Page 6

LILLITH

L illith was cursed. Literally. Magically. Emotionally. And possibly cosmically.

And not just because of the soul-tethering or the fae prince with a flair for drama. No, this was worse. This was domestic .

She stood in the doorway to her guest room— her sanctuary of solitude, her sacred space of scented charm bags and books she never lent out—watching Dominic Kane stretch out on the freshly aired bed like he’d always belonged there.

“Don’t wrinkle the quilt,” she snapped.

He turned his head lazily toward her, hair a mess of gold and shadows against her sage-green pillowcase. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lillith muttered a ward under her breath just to keep her hands from glowing.

The house had sealed the moment he stepped inside the room.

Literally sealed. Golden runes bloomed across the doorframe in swirling script, locking with a satisfied sigh like a gossiping aunt who finally got the tea she wanted.

The air in the cottage shimmered faintly—content, as if it had been waiting for this exact arrangement and could now stop holding its metaphorical breath.

“It’s not weird at all that my house is matchmaking now,” she muttered, pacing into the hallway.

Behind her, Dominic yawned. “Pretty sure that’s just good architecture.”

“Pretty sure you’re just smug because my windows like you.”

“They do, don’t they?”

She glared at the kitchen door as it creaked open just wide enough to let the scent of cinnamon float through. “Betrayal,” she whispered at the woodwork. “I loved you.”

In the kitchen, the kettle started to boil.

Lillith dragged her fingers through her hair, trying not to combust.

They had no answers. No Hazel, no Twyla insight, no ancient grimoire that screamed “here’s how to uncouple yourself from a magically binding curse forged by an ex-boyfriend-level fae prince with issues.

” Just questions. Tension. And a growing headache shaped suspiciously like Dominic’s lopsided grin.

So they were going to have to do the unthinkable: get on with life.

That meant sharing a home, respecting personal space, and trying not to murder each other over whose turn it was to steep the night tea.

It also meant accepting the consequences of being two magically bound adults living in a town where privacy was a myth and every fence had ears.

She found that out the next morning.

She was elbow-deep in potion prep, her hair pinned messily atop her head and lavender stains smeared across her knuckles, when someone knocked.

Not a normal knock. A specific knock. The kind that came in sets of three, followed by a pause, then two more for flair.

“Oh no,” she muttered.

Dominic was shirtless and barefoot, sipping something out of a mug labeled “Emotionally Hexed But Hot About It” as he leaned in the doorway. “You gonna get that?”

“No,” she said flatly.

He grinned and opened the door for her anyway.

A blast of honeyed warmth hit her in the face.

“Good morning, lovebirds,” chirped Matilda Pinewick, the town’s most notoriously nosy baker and self-proclaimed Blessings Warden of Celestial Pines. She stood on the doorstep in a cloak embroidered with sugar runes, holding a basket that literally glowed.

“I brought you a mating muffin, ” she declared, thrusting the basket into Lillith’s arms.

“I’m not mated,” Lillith said through gritted teeth.

“Course not. Yet.” Matilda winked, eyes twinkling. “But everyone knows the cottage sealed and you two can’t leave at the moment. That’s a sign. My great-uncle’s barn did the same thing when he fell for a banshee.”

Dominic took a bite of his toast and didn’t even try to look innocent.

Lillith wanted to hex her own front yard.

Matilda’s eyes danced between them. “So... what’s next? Wedding? Naming ceremony? Or just the old-fashioned forest bonding under a full moon?”

Lillith made a noise that might’ve been a scream or a spell and slammed the door shut.

Behind her, Dominic chuckled. “So... muffins?”

She turned and hurled the glowing basket at his head.

By noon, three more people had dropped off variations of “blessing treats”—including a bundt cake that sang when you sliced it—and Lillith was ready to bury herself in her herb garden for the next decade.

She retreated to her apothecary corner, muttering to herself as she alphabetized the nerve-soothing blends.

Dominic had the audacity to follow, leaning in the doorway with that casual swagger she hated noticing.

“You okay?” he asked.

“No,” she muttered, not turning around. “I’m cursed. And now I have a song cake. This is my nightmare.”

He scratched his bicep, voice surprisingly quiet. “It’s not that bad.”

“You snore like a thunder god,” she said without thinking. “And you used my ceremonial towel to dry your hair.”

“It was fluffy.”

She spun, ready to unleash something scathing, but his expression stopped her.

He wasn’t grinning this time. He was watching her. Really watching her. Like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve, not a problem he wanted to avoid.

It unnerved her more than the curse.

“What?” she said, voice sharp.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Nothing. Just... you look different when you’re mad. Kind of like you’re about to summon a second moon.”

She blinked. “That’s not a compliment.”

“Sure it is.” His gaze dropped to her ink-stained fingers, then back up. “You’re powerful. You don’t hide it. That’s rare.”

She didn’t know what to say to that.

So she glared instead. “Stay thirty feet away unless you want me to enchant your shoes to squeak every time you blink.”

He held up his hands in surrender but didn’t leave.

The tension buzzed between them like a brewing storm, but it wasn’t the same sharpness it had been before. It was heavier. The kind that wrapped around her instead of barbing into her.

And she hated it.