Page 153 of The Moonborn's Curse

They passed the cereal aisle on the way to the till and he stopped dead.

His eyes locked on a brightly coloured box of fruit loops with a cartoon toucan on the front.

"What ?" he said, reverently.

Seren burst out laughing.

"Sweet, rainbow lies. I guess you're getting them."

His face lit up in a way that made her chest ache. He was obviously food-motivated.

At the register, the bored shifter looked between them, the huge barefoot hobo in a coat which was about to split in the seams and the girl with dirt on her jeans and defiance in her silver eyes, as if daring him to make a comment.

"You two... good?" he asked blowing a bubble.

"We're great," Seren said cheerfully, slapping her card on the counter. This was going to hurt.

They walked out with three bags, a box of cereal clutched in Threk's arms like treasure, and a sense of camaraderie humming in the air between them.

When they got home, she had to take a pair of scissors to his hair. Most of it was too matted to be saved and had developed an ecosystem of its own. Then she shoved him into the shower after explaining what soap was and got busy with the pull-out couch.

She slipped into the kitchen to get some water only to find him asleep on the couch, half-curled like he used to in the cave. His large feet hung off the side.

His hair was damp and soft. She touched it lightly like she would a child.

His thoughts whispered—fear, hunger... and something that felt like relief.

"He needs more clothes," Ana said immediately. "And a job. And, uh, food. Lots of it."

"He's not staying here," Ryn added, arms crossed—but her voice was less sharp than usual.

She could ask Talis but he had just gotten into a relationship with a colleague. It wouldn't be fair to him.

"There's the apartment next door," Seren offered. "I could move out. I don't think he is capable of managing on his own."

Ana smirked. "I'll talk to the witch landlady. She owes me a favour from that... incident with the exploding charm box."

*þrek" (pronounced "threk"). In Old Norse, "þrek" translates to "strength" or "stamina". It represents much more than just physical power; it embodies endurance, resilience, and the spirit of perseverance—qualities that were highly valued by the Norse.

Chapter 56

In the days that followed, Threk slowly opened up. He spoke of his mother and two brothers. Of running. Hiding. Of seeing them skinned. Of forgetting how to become human. He must have been about four.

"I didn't want to kill you," he said one night. "I just... wanted to scare you. You were in my space. I didn't know what else to do."

Seren nodded; throat tight.

"You scared me," she said quietly. "But you also saved me."

He looked down.

"I wanted to be near you. You feel safe."

It had taken one meeting with Griff.

One long stare—silent, heavy, and appraising—and a slow nod from the burly pub owner.

"You'll do," Griff had grunted. "Big. Quiet. Mean-looking. Perfect."

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