Page 169 of The Moonborn's Curse
Inside, nestled in black satin, lay a delicate antique bracelet of silver, so fine it gleamed like starlight. Hanging from the chain were tiny charms: a pine tree. A crescent moon. A curled fox. A miniature camera.
For a moment, Seren didn't breathe. Her expression flickered—softness, memory, confusion. Then she masked it.
"It's beautiful," she said quietly.
"You told me once," Riven said, "you missed the forest. I knew it belonged to you, the moment I saw it."
"I couldn't possibly..." said Seren.
"It's already yours. No take-backs," said Riven.
Across the café, the growl that escaped Hagan's throat was not entirely human. Jealousy slithered through him like a venomous serpent. Griff froze mid-clean. Ryn rolled her eyes so hard they nearly spun out of her skull.
"Everything all right there, wolf-boy?" she muttered as she passed.
Ana, now standing behind him, leaned over and whispered, "Either you're about to shift or combust. I can't tell."
"Both," Hagan said tightly, watching Seren's fingers brush over the fox charm.
And then—then shelookedat him. Just a flicker of silver eyes, uncertain, unreadable.
And Hagan knew she felt it—the thin thread between his control and murder.
Then Riven reached across the table and gently touched her hand.
The rest of the bracelet conversation faded behind the dull roar in Hagan's ears. His vision sharpened to the point of pain.
"Don't do it," Ana's voice said calmly from behind him. "I will not post bail for bar brawls over shiny jewellery and emotional baggage."
But Hagan couldn't answer.
Because at that moment, all he could see was the girl he'd once lost, wearing a fox-shaped charm that wasn't from him.
Riven was saying, "Couldn't help myself. I was hoping to negotiate another date."
"Oh, are we negotiating now?" Seren asked, arching a brow. "You didn't bring a contract."
Riven held a hand to his chest. "Only in terms of mutual enjoyment. One art gallery opening. Minimal risk. Great lighting."
"Lighting?" she snorted. "Is that what you lure unsuspecting women with? Shadows and exhibits?"
"Depends on the exhibit," he replied smoothly. "Some of us don't rely on brute strength to be memorable."
Hesenta subtle glance Hagan's way. So, he knew.
Hagan's molars ground together.
"I don't know," Seren drawled. "What's in it for me?"
"Fine wine. Intellectual conversation. Possibly a bouquet of ethically harvested flowers."
"Do they come with an ethical receipt?"
Riven grinned. "Itemised."
Seren laughed—and that sound, that easy laugh, was what made Hagan's knuckles go white around his beer glass.
"Warlock's got game," said Threk.
