Page 227 of The Moonborn's Curse

A hush fell between them. The fire crackled. Somewhere outside, a bird sang.

She reached for the Oracle's hand and held it just for a moment.

And outside, petals from the blooming trees began to fall, soft as snow.

Days blurred into each other. One afternoon, while folding bedding, Seren found a small wooden box tucked away. Curious, she opened it.

Inside was the purple blanket she had knitted for Hagan that very first day.

She held it to her cheek, eyes stinging.

Beneath it were bits and pieces. A hair tie. A pebble from the riverbank. A pressed flower tucked into a book that had gone missing. A comb. Fragments of memory, each one collected with care.

Her breath hitched. He had kept it all.

Sometimes, Hagan would scoop her up in the middle of the day and carry her off to the cottage, laughing like a thief. They had learned sex together—clumsy, tender, passionate. Each time, something new. Each time, special.

Then came the day Seren decided.

She led him to their favourite spot on the riverbank—candles, a soft blanket, their favourite spot by the river. Her body thrummed with anticipation. She would let him take blood.

When Hagan realized, his eyes shone with anticipation.

"It only needs to be a drop," he said, smiling as he undressed.

"Yuck," she replied dramatically. "I might throw up"

They made love beneath the whispering trees, slow and aching with meaning. His body moved within hers as he watched her face, his expression awed and reverent. He brushed her hair away and murmured something too soft for words.

As they reached the edge, Hagan bit down—just lightly—on her lip, sucking it into his mouth as she gasped.

And in the wave of her climax, she did the same.

Something exploded between them.

The vague pulse of their bond flared to life. What had been shadow and sketch turned brilliant and blinding.

Colour.

Their mating marks shimmered to life. His in shades of silver, hers blooming a luminous blue.

She stared at his skin, then hers, breathless.

He pulled her close, their skin still slick, hearts still pounding.

"My Lunara," he whispered, burying his face in her hair.

And the world spun slower, softer, beneath the rustle of leaves and the hush of the river.

Later, wrapped in the purple blanket she'd once knitted with clumsy hands, Seren curled against him and murmured, "I have been video calling my mamma again."

Hagan blinked at her, feigning surprise. She smiled; eyes soft.

"I told them everything. About you. About the tribe. About me."

"And they...?"

" My mother cried. They want to meet you."

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