“I hate this town,” Lillith muttered.
“You love it and it loves you back,” Twyla said cheerfully, peering around the cottage. “Where is your walking emotional crisis, anyway?”
Lillith gestured vaguely toward the couch on the other side of the wall. “Dominic’s brooding. Or reading. Possibly both.”
Twyla grinned. “Perfect. Bring him too.”
“I don’t really have a choice in that department. And, I don’t want to go to karaoke night,” Lillith said flatly.
Twyla’s grin widened, terrifying. “Come on, you’re tethered, not dead. We’re going, end of story.”
The Gilded Fang was Celestial Pines’only bar and arguably its most haunted. It was built into what used to be an old bloodmage chapel, complete with stained glass windows and whispering bricks. These days, it smelled more like lavender cocktails and spiced rum than curses, and its karaoke machine was slightly possessed by a minor banshee with a taste for '90s pop ballads.
The place was packed. Every booth was filled, witches and shifters shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand, laughter bubbling like potion foam. Lillith stood near the bar, arms crossed, trying to ignore how Dominic’s heat radiated at her side.
He was wearing that damn smirk again—the one that always made her want to either kiss him or strangle him.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” she said under her breath.
He leaned down slightly, the barest touch of his breath grazing her ear. “What, seeing you voluntarily out in public? I’m shocked. I might need a drink to steady myself.”
She elbowed him. Gently. Sort of.
“You two are sickening,” Twyla sighed, sliding over with three enchanted margaritas. “Now drink, flirt, and let the curse live its best life.”
Lillith raised an eyebrow. “You’re a menace.”
“I’m your best friend,” Twyla corrected. “Now go sing.”
“I’m not singing.”
“Yes, you are,” Dominic said at the same time.
She turned to glare at him.
He raised his hands, palms out. “Look, if I’m gonna be forcibly tethered to someone, the least they can do is serenade me in front of an audience.”
“I swear on every rune in this town, Dominic Kane?—”
“I dare you,” he interrupted, eyes gleaming. “C’mon, Lil. Show me what a high fae heartbreaker sounds like.”
Oh, he was absolutely going to pay for that. But her feet were already moving, her pride tripping over her resistance.
The stage smelled like lemon oil and old spells. She picked an older track, something sultry and haunting, a song about love blooming in impossible places.
The second she opened her mouth, the room changed.
It wasn’t that her voice was perfect—it cracked on the low notes, caught on the high—but it was real. Raw. It hit like a spell soaked in moonlight. The kind of sound that made people feel things they didn’t want to say aloud.
She sang with her eyes closed at first enjoying her gravelly tone that she felt she did well with this song. WHen she finally got in the swing of it, she opened them and all she could see was Dominic.
He hadn’t moved. Not an inch. His eyes were locked on hers like the whole world had narrowed to just this: her, standing in shadowlight, pouring pieces of herself into the air, unguarded.
When the last note faded, silence held for a beat too long before applause broke out—cheers and whistles and a very loud “That’s my girl!” from Twyla.
Lillith flushed, breath coming faster than the song demanded. She hopped down from the stage and started back toward the bar.
Dominic met her halfway.
