Thaloryn stilled.
“You broke the bond because you couldn’tcontrolit. Couldn’t use it. And now you’re trying to controlmeinstead.”
“Control?” The prince’s laugh was hollow. “No, Dominic. I’m going tounmakeyou.” He waved a hand. The sky tore open.
Images flooded the dream. Lillith, crumpling inPines and Needles, screaming his name. Lillith in the Whispering Woods, eyes wild with grief. Lillith raising old magic, light splitting the earth beneath her feet.
Dominic staggered.
Pain lanced through him—not from Thaloryn’s magic, but from the severed bond. From the ache that lived wheresheused to be. Every beat of his heart now echoed withabsence. Every breath a reminder that he couldn’t feel her anymore.
“She should’ve been mine,” Thaloryn said, voice low and dangerous. “Shewasmine, once. In blood. In magic. In promise.”
“You don’t own her,” Dominic snarled. “You never did.”
“I will.”
Dominic’s lion surged, golden fire spiraling through the cracks in the dream-world. Thaloryn flinched but didn’t retreat.
“I’ll make her forget you,” the prince vowed. “I’ll twist her memories, bend her will, erase that tether until she begs to kneel.”
“You try,” Dominic growled, “and Iwilltear through every plane of existence to end you.”
Thaloryn’s face darkened. “You’re strong,” he admitted. “Annoyingly so. But strength won’t save you here.”
The glamour wrapped tighter.
Chains of frost and illusion spiraled up Dominic’s arms, rooting him in place again. He fought but the magic was built on his weakness, his fear, his love.
“You’ll stay here,” Thaloryn whispered, stepping in close. “Trapped in dreams. Watching her fall.Until I decide it’s time for you to see the truth that your dreams have become real.”
Dominic's vision blurred. Not from pain. From rage. And still, deep in his chest, his lion paced because if love was what got him cursed, then love was going to break himout.
26
LILLITH
The Whispering Woods didn’t whisper anymore.
They howled.
Wind tore through the ancient branches, dragging with it the guttural cries of things long dead. The trees leaned in like sentinels, watching, waiting. Magic pulsed beneath the earth, thick and unsteady, ancient veins of power throbbing just beneath the moss and loam. The sky above had bled color, the moon hanging swollen and red, as though holding its breath.
And in the center of it all stood Lillith.
Her palms were braced against the cold, ancient heart of a stone circle carved by hands that had long since become dust. Blood streaked across the moss beneath her fingers—a crimson offering, a signature. Her breath came in bursts, misting in the unnatural cold that wrapped around her shoulders like a shroud.
She’d called the Echo Spirits.
Now, they were calling back.
The air thickened, humming with energy. A tremor ran beneath her bare feet, and the trees around the circle began to groan, leaning in closer, closer. Sound fractured—voices layeredupon each other in whispers, growls, cries, songs. Too many. Too old. Too furious.
They wanted something.
They always wanted something.
“Take it,” she rasped, arms shaking with strain. “My soul. My name. I don’t care. Just bring him back.”
