Page 52 of Mane Squeeze
And yet she still hadn’t said it.
Not the word. Not even the admission. Not even the breath of a promise. The way she seemed to see him as if he were the only steady thing in her world—and then went silent.
He wanted to understand.
But tonight? He just needed space.
He hadn’t meant to walk past the thirty-foot limit. It just… happened.
The bond didn’t sting. Didn’t yank. Didn’t burn.
He frowned and checked the distance. Definitely more than thirty feet now. Still nothing.
The air shifted behind him.
Too quiet. Too still.
His instincts screamed a beat too late.
Dominic spun, claws half-formed—and slammed into a wall of icy, glamoured magic. It hit like a thunderclap. Not pain, not exactly. More like falling into a pool of silence, cold and heavy and empty. Like the air had been stolen from his lungs and the earth had dropped out beneath him.
He roared—half-lion, half-man—but no sound reached his throat. His limbs locked. His knees buckled.
A hand grabbed his arm. Slender, pale, and adorned in rings of silver thorns. The touch wasn’t gentle—it seared through his skin like it belonged to another realm entirely.
Dominic jerked, tried to shift fully, to release the lion that lived inside his blood—but something old and slippery coiled through his nerves, rooting him still. It was like drowning in someone else’s nightmare.
“Dominic Kane,” purred a voice like velvet smoke, cold and taunting.
He thrashed, but his body wasn’t his. He gritted his teeth, forcing his muscles to obey—but paralysis magic soaked through him, ancient and coiled like a vice around his spine. His claws flexed just an inch before going numb.
Glamour shimmered around him, distorting the trees, the sky, the stars. Like looking through fogged glass underwater.
The world bent.
The last thing he saw was the faint glow ofPines and Needlesthrough the trees—and he couldn’t even call her name.
He crashedinto the ground with a thud that rattled bone. His shoulder screamed. The magic held.
Dominic woke in a ring of mushrooms and broken moonlight. The clearing stank of sweet rot, moss, and blood magic. The glamour was heavy here, coiling around his senses, twisting light and space until up felt sideways and his breath came too shallow.
Chains of runes glowed faintly across the circle’s edge—barriers. Not just to keep others out.
To keephimin.
His muscles strained against invisible cords, every inch of him screaming to shift, to fight. But the magic was stronger than brute force—it was woven with intent, twisted to his name.
He wastrapped.
Thaloryn stood in the center, silver hair drifting like fog, his eyes burning with that eerie, otherworldly glow. His presence pressed against Dominic like a second atmosphere.
“Welcome,” the fae prince said smoothly, the smile he wore brittle and thin. “To your cage.”
Dominic bared his teeth, his voice gravel. “Come in here without your spells, see how long you last.”
Thaloryn laughed an elegant, hollow sound that didn’t touch his eyes. “Still the lion, even declawed. Charming.”
“You think glamour and tricks make you powerful?” Dominic snapped. “I’ve fought worse than you with nothing but my fists and rage.”
