Page 176 of The Moonborn's Curse

Her spine stiffened instantly.

She craned her neck back, eyes wide and still adjusting to light—

And met his.

Hagan.

Gods. Hagan.

He stared down at her with the sort of intensity that could melt stone, brows drawn tight as if committing every inch of her sleepy, startled face to memory. His gaze tracked the sleep-creased side of her cheek, the mussed knot of hair on her head, the vulnerable softness of her.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here," she hissed, trying to twist away, suddenly very aware of the shorts that revealed far too much thigh.

She looked to her left—

Threk.

The big bear shifter sat at the small breakfast bar, surrounded by a warzone of pancakes, whipped cream, and maple syrup. He lookedup from his overflowing fork, cheeks puffed like a squirrel, and mumbled around a mouthful of food:

"He made breakfast."

Seren blinked.

"You cooked?"

Hagan didn't release her. "Pancakes. Strawberries. Coffee. And I didn't burn the pan."

Threk added—still chewing—"He even sliced the fruit. Withlove. I watched."

"Traitor," she hissed at him.

Threk shrugged and returned to his syrup-soaked stack like none of this was weird. "M'just human. Somewhat," he mumbled, wiping his mouth. "Don't drag me into this."

Seren shoved lightly at Hagan's arms, but he didn't move. Instead, he reached for the hem of his hoodie, pulled it off with one smooth motion, and dropped it over her head.

"Hey!" she protested, half-wrestling out of the warm, forest-scented fabric. "What is wrong with you?"

His voice was maddeningly calm. "Threk is not gay. Wear a bra. And maybe something that covers all this."

He gestured at her tank top and tiny shorts.

"These—" his eyes dipped again, far too heated "—are for my eyes only."

Seren's cheeks went hot. "You have lost your goddamn mind!"

But his touch had branded her. Her skin buzzed where he'd held her, where his breath had stirred the fine hairs on her neck. Her dream came flooding back in flashes—his mouth, his hands, that look in his eyes.

Only now, he was here.

Solid.

And watching her like she was everything.

Threk, ever the Switzerland of this very awkward war, pointed his fork at the pancakes and offered helpfully, "Want some? He made extras."

Seren backed up a step, still trapped in the oversized hoodie and his arms, still burning all over.

"I need caffeine," she muttered. "And space. And probably a shower."

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