Page 22 of Mane Squeeze
“It’ll destroy me. Again.”
The words hung between them like frost. Dominic didn’t look up.
“She doesn’t want this bond,” he said, voice lower now. “And even if she did… I don’t know if I can be what she needs. What if I mess this up, too? What if letting her in is the thing that breaks me this time?”
There it was.
The truth that’d been clawing at the inside of his ribs since the moment her hand first brushed his. Since the forest whispered secrets to her and his heart howled like it recognized her name.
“You’re not broken, Dom,” Rowan said gently. “You’re scared. And that’s fine. But love isn’t supposed to be safe. It’s supposed to be real.”
Dominic chuckled, a rough sound that caught in his throat. “Sounds terrifying.”
“It is,” Rowan said, grinning. “But you? You’ve already survived hell. This?” He tilted his head toward the house where Lillith’s voice faintly echoed through the walls. “This could be home. If you let it.”
Dominic looked down at the tea again. At his scarred knuckles and weathered hands.
“I’m scared I’ll ruin it,” he whispered.
Rowan laughed then, low and fond. “Welcome to being in love.”
Dominic choked on his tea. “Nope. Take that back.”
“Nope. Too late,” Rowan said, smug as sin. “You’re gone, big guy.”
Before Dominic could argue, the door creaked open and Lillith appeared, wrapped in a blanket, her face unreadable.
“We should go,” she said. “Markus gave me some things to try.”
Dominic stood. “You good?”
She hesitated before nodding. “Yeah.”
But as they walked home, barely inches apart under the whispering trees, her fingers brushed his once and it felt… nice.
10
LILLITH
Lillith had been staring at the same page for nearly fifteen minutes. The rune diagrams were starting to blur together like smudged chalk, the ancient symbols dancing in the margins of her book like they knew she was too tired to focus.
She shoved her hair out of her face and leaned her elbows on the table, rubbing at her temples with the heels of her palms.
Soul-binding theory, page 162 on the book Markus let her borrow. “Tether transference between unwilling participants may be temporarily muted by binding counter-charms involving shared emotional intent and equilibrium of power.”
She snorted. Equilibrium. There was nothing equal about this situation. She was a solitary fae with a sharp tongue and trust issues. He was a smug lion shifter who looked like trouble and smelled like warm pine and sin. They were a disaster wrapped in a magical incident—and somehow, the cottage hadn't exploded yet.
Progress?
The table in her cottage was cluttered with open tomes, scribbled notes, half-melted candles, and a single, sad muffin—leftover from the “blessing muffin” she'd gotten the day the cottage sealed itself. It was now too stale to eat but too blessed to toss.
Her finger traced one of the rune sigils she’d drawn in charcoal, her brow furrowed as she whispered the pronunciation aloud. It didn’t hum. Didn’t spark. Just sat there on the parchment, lifeless and quiet.
She sighed, sinking back in her chair.
The woods were whispering again. Or maybe it was just in her head. She didn’t know what was worse anymore—being stuck inside with Dominic, or feeling like the outside was closing in on them faster than either of them could decode.
A knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
