag and handed it to him, and her fingers brushed his for a fraction of a second. It shouldn’t have meant anything. It was just a handoff, a routine interaction. But the moment their hands touched, she froze.
His grip tightened on the bag—just slightly, but the sight of his white knuckles was enough to send her pulse racing.
Her throat closed, and suddenly, she was back on that stage with ropes biting into her wrists and eyes staring at her like she was a prize to be claimed.
She stumbled back, nearly knocking over the tray of cookies behind her.
“Hey,” the man said, reaching out for her hand. “You okay?”
Cora didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The room felt too small and too loud, and her chest burned as she struggled to draw air.
“Cora!” Laila’s voice chipped its way through. A warm hand settled on her arm, and Cora flinched, pulling away and drawing back before she realized it was just her friend.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered. The customer was still staring at her with a look of both concern and confusion. She couldn’t tell if he was apologizing or just trying to figure out what had just happened, but she didn’t care. She needed him gone.
Laila stepped, offering the man a tight smile as she rang him up. “Thanks for stopping by. Have a good day.”
He glanced at Cora again, but Laila didn’t give him a chance to linger. She handed him his change and practically shooed him out the door before turning back to Cora.
“What the hell was that?” Laila asked.
“I don’t know,” Cora admitted. Her hands were shaking, and her chest still felt too tight. “He just—He touched my hand, and I—”
“You panicked,” Laila finished gently. “Cora, you’re not okay. You need to rest.”
“I said I’m fine,” Cora snapped, but the words lacked any real force. She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to will away the trembling. “I just… I wasn’t expecting it.”
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? You’ve been through hell, and now your brain’s stuck in survival mode. You can’t just jump back into this like nothing happened. Life is full of things you won’t be expecting.”
Cora hated how much sense that made. She hated the way her body had betrayed her, the way she’d felt so small and helpless in a place that was supposed to be safe. Most of all, she hated the pity in Laila’s eyes, even though she knew it came from a place of love.
“I can’t just sit around doing nothing. I need this. I need to feel normal.”
Laila reached out again, slower this time, and squeezed her shoulder. “I know you do. But normal doesn’t mean pushing yourself until you break. Go upstairs and get some rest. We’ll figure this out, okay?”
Cora’s pride warred with her exhaustion. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
Laila smiled and nudged her toward the back door. “I’ll bring up some coffee later. And maybe a croissant, if you’re lucky.”
Cora managed a weak smile in return, but as she made her way up the narrow staircase to her apartment, the weight of everything pressed down on her again. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it.
Normal, she thought bitterly. Right.
Cora dropped her bag on the small kitchen table and sank into the nearest chair, letting her head fall into her hands.
The quiet of her apartment wrapped around her, but it wasn’t comforting.
It was heavy. Oppressive. She had hoped coming home would make her feel better like she’d reclaimed some semblance of her old life.
Instead, the silence only amplified the whirlwind of emotions she’d been suppressing all day.
Her laptop sat in its usual spot, a familiar piece of her pre-auction routine. She reached for it with shaking hands, and her fingers hovered over the keys. She didn’t know exactly what she was searching for, but the bond loomed in her mind like a constant, invisible tether pulling at her thoughts.
How to break a magical mate bond, she typed.
The search results were a mess—vague posts from magical forums, scholarly articles about ancient bond rituals, and cryptic warnings about tampering with such connections.
Most of the information was useless and offered only dramatic stories of doomed couples or dire consequences for attempting to sever a bond.
Her frustration mounted as she clicked through link after link, finding nothing practical.
A forum thread titled Breaking the Unbreakable: What You Should Know About Bonds caught her attention, but the comments ranged from “Don’t even think about it!
” to “My cousin tried and ended up cursed for life.”
Cora groaned and slammed the laptop shut. “Great. Just great.”
Before she could sink further into her spiraling thoughts, a knock at the door made her jolt. Her heart leaped into her throat, the memory of Voss’ voice at the safe house still too fresh. But then Grayson’s familiar voice came through the door.
“It’s me. You never gave me a key.”
Cora rolled her eyes and pushed back her chair. “Do you ever knock without sounding like a cop?” she muttered, opening the door.
Grayson stood in the doorway, and his broad shoulders filled the frame. His icy grey eyes swept over her like he was checking for any signs of trouble. “Do you ever answer without looking like you’re ready to fight?”
