Page 127 of The Moonborn's Curse

Draken's expression shifted—brief, stricken.

Inside the circle, Seren dropped to her knees.

Her head bowed. Her hands hung limp at her sides.

How much blood could one person lose?

Was she still alive?

Then—

Her body tilted.

Slowly, horribly.

Her arm slipped outside the ward line.

And that was all Hagan needed.

With a scream, he dove forward and seized her wrist, yanking her toward him. The circle sparked violently but didn't resist the pull.

She collapsed into his arms.

She was pale. So pale. Her pulse was thready, her breath faint. He held her against his chest, trembling and ran.

Chapter 48

The healers worked fast.

He couldn't stop staring at her forearms—the precise slices that ran straight through their inked matemark. His own still burned bright, though the ink had started to run. He held his hand tight on his wrist as if to stop the precious dye from escaping. Hers... had faded. Not gone. But dim. As if slowly erasing him from her soul.

When they finally stabilized her, she was moved to a quiet room.

He stayed.

Slept on the floor beside her, never once leaving.

The moment she stirred, Hagan was at her side.

He nearly knocked over the stool as he scrambled to kneel beside the low bed, his breath catching, heart pounding like a war drum in his ears.

His face was unshaven, eyes red-rimmed and hollow. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, hadn't even washed in days. His clothes were wrinkled, his skin smudged with dirt and dried blood, and the sharp scent of desperation clung to him like a second skin.

And yet—

When she inhaled, a slow, shallow breath—her nose twitched faintly.

He still smelled like the woods.

Like pine needles crushed underfoot. Like earth after rain. Like the places she used to run when the world felt too loud. Of everything she loved.

And for a flickering second, her muscles loosened.

Her silver eyes fluttered open, glazed with confusion at first.

The ceiling.

The beams.

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