Page 14

LILLITH

T he hearth had burned low by the time Lillith finished binding the last of Dominic’s wounds.

Golden embers popped gently in the quiet, casting flickering shadows across the worn edges of her cottage’s living room.

She didn’t speak, not because there wasn’t anything to say, but because the space between them was heavy enough with things she didn’t feel like acknowledging.

Dominic lay on the couch, eyes closed, shirt off, chest rising slow and steady.

The scratches from the shadow-beast still glowed faintly with the pulse of old magic, stitched now with warded salve and bandages she’d spelled herself.

Her fingers tingled from where they’d touched his skin—too warm, too alive.

She hated that he made her feel this way. That she kept finding herself caring in ways that had nothing to do with the bond, and everything to do with him.

She curled into the armchair beside the couch, not far, never far. The pull between them was constant—gentle tonight, like a thread made of breath. She could feel it humming through her spine. She let her head rest on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under her.

Just a short rest. Just until the tea cooled.

Sleep took her without permission.

When she woke, the fire had died to ash. Her neck ached. But it wasn’t the ache that caught her attention, it was the warmth in her palm.

Her fingers were intertwined with his. Her first instinct was to jerk away, but she didn’t.

His hand was large, calloused, his fingers curved slightly like they were used to holding something precious. Or someone. He didn’t stir. Just breathed in that quiet, steady way that meant he was dreaming deeply.

Lillith blinked slowly, then let her head fall back against the cushion. This was fine. This didn’t mean anything. They’d been through hell the last few days. It was just the bond, pulling them toward each other. Just… Her eyes fluttered closed again. And then she was no longer in her chair.

She stood in a garden she didn’t recognize. Twilight lingered over the trees, thick and golden, with stars blooming above her like wildflowers. The air was warm with jasmine and something older—something sacred.

Dominic stood across from her.

He wore a white shirt, unbuttoned and flapping in a breeze that didn’t touch the trees. His eyes were the same—golden, sharp—but softened at the edges with something unspoken.

She looked down realizing that she wasn’t in her pajamas anymore.

She wore a long dress, embroidered with ancient runes, the hem brushing soft moss. Her bare feet sunk into the ground like she belonged there.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not happening,” he said, voice gentler than she expected.

She took a step toward him. The air between them shimmered. The bond tugged, but not with pain. With longing.

“You dream like this often?” she asked.

He smirked. “Only since you started showing up.”

“This isn’t my dream.”

He tilted his head. “It’s not mine either.”

They stood there, caught in something fragile and luminous.

“I think we’re dreamwalking,” she said, frowning.

“Thought that only happened to bonded pairs.”

She hesitated. “It does.”

He looked as if he knew better than to say anything. What was there to say anyway?

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, and for once, her voice cracked.

“I know.”

“I didn’t want you here. Not like this. Not because of a curse.”

“I know that too.”

He stepped closer. Her pulse jumped. She could smell the cedar in his hair, feel the heat radiating off him.

“You’ve always been fire,” he said. “Even when I was just watching you from across from the tavern. Always too bright to touch.”

“And you were always trouble,” she murmured. “Golden, arrogant trouble that couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

He smiled. “That last part isn’t true, not anymore. But the rest...”

Another step. Now he was close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.

She didn’t. Neither did he.

“Why did the bond pull us into this?” she asked.

“Maybe it’s tired of waiting for us to admit what we already know.”

A soft wind blew through the garden. The stars shifted.

And then she blinked—and they were both waking, tangled on the couch and floor, dawn pressing pink light against the windows.

Her hand still in his.

She pulled away gently. His eyes opened. Neither of them spoke for a long moment. But everything had changed.

Something inside her heart had cracked open just enough to let the light in.

And Dominic was no longer just the lion who’d ruined her spell.

He was the man who shared her dreams.