Page 26 of Mane Squeeze
She’d seen it.
She’d seenhim.
He tried to shift back. Pain lanced down his spine. He grit his teeth and forced it, golden light flaring around him as his body snapped and folded inward, leaving him kneeling in the mud, human again. Bleeding.
He staggered toward her. “Get inside,” he rasped.
“You’re hurt.”
“Not the worst I’ve had.” His voice was rough, but steady.
She didn’t wait for permission. She crossed the distance in three steps, reaching for him, trying to take his weight.
“You reckless idiot,” she whispered. “You shifted.”
He blinked down at her. “I what?”
“You shifted. Fully.” Her voice trembled. “I saw it. I saw you.”
And the way she said it—it wasn’t afraid. It wasn’t judgment.
It was awe.
The kind that came from seeing something you’d only read about in storybooks and half-believed might be real. The kind that curled into your bones and stayed there.
He swallowed. “Well. I didn’t want you to have all the dramatic moments.”
A shaky laugh escaped her, and she looped her arm around his waist, helping him toward the porch. He let her. It wasn’t a matter of pride. It was survival. But more than that—it was her.
Inside, the storm battered the cottage, rain slashing at the windows like knives, thunder crawling across the sky. The magic of the house held strong, but it hummed at the edges like it wasn’t sure how much longer it could stand.
She helped him to the couch, then stepped back, eyes flicking down to the blood soaking through his shirt.
“I’ll get the salves,” she said, voice tight.
He nodded, but stayed silent, listening to her retreat into the kitchen.
The wound throbbed, sharp and hot. Not fatal. But enough to remind him how fast everything could change.
That hadn’t been an ordinary storm beast. That thing had weight. Purpose. Rage.
“Someone sent that storm on purpose, to us,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he tried to not move too much.
Lillith looked worried for once, and he didn’t like that. He liked her answer even less.
“Thaloryn.”
The fae prince didn’t do anything halfway. And he damn sure didn’t send smoke wolves as weather decorations.
“This is about the curse. About us,” she almost whispered.
Dominic leaned back, letting his head hit the cushion. His chest ached. Not just from the wound. Fromeverything.
The shift. The storm. Her eyes when she looked at him—not with pity or fear, but something that looked dangerously like belief.
She’d seen the lion. And she hadn’t run.
He closed his eyes and listened to the storm.
