Page 26

LILLITH

T he Whispering Woods didn’t whisper anymore.

They howled.

Wind tore through the ancient branches, dragging with it the guttural cries of things long dead.

The trees leaned in like sentinels, watching, waiting.

Magic pulsed beneath the earth, thick and unsteady, ancient veins of power throbbing just beneath the moss and loam.

The sky above had bled color, the moon hanging swollen and red, as though holding its breath.

And in the center of it all stood Lillith.

Her palms were braced against the cold, ancient heart of a stone circle carved by hands that had long since become dust. Blood streaked across the moss beneath her fingers—a crimson offering, a signature.

Her breath came in bursts, misting in the unnatural cold that wrapped around her shoulders like a shroud.

She’d called the Echo Spirits.

Now, they were calling back.

The air thickened, humming with energy. A tremor ran beneath her bare feet, and the trees around the circle began to groan, leaning in closer, closer. Sound fractured—voices layered upon each other in whispers, growls, cries, songs. Too many. Too old. Too furious.

They wanted something.

They always wanted something.

“Take it,” she rasped, arms shaking with strain. “My soul. My name. I don’t care. Just bring him back.”

The wind stilled. The temperature dropped. Then, from the thick mist coiled between the trees, a figure emerged.

She was barely there—smoke and starlight, a shifting silhouette with eyes like twin galaxies. The scent of old roses clung to her like a memory, something once beautiful now wilted and left to rot. One of the Echo Spirits. And not just any.

The oldest.

“You trade love for chains,” the spirit murmured, circling her with slow, soundless steps. “You bargain your fire for flesh.”

“I bargain for him,” Lillith spat, jaw tight.

The spirit halted inches from her. “You still lie to yourself, child.”

Her knees nearly buckled beneath the weight of truth.

“Please,” she whispered, the word trembling. “He’s in danger. I feel it—I know it. I can’t—” her voice broke, the breath hitching like glass in her throat, “I can’t lose him.”

The spirit’s eyes narrowed.

“Then let go of your fear. You cannot save what you deny. You cannot win while cursing your own joy.”

A deep pulse echoed outward from the circle. The trees bowed. The ground cracked beneath her feet.

Lillith pressed her palms harder to the stone, as though it could anchor her to this moment, to him . “I’m not afraid of loving him.”

The spirit raised one brow. “Then say it.”

She hesitated.

“SAY IT,” the forest screamed.

Lightning crackled above.

“I love him!” she cried, voice raw, splintering into the night.

The woods exploded .

Runes ignited in violent arcs of gold and obsidian across the circle. The air trembled. Her magic—once carefully controlled, precision-laced—now surged like a storm unchained. It flooded through her chest, up her spine, out her fingertips. She wasn’t just casting.

She was becoming .

The ley lines answered her call, binding her to them like a stitch woven by destiny itself. Gold laced with starlight spilled from her skin in delicate threads, like veins made of fire.

Snap.

She felt him.

Not the familiar pulse of the bond. This was him —Dominic—raw, open, screaming with silent agony through the veil that separated realms. His pain struck her like a blade to the chest.

“No,” she gasped. “No, no—come back to me?—”

The spirit stepped forward, and with a whisper as cold as the grave, pressed her lips to Lillith’s brow.

“Then take him .”

Light burst from Lillith’s chest.

She didn’t walk. She split through time and space.

Reality tore like paper as she cut through it, not with finesse but with need . Her scream fractured the dream-realm wide open. Shadows bled away as she fell through, a meteor of wild fury, fury born from love and fear and every ounce of power she’d denied herself for too long.

She hit the dreamscape like a thunderclap.

The veil warped. The stars screamed.

Dominic lay crumpled at the base of a rune circle, his body limp, eyes half-lidded, blood streaking down his face. Thaloryn stood above him—calm, immaculate, wicked.

“You’re persistent,” he said, and there was a curl of something cruel in his voice. Displeasure.

Lillith hit the ground between them, hands blazing. “Back. Off. ”

The prince turned, his glamour rolling over her like fog.

“Lillith,” he said, almost fondly. “You’ve grown.”

“That’s not my name to you .”

He stepped closer. “Isn’t it? You’re mine, and we both know it.”

She raised both hands.

Magic coiled around her like armor. The runes around Dominic shattered —their power cut mid-glow. The prince flinched.

She lunged, dropping beside Dominic. “Hey. Lion boy.” Her voice cracked. “Open those damn eyes.”

Behind them, Thaloryn snarled. “You think this is love? This wins ?”

Lillith didn’t look up. She pressed her magic into Dominic, a steady current of warmth and light. “No,” she said quietly. “But it fights. And that’s more than you’ll ever understand.”

He roared, raising his hand.

She met it with her own.

Magic exploded from her skin. Pure, wild, and laced with fire. It hit him full-force.

Thaloryn flew backward like a ragdoll, vanishing into the shadows he’d crawled from. Not destroyed. Not yet. But diminished .

The dreamscape calmed. The stars stopped flickering.

Dominic gasped as color rushed back to his face.

She touched her forehead to his. “You’re safe,” she whispered.

He squeezed her hand.

And though she couldn’t say it yet—not out loud—the truth thrummed through her blood like a second heartbeat.

She loved him.

And she wasn’t afraid anymore.