Page 31

DOMINIC

T he world was quiet but not the peaceful kind. Dominic had known that, once, in the early mornings on the porch of Pines and Needles , mug of too-hot coffee in hand, the scent of pine curling through his thoughts.

No. This was the quiet that came after a storm had torn the sky in half. The kind that came when even your heartbeat forgot to echo.

He floated, untethered.

No pain, no breath. Just… cold. Until something warmer than fire pierced the dark.

Lillith.

Her magic hit his chest like a strike of lightning and a kiss from a god all in one. It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, wild, thrumming with everything she hadn’t said but had always felt. Her grief poured into him with her power, shaking the very threads of his soul.

Don’t you dare leave me. That’s what her magic screamed.

Don’t you dare make me love you just to watch you disappear.

He should’ve answered. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Until they came.

Soft at first. A breeze. Then whispers—layered, ancient. The Echoes. The same ones she’d summoned before.

He stood suddenly in a dreamscape. Or maybe he never had a body here at all. Trees made of mist towered overhead, and the moon hung low and pulsing with silver blood.

The Echo Spirits surrounded him like a council of shadows. None of them looked the same—some were too tall, some too thin, all with eyes that held centuries.

One stepped forward. The one she had told him about, the one who had kissed Lillith’s brow.

“She risks everything,” the spirit said, her voice the wind through dying leaves. “For you.”

Dominic clenched his jaw. “She shouldn’t have to.”

“But she did. Because you are hers.”

The words scraped something raw inside him. He looked down at his hands—empty, limp, human.

Another spirit drifted closer. “You have a choice, Dominic Kane. You always did. You can rest. Let go. Leave this weight behind.”

The weight of being tethered. Of carrying his pride like armor. Of pretending he wasn’t afraid.

“Or,” the first spirit said, “you can return. You can rise. You can love her the way she was meant to be loved.”

His lion stirred, slow and furious.

“She already knows what you are,” the voice whispered. “But only you can decide who.”

His hands curled into fists. The fog began to burn around him.

“She called you back,” another spirit intoned. “Now roar.”

The sound didn’t start in his throat—it came from the marrow, from every scar he'd earned, from every silent prayer he'd buried. It built in his chest like a gathering storm, the echo of ancient power stirring awake.

And when he let it loose, it wasn’t just a roar—it was a battle cry that cracked the very dreamscape.

Dominic surged upward with a thunderclap of sound and flame. His body arched in midair as muscle split, bone reshaped, fur cascaded across his skin like a divine avalanche. The shift was not just transformation—it was rebirth. Fire burned through every sinew, every nerve igniting with purpose.

He landed on all fours, claws gouging trenches into the war-scarred earth.

The ground trembled.

The Echoes vanished in a shimmer of mist, their part played. Lillith lay beside him, her hands clutched over her heart, tears streaking dirt-stained cheeks, breath suspended in awe and fear.

Her voice cracked. “Dominic?”

He turned and she saw him.

Not just the lion, or the man—both, now. Magic fused with soul. His fur shimmered with threads of midnight and starlight, golden flecks woven like sigils from her own spell. He wasn’t what Thaloryn had cursed.

He was what Lillith had chosen.

Behind them, thunder split the sky. Magic warped the clouds. And Thaloryn rose, reeling, but not broken—yet. Blood slicked his silken tunic. His silver hair was matted with dirt and gore. But his eyes—those glacier-sharp eyes—still burned with unholy resolve.

“You imbeciles,” the prince spat, his voice no longer smooth velvet but serrated glass. “You think this ends with a scream and a pet shifter?”

He lifted both hands. Glamoured fire roared into existence, an inferno shaped like serpents, like jagged wings of heat. Ley lines cracked behind him, spitting raw energy. Shadow beasts flickered around his feet, malformed and writhing, all of what was left of his army.

Lillith rose slowly, her body shaking but her spine straight. She stepped beside Dominic, her hand hovering above his mane, steady as steel.

“No,” she said, calm and clear. “It ends because you don’t belong here. Not in our world. Not in our hearts.”

Dominic growled, deep and resonant before he moved.

He launched like a bolt from a drawn bow, faster than thought, muscle and magic and intent all aligned.

Thaloryn hurled the fire and Dominic tore through it. Illusions bled around him, but none of them could pierce his vision anymore. The bond inside him, what Lillith had reforged, was a beacon.

This wasn’t about vengeance.

It was about love.

Dominic slammed into the prince, their bodies colliding like gods in a tempest. They tumbled across the field, Thaloryn clawing and shrieking in ancient tongues, trying to worm glamours into Dominic’s mind but they splintered against the lion’s will.

Dominic pinned him. Claws dug into soft, gilded fabric and the flesh beneath.

Thaloryn howled, thrashing.

“You don’t get to touch her again,” Dominic growled. “You don’t get to touch anything again.”

Thaloryn’s face shifted, glamour fraying. Beneath it: decay. A creature born of ambition and lies. Beautiful once, maybe. But the rot had settled too deep.

Dominic opened his jaws, and magic surged through him—Lillith’s magic, threaded with his own wild power.

He bit down.

The sound was final. Not just flesh torn— power torn. A scream erupted from Thaloryn that cracked the air and ripped through every living thing in the glade. His body spasmed, light exploding from within, and then he burst.

Not into gore, but into ash and silence.

The ley lines snapped shut behind him like a book slammed closed. The shadows he commanded screamed, and were gone, sucked into the void left in his wake.

Smoke rose. The earth hissed.

It was over.

Dominic shifted back, collapsing to his knees, gasping.

Lillith stumbled forward, her face slack with disbelief, awe, and something else—something like heartbreak that came too late.

“Dominic,” she whispered, and then she was in his arms.

He collapsed into her, letting her hold all his weight. Her fingers raked through his hair, anchoring him as she’d done before, but this time with nothing to save—just to keep.

“You came back,” she said.

“You called,” he rasped.

She pulled back, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. “I told you I loved you.”

“You did.” He cupped her cheek, thumb brushing the tear beneath her eye. “I felt it. In every damn pulse of magic you poured into me.”

She kissed him. It was deep. Certain. Like she was pouring every ounce of belief, of truth, into that moment.

“You’re mine,” she whispered against his lips.

“And you’re mine.” His voice shook. “Mate.”

The word hummed between them like the echo of thunder across a mountain.

A promise. A bond. And this time, not one cast by a curse or a prince’s scheme. But by choice. By fire.

And by love.