Page 4

LILLITH

T he sun filtered through the pine trees like spilled honey, golden beams cutting through the morning chill as Lillith stalked down the cobblestone path with Dominic at her heels.

Not beside her.

Behind her.

Because if she looked at him right now, she might commit an actual felony. Or set his hair on fire. Possibly both.

Thirty feet. Thirty feet was the limit. Not a single inch more before the curse tightened its grip like a vise around their lungs and hearts. It was like being bound to a magical elastic cord—one she could feel tightening every time he lingered near a tree or paused to flirt with a butterfly.

And today?

Today she was already at a two on the murder scale before they even reached the diner.

“We really walking to the diner like this?” Dominic asked from behind her, voice low and amused. “Couldn’t we portal?”

“I don’t trust my portals when I’m cranky,” Lillith snapped. “Unless you want to end up in the realm of petty revenge spirits, you’ll keep walking.”

He chuckled. Chuckled. Like this was some kind of joke. Like her entire life hadn’t been flipped upside down by a rogue prince, a botched summoning, and the walking temptation currently making too much noise with his boots.

The Griddle & Glimmer appeared ahead, nestled between two oversized oaks and bathed in morning haze.

The café’s windows were fogged with warmth and cinnamon, fairy lights blinking lazily under the awning.

A carved wooden sign swung above the door, its lettering freshly polished: brEAKFAST & BINDINGS – COME FOR THE PANCAKES, STAY FOR THE MAGIC.

“Twyla better be here,” Lillith muttered, shoving the door open.

A soft chime echoed through the space as the scent of maple syrup and brewing stormroot coffee hit her like a nostalgic punch.

And there she was.

Twyla Duskroot stood behind the counter, apron dusted in flour, opal eyes gleaming like she knew everything . Her rose-gold curls were piled high in a mess that was somehow chic, and her wings flickered briefly into visibility before fading again.

“Ohhhh my stars,” she gasped dramatically, flinging her arms wide. “The doomed lovers arrive!”

“Twyla,” Lillith hissed.

Dominic grinned. “Doomed, huh? That’s dramatic. I like it.”

Twyla rounded the counter, flour-streaked and barefoot, like chaos incarnate. “I leave for one weekend to visit my cousin’s hedge coven and y’all get soul-bound? You couldn’t wait?”

“How do you know already? Is it that obvious?” Dominic asked, cocky as ever, leaning against the breakfast counter like he owned the place. That smirk, all slow confidence and golden-lion arrogance, made Lillith want to hex the wood right out from under his boots.

Twyla’s smile gleamed with wicked joy. “No, your betrothed sent me a message through firelight last night.”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” Lillith hissed, dragging out each word like a warning. Her voice was low but sharp enough to slice aether.

“And it was an accident,” she added through gritted teeth, shooting a mortified glance toward the trio of old witches sipping their rose-charm tea by the window, leaning in like a coven of enchanted pigeons.

“Lillith summoned a fae prince,” Dominic added like he was telling someone’s embarrassing middle school story. “He cursed us for fun.”

“Oh, sweetie ,” Twyla drawled, sauntering from behind the counter and looping her arm through Lillith’s. “You’ve got to stop collecting enemies like they’re enchanted baseball cards.”

Before Lillith could protest, she was yanked into a booth. Dominic followed—obliged by curse and circumstance—and slid into the seat across from them with casual grace, his thigh brushing hers beneath the table.

Twyla’s eyes twinkled like faelight. Lillith yanked her leg away, scowling.

“So,” Twyla purred, chin propped in her hand. “Tell Auntie Twy everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Lillith muttered, glaring down at the menu as if it personally offended her. “We’re cursed. We’re trying to break it.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow. “Speak for yourself.”

She whipped her head toward him, glare full of hexes. “Do you want me to test the exploding toe spell?”

Twyla snorted. “Oh, I’m sure you’re eager to be free of him. And here I thought you’d be thrilled to have a strong, shirtless protector at your side twenty-four-seven.”

“Twyla.”

“I mean, Lils… come on. You’ve spent the last decade treating emotional intimacy like it’s a dark curse. Maybe this one’s a gift-wrapped kick in the rear from the universe. Get laid. Loosen up.”

Lillith’s jaw dropped. Her whole body lit up in a rage-flush that ran from her collarbone to her scalp. “That is not helpful.”

Twyla grinned. “Oh, I think it’s exactly what you needed to hear.”

She disappeared into the kitchen in a whirl of rose-scented flour and sass.

Lillith sank into her seat like she’d been shot.

“I hate her,” she muttered.

“No, you don’t,” Dominic said, calm as ever, sipping from the water carafe. “You love her.”

“Not. Right. Now.”

He chuckled, and the sound stirred something traitorous inside her—something warm and dangerous that she immediately shoved down.

Twyla returned ten minutes later with a plate of waffles that could solve world wars—stacked high, drizzled in enchanted honey that shimmered like sunlit water, whipped cream sculpted into tiny stars.

Dominic inhaled his like a man cursed with hunger. Lillith pushed hers around her plate, appetite lost to fury and indignation.

“Alright,” Twyla finally said, sliding into the booth beside Lillith. “Real talk? You’re not going to break the curse with brute force.”

Lillith stiffened. “I can unravel it. If I isolate the spell threads?—”

“Nope,” Twyla said, popping the “p” with relish. “Thaloryn didn’t tie you up with ordinary magic. This is legacy bonding—blood-threaded, fae-woven, tethered to soul patterning and reinforced with proximity seals.”

“I understood like… half of that,” Dominic mumbled around a bite of waffle.

Twyla ignored him. “You and tall, golden, and aggravating are locked tighter than a moonstone vault. You’d need his consent, your willingness, and a celestial convergence to maybe break it.”

“I don’t need permission,” Lillith snapped. “I need to undo the curse.”

Twyla leaned in, suddenly serious. “You can’t. Not without unraveling part of yourself in the process. This thing? It’s not just in your magic anymore, Lils. It’s in you. All the way down.”

Lillith didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Because that was the part that scared her most. That this wasn’t just some tether. That it was changing her. Reaching into parts of herself she’d locked away long ago.

They left soon after, quiet on the walk home. Twyla had given her a cinnamon scone for the road, enchanted to soothe nerves.

It did not work.

Back at the cottage, Lillith didn’t hesitate.

She stormed into the front room, dropped her scone on the counter, and grabbed her chalk, her sigil knife, and every last thread of stubborn fury she had left.

Dominic followed, of course, lingering near the edge of the room with his arms crossed and a look that hovered between concern and curiosity.

“We doing more summoning?” he asked.

“No,” she growled, kneeling on the floor. “I’m breaking this curse.”

He leaned on the wall. “Didn’t Twyla say that’s impossible?”

“Since when do I listen to Twyla?”

“Since always.”

She ignored him.

The runes flowed from her like second nature—lines precise, energy taut as a drawn bowstring. Her voice dropped into the ancient cadence of spellcasting, every syllable tasting metallic on her tongue.

She spoke the binding’s name. She called to the old magics. She reached inward, felt the tether’s thrum, and pulled.

And the circle exploded.

White-hot light burst outward. The floorboards cracked. Smoke filled the room.

Dominic yelped.

She screamed.

And then the world went still.

Lillith lay flat on her back, blinking through haze, ears ringing.

“Are you okay?” Dominic’s voice came from above, muffled, worried.

She coughed. “I think I hexed the floor.”

He extended a hand.

She stared at it. Then, finally took it.

His fingers were warm, steady. She hated how good it felt and especially hated how natural it was to accept the help… from him.