Page 225 of The Moonborn's Curse

He slowly pulled out, stopping when she winced and then shifted to lie beside her, propped on one elbow. He looked at her for a moment, then slowly let his gaze travel down her body. Parting her thighs gently, he began exploring again, fingertips stroking the sensitive folds. He traced slow circles around her clit, his touch reverent but confident now, especially when he found the spot just under it that made her arch.

When she moaned and parted her legs further, he slid one finger inside, then another, moving in and out with a rhythm that built steadily. His eyes never left her face. When her hips started moving of their own accord, he pressed harder, more insistently. She guided his hand, showing him exactly how she liked it, biting into her lip until a tiny drop of blood bloomed red.

The orgasm hit her like a hurricane—fast and all-consuming. Her body tensed, arched, and collapsed into a sprawl of shivering satisfaction, a soft cry escaping her throat.

Before she could breathe again, he was on her.

His eyes were wild with emotion and focus, and this time when he entered her, he was slower, more deliberate—but just as urgent. She felt him stretch her again, his thumb finding her clit, his body moving in sync with hers, their breath tangled, their hands gripping. He filled her completely, and together they moved, a tide they couldn't stop.

This time, they came together—his name on her lips, hers on his. Their cries split the air as the world narrowed to nothing but the rhythm of skin on skin and the ache of love made real.

Hagan collapsed on top of her, both of them panting like they'd run for miles.

Then, a pounding at the door.

"Next time you bump uglies," came Ryn's unmistakable shout, "shut the fucking window!"

A pause.

"It's like a godsdamn porn show over here," she grumbled as she walked off. “People are trying to sleep here..."

They froze. Then looked at each other.

Laughter exploded out of them, muffled and breathless. Seren clapped a hand over her mouth. Hagan buried his face in the pillow, shaking.

He turned to look at her, still chuckling, his eyes softening. He kissed her then—slow and warm, their tongues twining in an intimate dance that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with tenderness.

Eventually, he slipped away, padding to the bathroom. She heard the rush of water, a flush, and then he returned, holding a warm washcloth. Wordlessly, he knelt, parting her thighs again, and wiped away the remnants of their joining with reverent care.

"The bleeding's stopped," he murmured, gaze lingering between her thighs before he bent to kiss her gently there.

She startled. "Hagan—"

But he was already moving away, tossing the towel vaguely toward the bathroom and sliding back into bed beside her.

"You can try to kick me out now," he said, pulling her close. "But I won't go."

Their eyes met—vulnerable blue crashing with soft silver.

"I adore you," he said softly.

"I love you too," she whispered back.

And sleep claimed them both, their fingers still entwined.

Hagan shifted in the quiet dark, curling around her from behind. His chest pressed warm against her back; his breath soft against the curve of her neck. One arm slid over her waist, pulling her close, and his hand came to rest over her breast, possessive even in sleep.

Seren exhaled a soft sigh and nestled into him; her hand still locked in his.

Outside, the scent of ash lingered in the air. But inside the small room, there was only warmth, the slow thrum of heartbeats, and the silent promise of beginning again.

Chapter 89

The smoke had long cleared. Ashes had cooled. Life began again.

Hagan stood by the sacred pool, the water still and reverent. He tipped the urn forward, letting his father's ashes scatter into the breeze. Beside him, Astrid whispered, "Goodbye, my love," her voice a thread in the wind.

There was no grand ritual. Just silence. Reverence. And the feel of Hagan's hand at her back, steady as stone.

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