Page 172 of The Moonborn's Curse

He was not quiet.

"Do you think the red here symbolises emotional detachment?" Riven asked smoothly.

"I think the red here symbolises bleeding out from the groin," Hagan muttered from behind them as Riven admired a painting.

Seren spun. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

She didn't have to see him to feel him: arms crossed, glowering at a tray of mini quiches like they'd insulted his ancestors.

She sighed, offering Riven a tight smile. "Excuse us a moment."

She dragged Hagan by the arm past a cluster of patrons discussing post-modern existentialist trauma, up to the coffee bar. Sparks flew as muscles in his arm flexed under her hand. Her favourite aroma-him- teased her senses.

"Hagan."

"Seren."

"What are you doing here?"

He was already halfway through a stolen mini quiche. "Supporting the arts."

"Why are you following me?"

"Not following. Overseeing. It's different."

"Overseeing? Like a stalker?"

He arched a brow. "Protective ex-almost-bonded."

"That's not a thing," she snapped.

"Should be."

Before she could respond, Riven caught up, holding two glasses of white wine and a brow raised in mild amusement. "Everything all right?"

Hagan reached out and snatched one glass from Riven's hand as if it owed him money. "Better now."

Seren blinked. "Hagan—"

"Thank you for keeping my fated entertained," he said in a pleasant baritone, sipping the wine and glaring at Riven over the rim. "She tends to attract trouble. Must be the hair. Or the eyes. Or the ars—"

"Don't you dare," Seren snapped.

Riven was blinking in confusion. "I—uh—I think I'll go refresh our drinks."

He fled.

Seren glared. "You need help."

"I do," Hagan said quietly. "And you're the only thing that's ever works."

That did it.

Seren's breath hitched. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. But before she could respond—before the tremble in her chin could betray her—Riven returned, wine glasses in hand and a polite smile half-frozen on his face.

"There was a bit of a queue," he said awkwardly, glancing between them, a question in his eyes.

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