Page 94 of The Moonborn's Curse

She gave a quiet laugh and touched his wrist, just lightly. A tinge. A silent promise.

And with that touch, he felt it again—that soft pull, like the world was righting itself.

Seren's eyes moved over her fated. Hagan looked devastating.

His hair was wild as always, but he wore it proudly, the unruly locks a crown of their own. His tunic of deep black and gold of his tribe hugged his broad shoulders fitting close at the waist. It was hard to believe he was only past eighteen. When their eyes met across the crowd, a shiver travelled through her—not from fear, but recognition.

They had kissed the night before. A soft thing that became sharp and breathless in seconds. It had shocked them both with the force of it, the hunger and familiarity folded inside. They had parted laughing, flushed and stunned, unsure what had changed but knowing, undeniably, that it had.

The forest had been still. Not even a slight breeze.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy in dappled fragments, lighting up the pale green of the low-hanging leaves. Seren lay balanced on a thick branch just above the creek, camera angled upward, her body half-draped along the curve of the wood. A slender grass snake wound its way slowly down from the upper boughs—its emerald body gleaming as it slithered, half-curious, half-mesmerized by the low clicks of her lens.

She whispered to it softly. No words, not really. Just a hum, a promise not to harm.

Below her, Hagan watched in wolf form. His coat was rich brown streaked with pale blonde highlights that caught the light like gold thread, a striking contrast against the green underbrush. He crouched on a moss-covered rock nearby, tail flicking, eyes locked on her rather than the snake. Every so often, he'd sit up and tug the end of her long braid with his teeth before dropping back down. She'd smack him gently, laughing, whispering "Stop it, you'll spook him."

He didn't understand how she wasn't afraid—of snakes, of bugs, of anything, really. She was barefoot in the trees, wearing loose ochre trousers and a bandeau wrapped snugly around her breasts, her braid falling like a silk rope. When she moved, the soft sway of her hips and the new wobble of her chest distracted him more than he wanted to admit.

The bond buzzed low and restless under his skin.

When the snake began to move faster—spooked perhaps by the growing heat in the air—Seren adjusted her angle and muttered, "Wait, just one more shot—"

But the snake was gone.

The shimmer hit her next. A flicker, like heat rolling through the water. She heard the shift behind her—the distinct sound of bones reknitting, of fur receding into skin. She felt the faint drag of the bond tightening, and then the shuffle of clothing—Hagan pulling on a pair of shorts with the habitual clumsiness of someone who didn't really want to be dressed.

The branch dipped with added weight as he joined her, sitting close enough that she felt the warmth of him before he spoke.

She looked up.

His eyes were darker than usual, burning with something unreadable. Focused only on her. Everything about him—his breath, his presence, the pulse in his neck—seemed wound too tight.

"What is it?" she asked, brows furrowing, her voice low. "What's wrong?"

The bond crackled between them like a live wire. His fingers lifted slowly, cupping the side of her neck—his touch warm, reverent. As always, she felt it: the slow, glowing thread of energy that flowed from her into him. A tether. A promise. Something ancient, something too powerful to ignore.

She gasped softly—

And then his lips were on hers.

A little rushed. A little awkward. And his lips were softer than she ever expected when she had imagined them to be firm, demanding. Instead, they were tentative, gentle. Like he was afraid to move too quickly. Her lips parted beneath his, and he kissed her like she was sacred—slow and reverent. Like kissing a peach, he thought dazedly—his own lips warm, ripe, full of sensation. His slid past her lips in a tentative question—gentle, slow, unsure. She answered without thinking, her own tongue meeting his, the kiss deepening like a wave overtaking them both.

Her fingers clenched against the bark. His free hand braced beside her, but his whole body seemed to tremble with restraint.

It was heady. Sweet. Terrifying.

And too much.

She pressed a hand to his chest, breaking the kiss, lips flushed and swollen. Their breath mingled in the narrow space between them, fast and uneven. The bond was no longer humming—it was roaring.

Electricity snapped between their palms. A fission of light, a spark at her fingertips. Both of them stared—wide-eyed, stunned—as if the forest itself had leaned in to witness.

Seren swallowed hard.

"That was..," she whispered.

Hagan's voice was hoarse. "I didn't know...."

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