Page 161 of The Moonborn's Curse

"Good," she said. "Been good. You?"

Her voice came out husky. Unconvincing.

"Much better now," he said. Then he added, without looking away, "Best I've been in two years, four months, and six days."

Her lips parted slightly. Her brows drew together as if trying to make sense of the number.

"That's how long you've been gone," he explained, his voice softer now. "Since you walked into the forest and disappeared."

Something itched to come undone inside her chest. But she locked it down. She had to.

"Oh, I'm sure Lia kept you warm," she said coolly, stepping back, the spell broken.

The words were like a slap across his face. His jaw tightened, visibly, and something shuttered behind his eyes.

"There's no Lia," he said, voice strained.

Chapter 59

It was too late. Her temper flared like dry tinder, her voice rising with it.

"Why are you here, Hagan?" she demanded. "Is there something you want? Haven't you taken enough?"

He opened his mouth, but she kept going, every word a blade.

"Have you brought her with you? Is she waiting downstairs? To stroll in and mark her territory again? Go on then—where is she?"

She stepped past him and looked over his shoulder toward the stairwell, eyes scanning.

"Are you here to rub it in?" she hissed. "Is that what this is?"

His shoulders bunched, fingers curling at his sides—but he didn't speak.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper, thick with something he couldn't name. "Did you two...?" She paused. "Do you have a child?"

It broke something in him.

"No," he said, voice ragged. "Seren... gods, no."

"It's the truth," he said, stepping closer.

She shook her head. "I don't want to hear it. You let her in. Over and over. You let her be part of everything. You shared things with her you should've shared with me."

"I made mistakes, Seren—"

"No." She held up a hand, stepping back. "Don't. You don't get to show up now and talk about mistakes."

"I never stopped looking for you," he said, eyes burning. "Never."

"You never should have let me go!" she snapped. "You never should have made me feel like I was a burden. Like I was last. Like you could have both of us and I should be grateful to sit and smile through it."

The air between them throbbed , turbulent and wounded.

"I don't want you," she said. Quiet. Final. A knife through his chest.

His throat bobbed with the effort to swallow the pain. But his voice was steel when he spoke.

"I don't want anybody but you."

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