Chapter 18
DORIAN
Dorian had been looking for Ivy when Twyla found him near the stage, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced with obvious concern.
"She left," Twyla said without preamble. "In the middle of conversation, the guitar case clutched like her life depended on it. Said something came up."
"Did she say where she was going?"
"No, but she looked terrified. Like she'd seen something that scared her worse than anything in this world."
That cold knot of dread that had been sitting in Dorian's chest since finding the sigil-ash tightened another notch. "How long ago?"
"Ten minutes, maybe fifteen. She headed toward the Book Nook."
Dorian was already moving, threading through the festival crowd with predatory grace. His panther paced restlessly under his skin, every instinct screaming that his mate was in danger.
The Book Nook's windows glowed warmly in the darkness, and through the glass he could see two figures hunched over what looked like research materials. Ivy and Moira, their heads bent together in intense conversation.
He waited in the shadows across the street, watching. Whatever they were discussing, it was serious. Ivy's posture was tense, defensive, and she kept glancing toward the windows like she expected something to come through them.
Twenty minutes later, Ivy emerged alone, moving with the careful alertness of prey that knows it's being hunted. She disappeared in the direction of the inn, and Dorian counted to thirty before crossing to the bookstore.
"She's gone," Moira called before he'd fully entered. "If you're looking for Ivy."
Dorian closed the door behind him and turned the lock. "What happened tonight?"
"That's not my story to tell."
"Someone left magical residue at the festival stage. Binding sigils carved into the wood." He pulled the ash and wood scraps from his pocket. "I think it's connected to whatever sent her running."
Moira's expression sharpened. "Show me."
Dorian spread the ash on the counter, and Moira leaned forward to examine it. "Where's Lucien?"
"Upstairs. Why?"
"Get him. He needs to see this."
Dorian found his cousin in the apartment above the bookstore, reading by lamplight with that eternal cup of tea at his elbow. "Moira needs you downstairs. Something about magical residue."
Lucien took one look at Dorian's face and set his book aside. "How bad?"
"Bad enough."
They found Moira arranging the ash fragments in a specific pattern, her expression grim. "Look at this binding structure," she said as Lucien approached. "Recognize the signature?"
Lucien studied the ash for a long moment, then swore softly in what sounded like old Celtic. "Sebastian Crowe."
"You know him?"
"Know of him. Warlock who specializes in musical binding magic.
Creates contracts that look legitimate but contain clauses that give him complete control over his clients.
" Lucien's voice was cold with professional distaste.
"He's been on the Council's watch list for years, but he's careful.
Never leaves enough evidence to prosecute. "
"Until now," Moira said quietly. "Ivy found his calling card in her guitar case tonight."
Dorian's vision went blood red around the edges. "His what?"
"Sebastian Crowe was Ivy's manager. And her boyfriend." Moira's words were careful, measured. "He used magical contracts to trap her, control her performances, her voice, her life. He’s who she’s been running from."
The protective rage that rose in Dorian's chest was unlike anything he'd ever felt. His panther snarled silently, demanding blood, demanding the chance to tear apart the threat to their mate.
"Where is he now?"
"We don't know. But these sigils were fresh when you found them, which means he's close." Lucien gathered the ash carefully, already thinking like the hunter he was. "Probably scouting, trying to get a feel for the town's defenses before he makes his move."
"What kind of move?"
"Hard to say. Could try direct confrontation, could attempt to trigger the existing contract bindings, could go for psychological warfare." Moira's expression was troubled. "Men like Crowe don't like losing their toys. Especially ones that got away."
The casual reference to Ivy as a toy made Dorian's hands clench into fists. "What can we do?"
"Legally? Not much until he makes an overt threat or commits a crime within Hollow Oak's boundaries." Lucien's smile was sharp and predatory. "Practically? That's a different conversation."
"I want to know the moment he sets foot in this town again."
"And then?"
"Then we make it clear that Ivy is under the protection of people who don't play by his rules."
Moira studied Dorian's face for a moment. "This is personal for you."
It wasn't a question, but Dorian answered anyway. "Yes."
"How personal?"
How much was he willing to reveal? How much did they need to know to help protect her?
"Personal enough that I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe."
Lucien's eyes sharpened with understanding, but he didn't push for details. "Then we need to coordinate. No lone wolf heroics, no matter how satisfying they might be."
"I'm not planning anything stupid."
"Good. Because Crowe is dangerous, and he's had years to perfect his techniques. Underestimating him would be a mistake."
"What do you suggest?"
"Information gathering first. We need to know more about the specific bindings he used, what triggers might still be active, how deep the magical control goes." Moira was already pulling books from the shelves. "The more we understand about his methods, the better we can protect against them."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, we watch. We listen. We make sure Ivy isn't alone when she doesn't have to be." Lucien's expression was grim. "And we prepare for the possibility that Sebastian Crowe isn't going to take no for an answer."
After leaving the bookstore, Dorian found himself walking the perimeter of the inn, his enhanced senses scanning for any trace of unfamiliar magic or threatening presence. The building was quiet, most guests settled for the night, but he could see light in Ivy's window.
She was awake. Probably planning, probably afraid, probably feeling like she had to face this alone.
She was wrong about that last part.
Dorian found a comfortable position on the roof of the neighboring building, one that gave him clear sight lines to the inn's entrances and Ivy's window. The change came easily, his human form shifting into the sleek black panther that was his other nature.
From this vantage point, he could smell any approaching threats, hear any sounds of distress, respond within seconds if needed. Crowe might be skilled at magical binding, but Dorian doubted he'd prepared for the kind of physical protection a territorial panther could provide.
His mate was in danger. Everything else could wait.
As the night deepened around him, Dorian settled into the patient alertness that was as natural to his panther as breathing. Whatever Sebastian Crowe was planning, whatever magical tricks he thought gave him power over Ivy, he was about to learn that some bonds couldn't be broken by contracts.
And some protectors didn't negotiate.