Page 46 of The Moonborn's Curse

Lia flinched, her lips parting as if to protest, but one look at the Highclaw's face had her lowering her head and stepping back. The door closed behind her with a finality that left Hagan feeling suddenly alone.

"You reckless little fool!" Draken's voice cracked through the air like a whip, deep and guttural, the force of his fury sending a pulse through the floorboards. His fangs fully descended, his claws elongating, the sheer dominance of his presence thickening the air like a storm ready to break.

Hagan barely had a second to inhale before Draken snarled and slammed a hand against the table, splintering the wood, and sending a shudder through the room.

"Do you think this is a game?" his father roared. "Do you think your pride, your childish temper, means anything in the face of what we are fighting against?"

Hagan gritted his teeth, his fists clenching so tightly his nails dug crescent-shaped marks into his palms. He wasn't a child. He wasn't going to stand here and be berated like one.

"You embarrassed me," Draken growled, his voice dipped in venom. "You humiliated her—"

"She shouldn't even be here!" Hagan snapped, his own rage breaking through the surface like a wave smashing against a rock.

Draken's fangs gleamed in the dim torchlight as his growl deepened, more feral now, more dangerous. "She is your fate."

Hagan barked out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and sharp, echoing through the vast hall.

"My fate?" His voice cracked, half-incredulous, half-furious. Heat rose in his chest, fast and uncontrollable, turning his blood into fire. "This—this creature that doesn't even belong here?"

Draken’s rage was all-encompassing.

But Hagan wasn't done.

"She's not one of us!" he spat. "Look at her! She's weak! She has no wolf blood, no instincts, no understanding of our ways! How the hell am I supposed to accept that?"

His breath was ragged, raw, his heart pounding against his ribs like a drum of war.

And then—a gasp.

Like he was coming out of a daze, he realized that Seren had followed them in.

His mother was there too, standing just behind her, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes wide with shock at her son's cruelty.

He had not noticed them enter.

Had not even registered their presence.

Had not realized that everything he had said—every cruel, unforgivable word—had not been thrown into an empty room.

Seren had heard all of it.

His chest tightened.

He felt exposed, like a beast caught in a trap, too late to claw his way out.

A cold wave crashed over his rage, but it wasn't enough to put out the fire.

Slowly, he turned his head, catching her still form in his peripheral vision.

She stood just a few feet away, her posture too straight, too rigid, her hands clenched on the strap of her ragged backpack.

Her face was carefully blank.

But he could feel the way the tension in the air crackled with something he couldn't place.

And still—she said nothing.

She just stood there.

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