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DOMINIC

T he woods had teeth tonight.

Dominic Kane grunted as a briar snagged his arm, the claw-thin vine slicing through his rolled-up sleeve like butter.

“Damn woods,” he muttered under his breath, yanking free and sucking the blood from his forearm.

The forest didn’t usually bite unless it had something to say, and tonight, it was downright chatty.

The Whispering Woods weren’t just moody—they were alive.

Not metaphorically. The damn place pulsed with an old, humming magic that got real cranky when the moon was high and shifters walked its bones.

Dominic had been Celestial Pines’ Warden for going on six years now, and still, he couldn’t tell if the place respected him or tolerated him out of amusement.

Today? He was pretty sure it hated his guts.

He wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, golden strands of his thick, messy hair sticking to his temple.

It was supposed to be a quick sweep—check on a couple of adolescent nixies squatting near the Faelight Stream, make sure no curious tourist from the outside world wandered past the veil.

Easy work. Instead, he’d chased a rogue shadow creature halfway to the Ridge and back, only for it to vanish like smoke.

His lion stirred beneath his skin, restless, tail twitching with unease.

“Yeah, yeah. I feel it too,” Dominic said, stretching his neck until it cracked. “Something’s coming. But tonight? Tonight, we drink.”

He turned his back to the woods, which rustled in reply, and stalked down the moonlit path into town.

The Spellbound Sip was just as he liked it—warm, dim, and humming with enchantment.

Faerie lights drifted lazily through the rafters, casting sleepy glows over polished wooden tables.

The scent of roasted cinnamon beans, crushed petals, and just a hint of lake water perfumed the air.

That last part belonged to Nerrisa Tidewell, the café’s siren-owner with a voice that could talk a troll off a bridge and into therapy.

Dominic ducked inside, brushing dirt from his jeans, and sauntered up to the counter with the kind of swagger that made young witches sigh and older ones hex their glasses to fog up.

“Evenin’, Nerrisa. Gimme the lemon mist. Extra flirtation.”

She looked up from her steaming kettle, long silver-blue hair twisted up in a loose bun. “You’re flirting with the drink now, Kane? Dangerous game.”

“Nah,” he said with a crooked grin. “Just miss the way it looks at me.”

“You look like you wrestled a gator,” she said, arching an elegant brow. “Lose?”

“Draw. I walked away with all my limbs.”

Nerrisa chuckled, sliding him a tall glass of glowing lemon mist latte. As always, the foam shimmered like a heat mirage and smelled like mischief. He tipped her a wink, took his drink, and turned toward his usual booth and stopped.

Because instead of his booth being empty, it was glowing.

The back room, usually kept closed except for events or emergencies, had its door cracked open, and from within, a pulsing blue light flickered like a heartbeat. That wasn’t normal. Not in a place like Celestial Pines, where magical etiquette was stricter than a Southern grandma’s church manners.

Curiosity buzzed in his chest. Or maybe it was instinct.

He moved slow, drink in hand, feet silent against the wooden floor. As he reached the door, voices filtered out—low, rhythmic chanting, the cadence familiar but ancient. Fae magic.

Dominic’s brows pulled together. That wasn’t supposed to be here. The town had strict rules about rituals, especially the kind that glowed.

He nudged the door open with his boot.

And the world exploded.

The room was a swirl of runes carved in chalk and stone, sigils glowing with raw, uncut power. Standing in the center of the summoning circle was a figure he recognized instantly—even though he wished he didn’t.

Lillith Verdan.

Gorgeous, infuriating, sharp-as-glass Lillith, with her ink-dark curls flying wild and her forest-green eyes lit with fury and focus. She was barefoot, humming in an old fae dialect, arms raised as glowing vines snaked up her forearms.

She didn’t see him until it was too late.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” she shouted, eyes going wide just as a rune behind her blazed white.

Dominic barely had time to drop his latte.

The spell surged. He tried to back out, but his feet locked in place like someone had rooted him to the damn floor. Lillith swore—something in fae this time—and lunged for a grounding crystal, but the energy flared before she could grab it.

A searing light hit him square in the chest.

He gasped as pain—cold and hot at the same time—rippled through his bones. His lion roared, claws dragging against his skin from the inside out, tail whipping with primal rage.

Lillith’s scream echoed his. Then, silence.

Dominic blinked up at the ceiling of The Spellbound Sip, his back flat against the warm wooden floor, a bitter metallic taste on his tongue. The air smelled like burnt rosemary and old magic.

