Page 7 of Mane Squeeze
He let out a slow grin as he tugged his pants off and turned the shower dial. The steam rose like fog, wrapping around him in a comforting cloud, but his thoughts didn’t relax with the heat. If anything, they ran wilder.
Lillith had always been immune.
He couldn’t count how many times he’d sauntered into town square or the Spellbound Sip and gotten looks from witches, dryads, shifters—even a banshee once—who all acted like he was something worth unwrapping. Dominic Kane had a reputation, and he wore it like a leather jacket—casual, cocky, and well-worn.
But Lillith?
She looked at him like he was a walking migraine. Like his charm was a particularly irritating spell she’d already warded herself against.
And yet… the flush in her cheeks, the way her voice caught just barely when he peeled off his shirt—she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended to be. He’d seen cracks in that cool exterior, and for the first time in a long while, he felt something other than amused pursuit.
He felt intrigued.
This curse, ridiculous and reckless as it was, might turn out to beinteresting.
When he stepped out of the shower, hair dripping and skin flushed from the heat, he took his sweet time towel-drying. Mostly because it gave him another minute to think. About the bond. The magic. ANd other sensations.
And about what Lillith had really been doing with that ritual.
Something wasn’t adding up.
He dressed quickly and opened the bathroom door, letting the steam swirl into the hall. The smell of warm herbs and honey drifted from the kitchen.
“It’s about time,” she called from her bedroom, rising from where she’d been sitting at the edge of the bed. “You take longer showers than I do.”
He stepped out into the hallway, just in time to feel the invisible thread of magic tug at his gut when she walked away.
The pull was subtle, but insistent—a reminder of Thaloryn’s curse. Thirty feet. Any more than that, and the bond would strain. Hurt. Maybe worse.
He followed her into the kitchen.
The cottage was smaller than he’d expected. Cozy, cluttered, a space layered with care and protective wards disguised as homey touches. The shelves overflowed with old tomes anddried flowers, jars of herbs with fading labels, and rune stones arranged in what looked like casual decor—but he knew better.
Everything had purpose. Meaning. Control.
She handed him a mug of tea without looking. He took it, brushing her fingers by accident. Her hand twitched.
The tea was tart. Bright. Sharp, like her. It tasted like spring and old secrets.
“You live alone?” he asked, leaning on the frame of the kitchen’s threshold.
Lillith lifted a brow. “You expected roommates?”
“Honestly? Figured someone this ornery might’ve driven out a ghost or two.”
She snorted. “They tried. Didn’t last.”
He chuckled, sipping again. “Always liked living this close to the woods?”
“It’s quieter,” she said, stirring her own tea. “People don’t drop by.”
“Until now.”
Her gaze flicked up to his—quick, unreadable—then dropped again. “Yeah. Until now. Plus, it helps keep nosy townies from assuming things.”
“Like what? That we’re—what, shacking up?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
