Page 16

LILLITH

L illith hadn’t drifted off back to sleep. Not like Dominic had.

She’d lain there in the aftermath—bare skin against his warmth, the scent of him still clinging to her skin like a secret spell she hadn’t meant to cast. Dominic had drifted off with maddening ease, his breath slow and deep beside her, arm slung over her waist like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

And that was the problem. Because part of her wanted to believe she did. But the smarter part—the older, scarred part that remembered the High Fae court, and her father’s cold voice, and how it felt to be used like a pawn in someone else’s game—knew better.

So she’d waited. Until his breathing steadied. Until she could slip out from beneath him without waking him. Until the air stopped tasting like temptation and the press of his lips on her neck stopped echoing like thunder in her blood.

She dressed in silence, wrapped herself in a worn robe, and padded down the hall barefoot. The sigil he’d marked her with earlier still shimmered faintly against her skin, like moonlight trapped beneath her collarbone.

She didn’t dare touch it, because if she did, she might remember the way he’d whispered her name. She might remember the way she’d let her walls crumble. And then she might not survive the regret.

Not if this was just the bond talking. Not if what she felt, what he felt, wasn’t real. Not if it was only fate’s cruel idea of fun.

She shut herself in the study and summoned her grimoire again, fingers trembling slightly as she whispered the same words she’d whispered a dozen times already.

Break the bond.

The pages turned. Rituals. Oaths. Spells lined with fire and consequence. She traced each one with cold fingers and colder resolve.

Because she wasn’t going to let Dominic Kane fall for her just because they’d shared a bed and a curse.

If he loved her, if that was even possible for someone like him, it had to be by choice. Not magic. Not necessity. And certainly not because she’d made the same mistake she’d spent her whole life running from.

Letting someone in, someone see the softness beneath her sarcasm, the tremble beneath her strength. Letting someone believe she was worth staying for.

She pressed her hand over her heart, where his mark pulsed softly, steadily. And she made herself a promise. One more wall. One more spell. Just until she was sure, or at least until it didn’t feel like survival to pretend she didn’t care.

But peace had never been easy. It had been something she carved out herself, stone by stone, spell by spell, wall by wall.

And now Dominic—arrogant, golden, lion-hearted Dominic—was wrecking it just by breathing in the same room.

She hated him for it.

She hated how easily he’d made her laugh. How easily he’d seemed to see her as if she wasn’t broken.

She slammed the grimoire shut. The room seemed to exhale with her.

She didn’t turn when the door creaked open behind her.

“Morning,” came his voice. Sleep-rough. Warm. Unaware.

She forced her spine straight. “Don’t sneak up on me. Bad habit.”

“Didn’t sneak. You left the door open.”

She hadn’t. But she didn’t argue.

“I made tea,” he said after a pause.

She turned then, taking him in—barefoot, shirtless, his wound healing faster than it should thanks to whatever magic lingered in his blood. He looked… soft. Sleepy. Vulnerable in a way she hadn’t known he could be. And it made her all the more desperate to pull away.

“I’m busy,” she said, turning back to her desk.

A beat of silence. Then, “Right. Of course.”

He stepped back. Didn’t push. Didn’t ask. The restraint in that almost broke her.

When she finally heard him walk away, she pressed her fingers against the sigil on her skin. It burned.

Not physically. Not even magically.

Emotionally.

“Dammit,” she whispered, swallowing hard.

The tea he’d left on the table outside the door grew cold.

Later that afternoon, Lillith wandered the cottage like a ghost in her own home. Dominic had given her space—too much of it, really. He hadn’t flirted once. Hadn’t joked. Just existed nearby, quiet and careful, like a predator waiting for a sign.

And maybe that was worse because it meant he was hurting too.

She found him in the kitchen, trying to peel an orange with a butter knife. He looked up as she entered, mask sliding over his expression before she could read it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Famished,” she lied.

He slid a plate toward her without comment—bread, cheese, apples. Simple. Thoughtful.

She sat across from him and said nothing for a while.

The silence between them stretched again. Comfortable in one breath. Agonizing in the next.

Finally, she looked up. “Why didn’t you ask what I was working on?”

Dominic’s jaw tensed. “Because I figured if you wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

“I might be trying to break the bond.”

His eyes flicked to hers, unreadable for a beat. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” His voice was quiet. “Just disappointed.”

She swallowed, throat tight. “It’s not because of you.”

“It’s entirely because of me.”

“No,” she insisted, harsher than she meant to. “It’s because… I’ve seen what happens when people are forced into something they don’t want. I’ve lived it. I can’t be that person again.”

He leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, lived it? I thought you were from here.”

She gave a brittle laugh. “No one’s from here. Not really. Not the ones with magic thick in their blood and secrets stitched into their skin.”

He watched her, silent.

“I grew up in the High Fae court. Not the pretty parts, not the ballrooms and garden parties. The old parts. The ones with vows you don’t get to take back and fathers who forget your name unless it gets them power.”

Her fingers closed around the edge of her journal, knuckles whitening. “My father used me. Traded promises sealed in my name. Told me who I could speak to. Who I could marry. Who I should smile at, even when my stomach curled into knots. I was magic on a leash.”

Dominic’s expression shifted—no smugness, no flirtation. Just quiet, patient fury on her behalf.

“I was sixteen when I ran. Ended up here. Celestial Pines wasn’t on any map, and maybe that’s why it felt safe. The wards welcomed me. The trees didn’t ask questions. I could breathe.”

She swallowed, voice softening. “So when I built my life here… I built it to be mine. Completely. I didn’t want a bond. I didn’t want fate.”

“You wanted choice.”

“Exactly.”

Dominic was quiet for a long moment before saying, “You ever tell anyone that?”

“No,” she said. “Because most people see the sarcasm and the magic and assume I’ve always had it together.”

“You haven’t.”

“Not even close.”

The room fell into a stillness so deep it felt like time stopped.

Dominic stood. He rounded the table slowly, stopped beside her chair, and crouched until they were eye level.

“I never asked you to love me,” he said gently. “And I don’t expect you to fix this for me. But don’t shut me out because you’re afraid of something that hasn’t even happened.”

She blinked, breath catching. She wanted to look away, to retreat behind the ironclad walls she’d spent years perfecting—but he was too close, too real.

His hand rose, brushed a stray curl from her face.

It was so tender, so stupidly sweet, she almost cried. Instead, she whispered, “I don’t know how to let someone in without breaking myself.”

His gaze softened. “Then let me help. Just a little crack at a time.”

She let his fingers linger against her cheek. Just for a moment.

The walls didn’t fall but she did allow one of the bricks to shift.