Page 12 of Mane Squeeze
Lillith was standing exactly twenty-eight feet away—Dominic had counted—leaning against a twisted old lamppost, pretending to chat with Rowan who had met them halfway up the road. She stood with her arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to sayI don’t care,while her fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against her sleeve.
To anyone else, she probably looked as calm as a moonlit pond.
But Dominic had been around enough apex predators to know when something was about to snap. Lillith’s anger was quiet and sharp, a blade wrapped in silk. She was fighting herself as much as the situation, and he could feel it—coiling in the air between them like a live wire.
She was circling her own cage.
And if he was honest?
He got it.
He wasn’t exactly thriving either.
This curse? It was a logistical nightmare. A veryintimate, veryinvasivelogistical nightmare. He couldn’t take three steps in the wrong direction without feeling a tightening in his chest like someone had set a hook in his ribs and started pulling. His usual flings had no patience for someone constantly looking over his shoulder at a furious fae shadowing his every move.
His reputation as a carefree, cocky ladies’ man? Shot.
His ability to sneak away for a one-night romp with the moon-bathed bartender from two towns over? Obliterated.
And yet... some part of him, the reckless, curious part, was kind of enjoying this.
Being tethered to someone who didn’t fawn over him, didn’t pretend to be impressed, whoglaredat him like he was a pest she couldn’t hex fast enough? That? Was fascinating.
She was the only woman he’d ever met who didn’t melt under his grin. Lillith Verdan was made of sharper stuff.
And she made the lion in him sit up andnotice.
But she was pissed. And he got it, obviously, he wasn’t thriving either.
Curses were inconvenient. Curses with physical distance penalties? Even worse. It was like being leashed to someone with a schedule that never aligned with yours. Dominic couldn’t go three paces without making sure he wasn’t pulling her off course. Couldn’t flirt with the charming new fae baker without Lillith glaring daggers through the poor man’s cinnamon roll tray.
His reputation? Shot.
His privacy? Nonexistent.
His peace? Gone.
And yet, part of him wasentertained.Being cursed into proximity with a woman who didn’t fawn over him, who fought back with wit and refused to flinch—yeah, it scratched an itch he didn’t know he had.
A door creaked open behind him.
Markus stepped out, tall and lean, his weathered face lined with years of magical study and a few things he’d never spoken aloud. His salt-and-pepper hair was tied back, sleeves rolled, hands stained with ink and potion burn.
“Come on in, Romeo,” he said, not unkindly. “Before your leash yanks you sideways.”
Dominic snorted and followed him inside.
The shop smelled like dust, old pine, and something citrusy he couldn’t name. Books lined every surface. Scrolls, too, some floating on the air like they were too dignified to sit on shelves.
“You want tea?” Markus asked, already heading to the back counter.
“Nah,” Dominic said. “I want answers.”
Markus raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He poured two cups anyway and handed one over with a knowing look. Dominic took it, grudgingly.
“So,” Markus began, sitting heavily in a creaky chair. “You summoned Thaloryn?”
“Shesummoned Thaloryn,” Dominic corrected, sitting across from him. “I just got in the way. Like a very attractive magical lightning rod.”
