Page 63 of Mane Squeeze
They didn’t speak for a long while after that.
Just the sound of their breathing, the faint pop of candle wax, and the distant rustle of wind through trees outside the cottage walls. The world could wait.
He was hers.
And she was finally ready to be his.
28
LILLITH
The cottage had never been quieter, yet the silence wasn’t heavy, it hummed with something new. Something sacred.
Lillith stood barefoot by the fireplace, wrapped in one of Dominic’s old flannels, sleeves swallowing her hands. He was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like he’d claimed every inch of it with his lion-sized ego and broad shoulders. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting golden stripes across his bare back. She couldn’t look at him without her chest tightening.
She’d almost lost him.
And now he was here. Alive. The bond gone, but the connection still burning—choice over fate.
Her hands trembled slightly as she stirred the tea. Not from fear, not entirely. Just the edges of everything catching up. The adrenaline was gone. All that remained now was truth.
And the future.
“Lil?”
She turned. His voice was rough with sleep, his eyes still clouded but focused on her like she was the only star in a sky full of fire.
“You’re up,” she said, trying not to melt when he smiled at her like that.
He sat up, moving slowly. “You left a lion shifter in your bed alone. Bold choice.”
“Figured you’d survive ten minutes without me,” she teased, handing him the tea as she sat beside him on the edge of the bed.
He took it gratefully, their fingers brushing. “You’re glowing, you know.”
“Residual goddess rage,” she said. “Or lack of sleep.”
He chuckled and sipped. “We need to talk.”
The shift in his voice was instant. Gone was the teasing curl of his lips, the boyish glint in his eyes. In their place: tension coiled in his shoulders and a shadow behind his gaze. His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking like a clock counting down to something dark.
Lillith’s brows furrowed. She folded her legs beneath her, settling in with a seriousness that mirrored his own. “Okay. Tell me.”
He looked at the cup in his hands for a long moment, like searching its steam for courage.
“Thaloryn talked,” Dominic said, voice low and rough. “When he thought I couldn’t get out… when he thought the dreamscape would keep me locked away, he monologued. Like some villain out of a cursed storybook.”
Lillith sat straighter, her breath shallow. “What did he say?”
“He wants the Moonlit Pact,” Dominic said. “He wants to remake it. Not just use it.”
Her frown was immediate. “That doesn’t make sense. The Pact’s a stabilizer. It’s what keeps the ley lines from overloading, keeps wild magic in check. Without it…”
“He doesn’t want it for containment,” Dominic said, eyes hard. “He wants tofreethe wild magic. Tear down the wards. Shatter the lines. Return the world to what it was before the Pact was forged. Back when the fae reigned, unchallenged. Before human coalitions. Before the old peace.”
Lillith’s breath stilled. “He wants tounmakethe world.”
“Exactly. All this—” Dominic gestured vaguely, “—the curses, the shadow beasts, the glamour traps, the tethered bond... they’re collateral. He’s testing thresholds. Seeing what the world can hold before it breaks.”
