Lillith was curled beside him on the couch, her cheek pressed to the edge of the cushion on the arm rest, dark lashes resting against her cinnamon skin. She looked peaceful. Unarmored. The kind of softness he didn’t think she let anyone see—ever.
He knew his hand had been tangled with hers, he could still feel the warmth. Fingers curved like they’d molded to the shape of her palm in the night. But now her hand was tucked under her as if protecting herself. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too loudly. Just looked.
They’d shared a dream.
Not some hazy, forgettable flicker of the subconscious, but a real, tangled thread of magic that had pulled them both underand left behind the weight of something neither of them had dared name.
He didn’t want that moment to break, to end. He moved slow, brushing a knuckle down her wrist. Her skin was warm. Alive. She blinked awake, lashes fluttering as she caught him in the act.
Her eyes were wild for half a second. Then she registered him, 3
his face, his closeness, the light. And instead of flinching, she exhaled like she’d been holding that breath for a week.
“…We were in the garden,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “We were.”
“Dreamwalking.”
“Looks like it.”
She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. Her hair was a mess—storm-curls frizzed and tangled—and he thought it made her look even more like herself. Like the version of Lillith he was just now getting to see.
“I don’t usually—” she started, then stopped.
“Sleep beside strange men?” he offered, dry.
She gave him a look. “Let myself… be seen. Not like that.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know.”
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy.
Dominic sat up fully, letting the blanket fall from his lap. “You were right, you know.”
“About?”
“The bond. It’s changing. Deepening.” His fingers flexed around the edge of the couch. “And it scares the hell outta me.”
She blinked. That admission caught her off guard. Good. It caught him off guard too.
“You’re always so cocky,” she said.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel things.”
“Feel what?”
His mouth twitched into something softer than a grin. “You. Us. This.” He motioned between them. “The way you looked at me in that dream? Like you were trying to memorize me.”
“I wasn’t?—”
“You were,” he said gently.
She looked away.
And that’s when he reached into the inner pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small charm—a thin copper disc etched with old, swirling script.
“I want to show you something.”