Above him, Lillith loomed—chest rising fast, curls wild, and magic crackling off her like she’d walked out of a lightning storm. Her foot landed square on his sternum with all the grace of a pissed-off goddess.

“You absolute idiot,” she snapped, voice edged with panic. “Who the hell walks into a live ritual?”

Dominic blinked up at her, still dazed. “I was lookin’ for a refill,” he said hoarsely, lips twitching despite the ache in his chest. “Didn’t realize the special came with rune detonation.”

Lillith's eyes narrowed to slits. “Of course it’s you. Kane, I had that warding matrix balanced to the atom. You blew a hole in it just by breathing near it.”

“Don’t flatter me,” he muttered, trying to sit up. A sharp thrum rippled down his spine. Not pain, exactly—but like someone had yanked on a string tied to his ribs. “You gonna stand there monologuing, or help me up?”

“I should hex you into a frog,” she snapped, but grudgingly pulled her foot back.

Dominic pushed himself upright with a groan. “What the hell were you even doing back there? That circle looked like it was humming in ancient fae.”

“That’s because it was ancient fae,” she said, brushing ash from her hands. “It was controlled. Until you strolled in like a lion on a buffet line.”

He squinted at her. “You’re dodging the question.”

“I was working,” she bit back.

“In a public coffee shop?”

“I rented the space, if you must know.”

Dominic leaned back against the nearby wall, still catching his breath. The magical blast had left a soft, blue shimmer lingering over his skin. His shirt smelled faintly scorched, and his lion was still growling inside his ribs, unsettled.

Lillith paced across the room, muttering in fae. Her fingers twitched with residual energy, and the sigils etched in chalk on the floor fizzled out one by one, like snuffed candles. For all her sharp edges, she moved with intent—every step calculated, every flick of her wrist purposeful.

She was chaos wrapped in control. Dangerous, brilliant, and way too pretty when she was mad.

Dominic watched her as she bent to examine a fractured rune near the circle’s edge. Sweat beaded along her collarbone, catching the low enchantment lights, and for a second, he forgot about the burning in his back.

“You’re staring,” she said without turning around.

“Wouldn’t be, if you weren’t glowing like that,” he said, voice low.

Lillith straightened slowly and turned to face him. Her cheeks were pink—whether from magic or something else, he couldn’t tell.

“Save your charm for the girls who swoon when you flex,” she said, arms crossing defensively.

He gave her a lazy grin. “Sweetheart, I don’t flex. I just am. ”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “Great. You’re injured and insufferable.”

“Not injured,” he said, though his body still thrummed with something not entirely normal. “Just... singed.”

“You absorbed ancient binding energy. There could be side effects.”

“Like what? Glowing hair? Random bursts of poetry?”

She stepped close, too close, and raised her hand to his chest—hovering inches from where the spell had struck. Her eyes were serious now, storm-dark and searching.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “The runes weren’t meant to activate like that. Not without a proper anchor.”

Dominic’s smile faded.

“And you didn’t have one?”

“I was the anchor,” she said quietly.

The air between them went still, like the room was holding its breath. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted.

She didn’t touch him. But her hand stayed there, palm hovering over the faint pulse still vibrating in his chest.

Then, with a sharp breath, she pulled away.

“Come on,” she said, already walking to the door. “We’ve got about ten minutes before Hazel shows up and starts quoting moon riddles about destiny.”

Dominic stood slowly, still watching her. “You sure you didn’t summon me on purpose?”

She gave him a glare over her shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kane. If I was summoning anyone, it would’ve been a demon with better manners.”

He smirked, trailing her out of the room. “So... your type.”

“Go to hell.”

“Already there,” he muttered, rubbing his chest. “And apparently, it’s full of hot, angry fae women.”

He stood, brushing off his jeans and glancing at the now-silent ritual circle. “What were you summoning?”

“No one,” she said too quickly.

Dominic gave her a slow look. “Lillith.”

“I said—” And then the temperature dropped.

Far away, in the woods, something howled.

Dominic’s lion pressed hard against his skin, snarling.

“Whatever you were tryin’ to call?” he said, voice low. “It heard you.”

She swallowed. “Let’s go.”

Before he could follow her our of the coffee shop, wind kicked up from the inside of the room, the door blew shit, sealing them off from the cafe and the candles went out.