Page 174 of The Moonborn's Curse

Hard.

"Asshole."

"Fair play," he said, catching himself.

She shook her head, teeth biting into her lower lip as tears welled in her eyes.

"Don't—" she whispered.

But it was too late. One slipped free.

Hagan moved instinctively, closing the space between them, his thumb brushing gently beneath her eye. Reverent. Shaking.

"Don't cry," he murmured, voice frayed with feeling. "Please, Seren. You're killing me."

Another tear fell. He caught it too, his hand trembling now. His other hand came up, cupping the side of her face.

"Don't cry," he said softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. "Please. I can't bear it."

"Just go, Hagan."

"Anything but that. Please don't ask that of me." His eyes were tortured.

She turned away, trying to get her breathing under control.

He didn't follow this time.

He just stood there, watching her disappear into the apartment.

And now, he stood at the window, half behind the curtain.

Watching her like the stalker he was.

She was curled up on her small sofa, laptop open in her lap, hair tied in a messy knot on top of her head. Barefoot. Wearing a loose T-shirt that read No Coffee, No Talkie and tiny sleep shorts that should be criminal.

Even at this distance, he saw the signs—red-rimmed eyes, the way her mouth tugged downward as she stared blankly at her screen, her shoulders slumped as if they carried too much.

A knot formed in his chest.

His gaze lingered—trailing the curve of her thigh, the gentle rise and fall of her breath, the way her fingers absently scrolled across the trackpad. She shifted slightly, curling into herself more, and the laptop's glow lit her face like some fallen moon.

Mine.

Mine.

The notion struck him again and again—raw and unyielding.

He'd attempted patience, giving her space to see he wasn't the same man as before. But a fierce, primal need knotted in his gut, coiled tight like a wound spring. A low growl threatened to escape his throat.

Then—quietly, from the shadowed hallway behind him:

"'To subdue the enemy without fighting is the acme of skill.'"

Hagan didn't turn. "Still reading that damn book?"

Veyr stepped into the room, folding his arms. "You know she's not your enemy, right?"

"I know."

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