Epilogue Dominic
Ilean against the doorframe of Esme’s turret, watching the dragon and the dark witch.
They’ve finally gone still, tangled together under the sheets, worn out by their passion and everything else the day cost them.
Their bodies faintly reflect the dim light filtering through the window, her pale skin a stark contrast to his bronzed form, both marked by the faint red trails of nails and bites—evidence of how ruthlessly they claimed each other, or started to.
I was here for most of it. The way she pulled him down, fierce and unyielding, her small hands fisting in his shirt as if she could command the very fire in his veins.
The way her shadows and his fire molded and chased one another, writhing, transforming into something new, something raw and pulsing with clear potential.
There’s still a possessiveness to the way his arm cages her, a message written in the tension of his muscle even at rest. My eyes travel from Esme’s hand, curled in the dragon’s hair, down the rest of her.
Lips parted on a soft breath, dark hair spilled across the pillow like ink, the sheet pulled dangerously low—barely covering the curve of her ass and the shadowed valley between her thighs.
I’ve seen a lot of things in a very long time. She’s not the most remarkable of them.
And yet.
Esther knew what she was doing when she used the Salem line as the anchor to pull me back.
I don’t doubt that. What I didn’t anticipate—what I would not have agreed to, had anyone thought to ask me—is this.
Whatever this is. I didn’t sacrifice everything at thirty-four to end up bonded to a mortal.
I became an Ide to be free of exactly this kind of complication.
And yet here I am. Watching her sleep, my gaze lingering on the slow rise of her breasts, the faint bite mark on her neck, the way her body still curves toward him even in exhaustion.
This might be the kind of complication I can't sever. Might even be the kind of complication I want. I haven’t quite decided yet.
The world is about to change, and she’s somehow landed near the center of it. Whether that’s Esther’s design or just bad luck, it makes no difference. She’s mine to deal with now.
I push off the doorframe soundlessly, letting myself dissolve back into the shadows. Let them have their reprieve.
The game has only begun.