Page 21 of Magic Unmasked

And yet, here she was, standing in the heart of the Duvall mansion, a traitor to her own people, her allegiance now uncertain.

Lilith ran a hand through her hair, her thoughts clouded with doubt. The scent of her surroundings—rich, earthy, and tinged with something darker—only deepened her unrest. The distinct aromas of fae, shifter, and demon magic mingled in the air,creating a volatile mix. It was the scent of unlikely alliances, of desperation, and of something more dangerous brewing beneath the surface.

Tensions ran high in the mansion. It was palpable in every glance exchanged, every whisper that passed between the sisters as they planned their next move. Lilith could feel Ronan’s presence just behind her, like a constant pull at her senses, a distraction she couldn't afford but one she couldn’t ignore. He hadn’t said much since they arrived, but she could feel his gaze on her, burning through the space between them, watching her every move.

She stopped pacing and turned toward one of the room’s large windows, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared out at the shadowed garden below. The moonlight bathed the flowers and vines in an ethereal glow, but even the beauty of the scene outside couldn’t calm the storm inside her. The tension in her muscles refused to release, her thoughts a whirlwind of conflicting loyalties and unresolved desires.

Behind her, she heard the soft creak of floorboards as Ronan moved closer, his footsteps heavy and sure. She didn’t need to turn around to know he was there; she could feel him, his presence like a storm at her back, threatening to overwhelm her every sense. The air between them crackled with the same energy that had been building since the first moment they crossed paths—a volatile mix of frustration, desire, and unspoken words.

“You’ve been pacing for over an hour,” Ronan said, his voice low, the deep rumble of it sending a shiver down her spine. “It’s not going to solve anything.”

Lilith’s lips tightened as she turned to face him, her violet eyes locking onto his golden ones. There was a heat in his gaze, barely restrained, and it matched the slow burn simmering inside her. “I don’t need advice from you, shifter.”

Ronan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a casualness that only made the tension between them more intense. His eyes never left hers, and that maddening smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You’re wound tight, Lilith. So tight you’re going to snap.”

“Maybe,” she bit out, “but that’s my business. Not yours.”

“Isn’t it?” Ronan took a step forward, closing the space between them just enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the wild scent of him that clung to his skin—earth, sweat, and something distinctly animalistic. “Because from where I’m standing, you, the Duvalls and Zephyr have dragged me into this mess, and now it’s very much my business.”

Lilith’s breath hitched, and she hated herself for the way her pulse quickened at his proximity. The tension between them was becoming unbearable, strung taut as if just waiting to snap. Every time he was near, her body responded, her magic pulsing in time with the pounding of her heart.

“Then you’ve got more than enough on your plate,” she said, her voice sharper than intended, though she couldn’t stop herself. “Maybe you should focus on that instead of watching me.”

Ronan’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. He took another step toward her, closing the gap even further, until they were mere inches apart. “Maybe,” he said, his voice rough, “but I can’t seem to stop watching you, can I? Any more than you can take your eyes off me.”

The admission hung in the air between them, and for a moment, Lilith forgot everything—the Duvall sisters, the High Council, even the looming threat of Oberon. All that mattered was the heat of Ronan’s body so close to hers, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn right through her, making her skin tingle with awareness.

Her hands flexed at her sides, the urge to touch him, to feel his skin against hers, overwhelming her for the briefest moment. But she shoved the feeling down, clamping a lid on it with an iron will.

“Is that supposed to intimidate me?” she asked, her voice softer now, edged with something darker.

Ronan’s lips curved into a dangerous smile. “No, Lilith. That’s supposed to warn you.”

Before she could respond, his hand shot out, catching her wrist and pulling her against him. The contact sent a shockwave of electricity through her body, and her breath caught in her throat as their bodies collided, his chest pressed against hers. She could feel the raw power in his frame, the tension coiled tight in his muscles, ready to explode.

“You can keep running,” Ronan growled, his voice low, barely more than a breath against her ear, “but we both know what’s going on here.”

Lilith’s heart hammered in her chest, and for a split second, she wanted to give in, to let the current of desire sweep her away. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

Her lips curved into a smile, sharp and defiant. “You think you know me, Ronan?”

In one swift motion, she twisted free of his grip and stepped back, putting just enough space between them to regain control. The air between them sizzled with tension, but Lilith held her ground, refusing to let him see how much he affected her.

Ronan’s golden eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and something else—something far more dangerous. But before either of them could speak again, the door to the study creaked open, and Maeve stepped in, her disdainful gaze flicking between them.

“If you two are done with this part of your foreplay,” she said, her tone dry, “we have a plan to figure out.”

Lilith shot her a sharp look, but Maeve’s expression remained unreadable, as if she’d been watching this back-and-forth between Lilith and Ronan for far too long. Still, the moment broke whatever spell had been building between them, and Lilith turned away, her pulse still racing, her skin still buzzing from Ronan’s touch.

Following Maeve as she led them to where the sisters had gathered, Ronan noted that none of their mates were present. “I hope this isn’t a girls’ only club.”

“Hardly,” snorted Maeve. “The girls are drained and exhausted. The boys have gone out on patrol to let them rest, but my nieces don’t know the meaning of that word so here we are plotting our next step.”

As they gathered round the table, Lilith could feel the tension between them—all of them—had shifted. It wasn’t just between her and Ronan anymore. It was in the air, thick and electric, laced with the unspoken fear of what lay ahead and the undeniable pull of the dangerous attraction between them.

Lilith forced herself to focus as Phoenix began to lay out their strategy. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but every time she glanced at Ronan from the corner of her eye, her pulse quickened, her thoughts wandering to the way his body had felt pressed against hers just moments ago.

The Duvall sisters, Ronan, and Lilith sat around the grand oak table in the center of the mansion’s library. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of magical wards flickering around the edges of the walls, but the atmosphere was thick with tension. Catalina was speaking, her voice low and commanding as she laid out the plan to face Oberon’s forces, but Lilith found it hard to concentrate with Ronan standing so close, his presence a constant reminder of the unresolved tension that still simmered between them. He seemed to sense that and got up, stretched and moved over against a far wall.

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