“Maybe I’m just preparing for whatever ridiculous thing you’ve decided to say this time,” she shot back.
“I came to check on you.”
“Congratulations. I’m alive. You can leave now.”
Grayson didn’t budge. His eyes flicked to the table and the closed laptop. “What were you working on?”
“None of your business,” she snapped, moving to block his view.
His brows lifted, wrinkling his forehead. “The bond?”
Her silence answered for her, and his expression hardened. “You’re wasting your time.”
Her frustration bubbled over. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I forget to run my decisions by you first?”
“Even if you find something, it won’t be that simple,” he said, stepping inside uninvited. “Bonds like this aren’t meant to be broken.”
Cora threw up her hands. “Oh, great. So I’m just supposed to live with this? With you? Forever?”
“There are worse things, aren’t there?”
“Wow. You’re just full of comforting words today.”
Grayson leaned against the counter, but his calm exterior only fueled her irritation. “I’m not here to comfort you, Cora. I’m here to keep you alive.”
She bristled and scoffed. “I didn’t ask you to keep me alive. I didn’t ask for this bond. I didn’t ask for you.”
“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be tied to someone who fights me at every turn?”
“Then leave!” she shouted. “If it’s so unbearable, just walk away.”
Grayson’s gaze locked onto hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged with something she couldn’t quite place. His wolf stirred behind his eyes in the briefest show of something untamed lurking beneath the surface.
“I can’t,” he answered quietly.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because the bond won’t let me. And neither will my wolf.”
Cora swallowed hard. She hated how his honesty made her defenses waver, how the tension between them felt less like anger and more like something she didn’t want to acknowledge. She turned away, pacing to the other side of the small kitchen.
Grayson followed her with his eyes but didn’t move. “Starting tomorrow, I’m walking you to and from work.”
She spun around, her anger flaring again. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he said, his tone firm. “Voss has eyes everywhere. I’m not taking any chances.”
She threw her hands up. “The bakery is literally downstairs. You think Voss is hiding out in the stairwell waiting to pounce?”
“You think he won’t?” Grayson countered. “If he gets even the slightest opportunity, he’ll take it. And I’m not letting that happen.”
“Unbelievable. You already decided this, didn’t you? Without even asking me?”
“Do you want to die?”
“Of course not!” she shouted. “But I also don’t want to be babysat by someone who thinks he gets to control my life.”
Grayson stepped closer, and his towering frame made the kitchen feel smaller. “This isn’t about control. It’s about survival. You need to trust me.”
“You’ve done nothing to earn my trust. You dragged me into this mess, and now you act like it’s my fault for wanting out.”
For a moment, she thought he might argue. Instead, he took a slow step back. “I’m not your enemy, Cora.”
She let out a sharp exhale before she said, “Then stop acting like it.”
They stood in silence for a long moment, just watching one another. Finally, Grayson’s features softened, just barely, and he reached out as if to touch her arm. The movement was slow, almost hesitant, and it caught her off guard.
Her breath hitched as his hand hovered just inches away, and the warmth of his presence drew her in despite every instinct screaming at her to pull back.
A spark of heat flashed through her, and her skin tingled where his fingers lingered.
The sensation was subtle but undeniable, and she couldn’t tell if it was just the magic of the bond or something more.
He dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, and her eyes tracked the movement.
It sent a strange, almost electric rush through her, making her heart stumble.
His expression darkened, and his gaze flicked down to her mouth.
Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he might—
No.
Cora stepped back abruptly, breaking the fragile moment. Her cheeks burned, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“Don’t,” she stated. “Just…don’t.”
Grayson’s hand dropped to his side. He didn’t speak, but the weight of his silence was louder than anything he could have said.
Cora turned away, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. Her emotions churned in a confusing mix of anger, fear, and, God help her, longing.
A soft sigh filled the silence. “Get some rest. I’ll be back late, so I’m borrowing your key to get a spare made. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t trust herself to. Instead, she kept her back to him until she heard the door close behind him. Only then did she let out a shaky breath.
She pressed her hand to her face, letting the cool of her palms seep into the heat on her cheeks.
This wasn’t how her life was supposed to go.
She was supposed to be free, in control, and untethered.
But now, with Grayson in her orbit and the bond pulling at her in ways she didn’t understand, everything felt like it was slipping away.
Tomorrow, she thought grimly. Tomorrow, she’d figure out how to handle him—and herself.