The air between them was thicker than the shadows creeping across the walls.
Dominic could still feel the phantom heat of her body pressing into him, could still hear her whisper echoing in his skull like an order carved into his bones.
He hated her.
He wanted her.
And he hated that he wanted her.
Lyra had stepped back after making him confess, but her eyes never left him—sharp, knowing, like a predator watching prey struggle in the trap.
"You should stand," she said simply.
His wrists were free now, but he didn't move. The act of standing felt like an admission of obedience.
"Is this your rebellion?" she asked after a moment, tilting her head. "Sulking?"
Dominic's jaw tightened. "I'm not sulking."
She took a slow step toward him. "Then prove it."
Her command carried weight—not just in tone but in the way his body reacted. Something inside him twitched, urging him to rise, to obey without thought. That was the most dangerous part of her power. It wasn't only supernatural—it was intimate. It hooked into him from the inside.
He forced himself to his feet, and the flicker of satisfaction in her eyes nearly undid him.
"Better," she murmured. "Now, walk."
"Where?"
Her smile was infuriating. "You'll see."
She turned and walked toward the far end of the room, where a hidden door slid open at her touch. Beyond it lay a corridor lit only by low, amber sconces, the kind that made the walls glow like molten gold. Dominic followed, each step feeling heavier, not from fear, but from the oppressive awareness of her in front of him—how she moved, how she didn't look back to check if he obeyed. She knew he would.
They stopped at a heavy door bound with iron bands. Lyra pressed her palm flat against it, and the metal gave a low groan before swinging inward.
What lay beyond was nothing like the rest of the house.
It was a hall—vast, domed, and lined with columns. The floor was a mosaic of intricate black and silver patterns, and at the center stood a pedestal holding something that immediately pulled at Dominic's gaze: a collar.
It wasn't leather or simple steel. It was woven from a dark, gleaming metal, almost liquid-looking, inlaid with strange, glowing runes.
He didn't know why, but the sight of it made his skin prickle.
Lyra walked toward it with the ease of someone approaching an old friend. "Do you know what this is?"
"No."
Her lips curved faintly. "It's the reason you're still here."
He stayed where he was. "You mean your magic."
She glanced back at him. "Magic is just a word. This—" she gestured to the collar "—is a bond. Unbreakable, if worn willingly."
The runes pulsed faintly, as if in response to her voice.
Dominic crossed his arms. "And you think I'm going to put that on?"
Her eyes locked with his. "I think you already have, Dominic. Not here—" she touched her temple, "—and here—" she touched her chest.
He refused to look away, even though her words landed uncomfortably close to truth. "If you're trying to scare me—"
"I'm not trying," she interrupted softly. "I'm promising."
The tension between them twisted tighter. Lyra reached out, took the collar from its pedestal, and walked toward him. Each step she took seemed to echo louder in the cavernous hall.
"Do you know what happens when someone accepts the collar?" she asked.
He said nothing.
"They stop fighting. Completely. There's no more struggle. No more pretending they hate what they crave. Every lie burns away." She stopped right in front of him, holding it up so the runes cast a faint glow over both their faces. "Imagine it, Dominic. No more resistance. No more fear of what you are when you're with me."
The temptation in her voice was worse than the threat. It made his pulse hammer, made his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and feel the thing.
"I'll never wear it," he said.
Her expression didn't change. "You will."
He tried to step back, but she moved with him, keeping the space between them nonexistent. The glow of the collar painted her skin in an otherworldly light, and in that moment, she looked less like a woman and more like something ancient—something inevitable.
"You've already started wearing me, Dominic," she whispered. "This would just make it… permanent."
Her words sent a shiver through him, because she was right in a way that had nothing to do with magic. She had already worked her way under his skin, into the rhythms of his thoughts, into the reflex of his heartbeat.
Lyra smiled faintly, then lowered the collar. "Not tonight," she said, turning away.
The dismissal was almost worse than the threat. He should have felt relief. Instead, he felt… untethered.
She placed the collar back on the pedestal, and the runes dimmed. "Come."
Against his better judgment, he followed her again, back into the narrow corridor, back toward the firelit room they'd left. He was almost grateful for the smaller space—until she stopped just inside and turned to face him.
"Tell me the truth, Dominic. Do you want me to stop?"
The question hit him like a blow. He opened his mouth to say yes, but the word refused to form.
Her gaze softened just a fraction. "That's why you'll come back to it. Over and over."
Before he could answer, she stepped close again, her hands coming up to rest lightly on his chest. "And when you do… I'll be waiting with the collar."
She brushed her lips against his cheek—barely a kiss, more like a promise—and then walked away, leaving him alone in the glow of the fire, his heart pounding, his mind screaming, and his body betraying him once again.