Page 171 of The Moonborn's Curse

He'd tried to be patient.

Tried to earn her smiles back slowly.

But something hot and primal curled low in his gut. A growl built in his throat.

He dragged a hand down his face.

"She's going to be the death of me."

Veyr didn't look up from his book. "Try not to get arrested before that."

Dinner had been the first disaster.

Riven, impeccable in his slate-grey suit, had arrived at Seren's apartment with a bouquet of red roses and the kind of polished smile that probably got him diplomatic immunity in three realms. He opened the car door for her, complimented her earrings, and looked at her like she was the only woman on the planet.

What he didn't notice was the sleek black car pulling out behind them.

Inside it, Hagan sat like a thundercloud in tailored charcoal. He was in a suit—an actual suit—and it was a crime. The crisp white shirt hugged his chest and broad shoulders like a sin, and the dark trousers clung to his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. He'd shaved, his hair was neat, and yet his expression said: I will commit arson if necessary.

They parked.

So did he.

They entered the restaurant.

So did he—moments later.

Hagan picked the table right next to theirs. Ordered. Just sat there flipping the menu with the aggression of a man personally wronged by pasta.

Seren tried to ignore him. Really, she did.

But when Riven reached across the table and gently tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, Hagan's glass cracked in his hand like a gunshot.

The waitress nearly dropped her tray.

Riven blinked, startled.

"Slippery hands," Hagan said, voice like velvet stretched over barbed wire. "Sorry."

Seren's eyes could've melted glaciers. "Hagan."

"Yes, Seren?"

"Leave."

"I just got here."

Dinner couldn't end fast enough.

But of course, it didn't end there.

The gallery was tasteful and quiet, with fire and storm splashed across canvases in strange abstraction.

Riven made insightful comments about brushstrokes.

Seren nodded politely at a painting that looked like a toddler had finger-painted it.

And Hagan loomed behind a marble column like a brooding, vengeful mythological enforcer.

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