Page 99 of The Moonborn's Curse

"When we fought that day. I still have nightmares of the snap when I broke your arm."

She swallowed.

"I used to sleep outside your window every night for a while. Just to heat you were breathing."

Her eyes widened, but he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was far away, like he was remembering something that still lived in his chest like a bruise. She could feel his agony through their bond.

"Being with you—touching you—it's like... it recharges me. I feel stronger. Calmer. More like myself."

He looked back at her then, and there was no teasing in his face. Just fierce tenderness. He looked down to line up their matching tattoos. His right wrist and her left.

"I'm taking it slow," he said. "Because I want to give you the courtship I should have. Not the one I messed up."

She pressed her forehead to his, her arms winding around his neck.

And for a long time, they just stayed there—skin against skin, breath mingling, hearts thundering—wrapped in warmth, in apology, in something very close to love.

By mutual agreement, they avoided the township entirely. Their phones stayed switched off, the tribelink dulled deliberately at Hagan's end—blunted just enough to keep the outside world at bay. For a few fleeting days, there was no prophecy, no pressure. Just them.

They spent the daylight wandering through the woods, talking, teasing, and occasionally drifting into long silences that held more meaning than words. At night, they pushed their boundaries. Gently. Purposefully.

Seren kept making meals that astonished him—somehow managing to forage, stew, roast, and even bake with what little they had. Hagan teased her endlessly, calling her a kitchen witch, but ate every bite like it was sacred.

And in return, he taught her him. His body. His reactions. He let her explore him with shy fingers and bold kisses, and in turn, learned her body like it was his religion. He wouldn't let her tie her hair back—kept stealing her hairbands and laughing as her wild braid unfurled around them both. She would swat at him, only to find his hands in her hair a moment later, reverent, greedy.

They were drawing closer and closer to the edge—hovering just before the precipice of consummation. Of blood sharing. Of letting the bond fully fuse.

And they might have crossed that threshold by the fourth night—had the knock not come.

It wasn't a polite knock.

It was a hammering bang.

Hagan froze, instinct humming. Seren sat up, the blanket sliding from her bare shoulders.

Hagan swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled on his pants, his pulse already shifting to alert. He opened the door just a sliver—just enough.

Outside stood one of the enforcers. Broad. Tense. The look on his face made Hagan's gut tighten.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the man said quietly, voice steady but not unkind. "But the Highclaw needs you."

"What happened?"

"There's been... an issue. At the southern border."

Hagan narrowed his eyes. "Is it bad?"

The enforcer didn't answer right away. Just lowered his gaze, then back up to meet Hagan's.

Behind him, Seren stood, dressed in his shirt over her head. Her silver eyes met his.

"Go," she said softly. "We'll finish this later."

He didn't answer.

He just kissed her—hard and quick and full of everything he couldn't say—before stepping out into the gathering dark.

Chapter 39

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