Page 60 of Mane Squeeze
“Back with me?” Lillith’s voice was soft but threaded with that familiar snark. A lifeline wrapped in thorns.
He blinked open heavy eyes, the low flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows across the ceiling of her cottage. Wooden beams. Herbs drying in bundles from the rafters. A cat snoring near the hearth.
Her cottage. Her world. And him in the middle of it.
“Ugh,” he groaned, trying to push up on his elbows, but finding his limbs unwilling participants. “Why does it feel like I got tackled by a tree and then stomped by a moose?”
“You got glamoured, fae-cursed, nearly soul-ripped, and fainted like a damsel,” she said cheerfully.
He squinted at her. “You enjoy this too much.”
She sat at the edge of the bed beside him, legs tucked under her, wearing a faded band tee and threadbare pajama shorts. Her hair was a mess—tangled, wild, gorgeous. Her eyes though, those were clear. Clearer than he’d seen in weeks.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he muttered.
She smirked, the corner of her mouth tugging. “That’s thrice now I’ve bandaged you up.”
Dominic grinned, despite himself. “Starting to think you’ve got a thing for broken men.”
“Starting to think you’ve got a thing for bleeding dramatically all over my rugs.”
“Fair trade,” he said, voice hoarse. “You saved my life.”
Her smile faltered then. Something softer curled into the corners of her expression. She reached for a glass on the nightstand and pressed it into his hand. “Drink. You’ll need it.”
He did, grateful for the cool water. When he handed it back, their fingers brushed. Static. Fire. More obvious than before.
The bond wasn’t there anymore. Not the magical tether that once snapped tight when they strayed too far. Butthis—this feeling? The heat of her skin against his, the breath they seemed to draw in unison?
Stronger. More real.
Dominic swallowed hard. “Lillith?—”
She cut him off, leaning forward. Her hands framed his face, fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “No more running,” she whispered. “Not from me. Not from this.”
He stared at her, chest hitching. “Are you—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Her eyes searched his face, as if memorizing every line, every scar, every shift in emotion. “I’m choosing you, Dominic. I don’tcare about curses or destiny or what Thaloryn thinks I owe him. I chooseyou.”
He exhaled a laugh that cracked apart at the edges, raw with disbelief and awe. “You’re sure?”
She nodded once. “I’m done hiding behind what hurt me. I want something real. Even if it scares me.”
“Everything worth having does,” he murmured.
She kissed him then like she meant it. Like everything she hadn’t been able to say was being said in that one action. Like she’d been holding back for too long and finally—finally—the gates had opened.
Dominic responded in kind, threading his fingers through her midnight-black curls, anchoring himself in her as her body pressed against his. Her cinnamon skin was warm against his palms, soft and freckled and glowing in the low candlelight. Every place their skin touched felt like it burned—slow, aching, real.
His injuries throbbed, but he didn’t care. He was lionblood and stubborn, and there was no pain in the world stronger than the need he had for her. The need to feel her, to claim her, not with magic or mating bonds—but with his body. With truth.
They tumbled back onto the bed, laughter slipping into breathy moans. She straddled him, her thighs framing his hips as she leaned down to kiss the scar just beneath his collarbone.
His hands roamed her back, memorizing the dips and curves, tracing the trail of scale shimmer along her spine. “You’re unreal,” he rasped. “Like a fucking dream I shouldn’t have touched.”
“Then why do you look at me like I’m the one that’s dangerous?” she whispered against his throat, tongue flicking over his pulse point.
“Because you are,” he breathed. “Gods, Lillith—you are.”
