Page 10

LILLITH

L illith had been staring at the same page for nearly fifteen minutes. The rune diagrams were starting to blur together like smudged chalk, the ancient symbols dancing in the margins of her book like they knew she was too tired to focus.

She shoved her hair out of her face and leaned her elbows on the table, rubbing at her temples with the heels of her palms.

She snorted. Equilibrium. There was nothing equal about this situation.

She was a solitary fae with a sharp tongue and trust issues.

He was a smug lion shifter who looked like trouble and smelled like warm pine and sin.

They were a disaster wrapped in a magical incident—and somehow, the cottage hadn't exploded yet.

Progress?

The table in her cottage was cluttered with open tomes, scribbled notes, half-melted candles, and a single, sad muffin —leftover from the “blessing muffin” she'd gotten the day the cottage sealed itself. It was now too stale to eat but too blessed to toss.

Her finger traced one of the rune sigils she’d drawn in charcoal, her brow furrowed as she whispered the pronunciation aloud. It didn’t hum. Didn’t spark. Just sat there on the parchment, lifeless and quiet.

She sighed, sinking back in her chair.

The woods were whispering again. Or maybe it was just in her head. She didn’t know what was worse anymore—being stuck inside with Dominic, or feeling like the outside was closing in on them faster than either of them could decode.

A knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

She blinked. Glanced toward the door. Then frowned.

He wouldn’t knock.

“Lil?” Dominic’s voice came from the other side of the archway between the kitchen and dining room. “Don’t hex me, but I may have done something mildly thoughtful.”

She turned, suspicious. “Define ‘mildly.’”

He stepped into view with a grin and a takeout bag dangling from his fingertips. “Had Twyla deliver dinner. Before you turn into a cursed skeleton at the table.”

She blinked at him. “You… ordered me food?”

“I mean, technically I bribed her with a leftover piece of enchanted cheesecake. But yes. Food. For you.”

He walked the bag over and set it down with exaggerated care. “She said to tell you this is her ‘settling-down special.’”

“She’s insufferable,” Lillith muttered, already pulling out the container and catching a waft of roasted vegetables, herbed rice, and something that smelled suspiciously like magic-infused honey drizzle.

“And yet,” Dominic said, pulling out the second container and claiming a seat across from her, “you still talk to her more than anyone else in town.”

“Because she’s the only one nosy enough to keep up with me,” she said, but her lips twitched.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, the kind that didn’t press or prod. The kind that let the clink of forks and the occasional sigh do the talking.

Dominic broke it first.

“You’ve been at this since breakfast.”

“I don’t like being out of answers,” she said, pushing rice around her plate.

“Or control,” he added.

She shot him a look. “You wanna be hexed or hugged right now?”

“Depends. Does the hex come with dessert?”

She let out an annoyed sigh but she didn’t argue. Didn’t even scowl. That had to count for something.

Dominic leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You always been like this?”

She glanced up. “Like what?”

“Sharp. Tightly wound. Bristly.”

“Wow. Compliment me harder.”

“I mean it,” he said, voice softening. “You don’t let people in easy.”

She hesitated. Then set her fork down. “Where I come from, letting people in is how you get ripped apart.”

His gaze didn’t leave hers. “Same.”

She swallowed. For a second, the room felt smaller. Warmer. Like the fire had kicked up in the hearth even though she hadn’t touched it.

“You ever think,” he added, tone a shade quieter, “that maybe we got bound for a reason?”

“I think,” she said, voice tight, “that if there is a reason, it’s laughing at us.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe. But still.”

Still.

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, she stood, taking their now-empty plates to the sink. Her hands were shaking. Just a little. Just enough.

Dominic followed her, of course. Because he couldn’t not. That damned tether tugged like a leash every time he drifted more than a few strides away. But this time, she didn’t mind the closeness.

She felt his warmth at her back, not invasive, but steady. Present.

“You’re good at this,” he said, watching her rinse the plates. “Caring about things. Even when they hurt.”

She paused. “I don’t care about everything.”

“But you care about this.”

She turned slowly, water dripping from her fingers. “What ‘this’ are you talking about?”

He shrugged, eyes meeting hers. “All of it. The curse. The town. Me.”

Her breath caught.

For a second, neither of them moved. Then he reached up, brushing a damp curl from her cheek. The touch was barely there—light, reverent. Like he was scared to press too hard.

“Dominic…”

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m not asking for anything. Just…”

His hand dropped.

“…just don’t look at me like I’m the enemy.”

She exhaled. The air between them shifted. Thickened.

“I don’t,” she whispered.

Their eyes met, and maybe they were starting to see each other clearly.