Page 200 of The Moonborn's Curse

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not the same as not needing it."

When he didn't move, she picked up the spoon herself and dipped it into the soup. The aroma filled the small room—venison, garlic, thyme. She offered it to him, holding it steady.

He looked at her.

"Seren..."

She smiled faintly. "Don't make me feed you like a child."

That earned the softest grunt of reluctant amusement. But he leaned forward, lips closing around the spoon. She gave him another. And another. Eventually, he took the bowl from her, finishing it slowly while she passed between them. None were necessary.

When he was done, she set the tray aside and stood to move. He caught her wrist lightly, as though afraid she'd disappear.

But she only turned, stepped out of her boots, and pulled the covers back on the narrow bed.

There wasn't much space—but that didn't matter.

Seren lay down carefully beside him. Then, wordlessly, she rested her head on his bare chest, the steady thump of his heart beating a soothing lullaby against her cheek. His arm came around her without thought, tucking her close, his fingers slipping into her hair. His free hand worked to pull the tie of her braid and comb unsteady fingers through the silken strands. With a reverent smile, he brought a handful of fragrant locks to his lips for a kiss.

"You've always smelled like a clear night during spring," he murmured drowsily.

She smiled against his skin. "You smell like the forest and trouble."

They didn't speak after that.

There were no more questions after that. Only breath syncing with breath.

Grief hovered over the edges of their minds, but for now, wrapped in warmth and each other, they drifted together into sleep—tangled limbs, slowing heartbeats, and the fragile, growing feeling that they were finding their way towards each other.

Chapter 74

Seren woke to the steady throb of Hagan's heartbeat beneath her ear.

The room was still, morning light spilling in through the narrow window in long golden streaks onto the bedclothes. She blinked groggily, her body twisted in an awkward sprawl. One arm was pinned beneath her, numb from being trapped too long, while her hip throbbed from the narrow bed's unyielding edge.

Hagan's arms were wrapped tightly around her, even in sleep. One of his hands rested over her ribs, fingers twitching faintly as if still caught in the remnants of a dream.

Seren exhaled softly and began to gingerly ease herself away.

Hagan shifted immediately, brow furrowing, arms tightening instinctively around her. She paused, letting her breath slow. Then, gently, she pressed a hand against his chest and slipped free from his hold. His skin was warm, and for a moment, she let herself lean down, inhaling the scent of pine and forest and something uniquely him. For a moment, she sat there, gazing down at the contrast between the paler skin of his chest and the patina of her own hand. They were so different.

She straightened quickly, shaking herself.

Enough.

Last night was... complicated. She knew he wouldn't accept comfort from anyone but her. She hadn't meant to stay. Today, she needed distance and clarity.

She had come to Vargrheim with a purpose, and it hadn't changed. The strangeness afflicting the tribe—the Forsaken at the border, the killings, her withering forest and land—none of it had disappeared just because she'd slept in Hagan's arms.

This was just a moment away from all that. A time-out. Not a promise.

Seren stretched, her arms lifting above her head, eyes screwed shut as her spine popped audibly. Her muscles ached with a weariness that wasn't just physical. That dream had taken its toll.

Last night, without even knowing it, she had drifted into his dream. She'd found herself walking the darkened halls of Hagan's subconscious. The walls were high and grey with the blemishes of age staining the walls. As she moved forward, the sturdy walls gave way to decay, with huge gaping holes letting the night air in. The smell of burning flesh and wood seeped in. She hadn't intended to stay long, but her feet led her forward - notes of grief enticing her forward. As she neared the grey forest beyond, a young boy's silhouette stood looking beyond - his back to her. It took her a moment to recognise Hagan's twelve-year-old self, as she had seen him on that first day in Vargrheim. She wanted to run away but his subconscious kept pulling her deeper—showing her what he could see beyond. Draken's death again and again, in different permutations. Draken falling from a cliff. Draken pierced through with an arrow. Draken burned. Draken betrayed. Always calling for Hagan to come to him.

Each death played out like a theatre of pain, and no matter how loudly she called, Hagan wouldn't turn to her.

Only when she'd reached out—touched his shoulder, shaken him—had he finally looked up at her. They were almost the same height, so they were both at the same eye level. Recognition had flared in his naked azure dream-eyes, and she saw the depth of torment in his inner soul. Gently, she'd steered away, down corridors of memory until they stood in a sunlit glade from his childhood. A fishing trip. Draken laughing, soaking wet, holding a slippery trout in his bare hands. The water clear, cold and bright. So bright you could see right to the bottom.

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