Page 21

Hagan

Hagan sat on the wide wooden railing of the old watchtower at the northern boundary of Vargrheim where it bordered the Starnheim tribe , the wind stirring his hair as he stared into the thick trees surrounding the village.

The scent of damp pine filled the air, sharp and grounding, but nothing settled the twisting in his chest. He exhaled slowly, knowing he should have already been at the longhouse, standing where his father expected him to be.

Where she would be.

His future bride.

The words felt foreign, unnatural, like a rope tightening around his throat.

He should go.

Instead, he stayed.

Lia sat beside him, her fingers resting lightly against his wrist, her presence familiar, grounding.

He wasn't alone—Dain leaned against the wooden post, arms crossed over his chest, frowning as he watched Hagan with quiet intensity.

Veyr stood a few steps away, silent, unreadable, his eyes distant as if he had already played out the outcome of this night in his mind.

"This is stupid. You are only twelve," Dain muttered, kicking a loose stone off the platform. "They can't just force this on you. It's not fair."

Hagan didn't answer.

Because it didn't matter. Fair had nothing to do with it .

His father had made it clear—Seren was chosen for him, bonded to him before she could even walk. It was written in the prophesy, etched into their blood, undeniable. A link forged long before either of them had a say.

But he should have a say.

Shouldn't he?

"If she feels unwelcome enough," Dain continued, tone sharp, "maybe she'll go back where she belongs. To her own tribe."

The words made something in Hagan recoil, but he didn't stop him. Sometimes Dain talked too much. Most of it without a thought in his head.

Lia pressed closer, her voice soft but insistent. "I feel a bond with Hagan," she said, gaze lifting to meet his. "And he feels it too."

Her fingers tightened on his.

Hagan swallowed, heart thudding once, hard.

She wasn't wrong. His fingers tightened back.

He did feel something with her—familiarity, warmth, history. A connection built on shared years, whispered conversations under moonlight, stolen glances when no one was watching.

Seren had none of that.

"She doesn't even have wolf blood," Lia murmured, voice edged with quiet triumph. "She doesn't belong here."

Dain grinned, pleased, but Veyr—ever the cautious one—finally spoke .

"We need to assess the situation before we make rash decisions." His voice was quiet, thoughtful.

Hagan exhaled, feeling like he was in a cage and the gate had clanged shut.

They were late.

His father was going to be furious. He had been shouting at him through the tribelink for the last half an hour.

They moved quickly through the trees, the sound of voices growing louder as they neared the longhouse. The tribelink buzzed in the peripheries of his mind. Then, as they stepped past the crowd, the bodies parted, and for the first time, he saw her.

Her back was turned to him, her body slightly bent as she murmured something to a young cub. A single plait of ink-black hair fell over her shoulder, stark against the deep red of her dress—strange, unfamiliar.

Then, suddenly—she stiffened.

And she turned.

It was like she had been pulled by something unseen, some invisible thread that connected them both, stretching taut.

The girl standing before him was unlike anyone he had ever seen.

Her hair was impossibly black, darker than a moonless night, falling in a long plait over her shoulder with loose tendrils framing her face.

Her skin, smooth and deep as sun-warmed earth, was dark in contrast to the pale tones of the wolves around her.

And her eyes—they were what unsettled him most. Too large, too bright, a piercing silver that seemed almost unnatural against her darker complexion, like ice melting into shadows .

There was something wild in her beauty, something otherworldly.

She wore a deep red dress, embroidered with unfamiliar patterns along the hem—ornate, intricate, foreign.

The fabric hugged her slender frame, making her appear too delicate, too thin for a world like theirs.

A silver ring gleamed in her nose in a small act of defiance, adding to her strangeness. Wolves did not like silver.

She was not like them.

Everything about her was wrong. And yet, the longer he looked, the more a strange knowing stirred deep in his chest, like a buried memory scratching at the edges of his mind.

Everything about her was wrong.

Wrong for here.

Wrong for him.

And yet—

Something in his chest stirred.

It wasn't recognition. No, something older. A knowing buried deep, like a memory he couldn't quite touch. It made him feel dizzy, off-balance. His breath felt too shallow, his body suddenly aware of every heartbeat.

Lia shifted beside him, her fingers still laced with his. Her presence pulled him back from the brink. He could feel Dain standing close, his sharp eyes narrowing, showing fang as he muttered, "She looks strange. Those eyes...I don't like her looking at me."

Hagan swallowed, tearing his gaze away .

"She looks weak," Lia murmured, and something in her tone made his stomach twist.

It snapped him out of the daze.

Weak.

Yes. She did look weak.

She wasn't even a wolf.

He watched as she hesitated, stepping toward him like she wasn't sure if she should.

Her fingers dug into the strap of a worn leather backpack, patched in places, decorated with unfamiliar patterns.

She pulled something from it—a blanket, deep purple, woven thick and heavy.

The edges were embroidered, small intricate patterns woven into the fabric.

It had taken time.

Care.

She had made this for him.

He could feel the weight of watching eyes.

Lia.

Dain.

Veyr.

His father.

The entire pack.

Hagan clenched his jaw, pulse roaring in his ears.

Seren tried to hand it to him, but he didn't reach for it .

Why was she here?

Why hadn't she stayed where she belonged?

His father's glare burned into his skin, and Hagan knew he couldn't refuse it. Not without consequences. Not without shame.

So he took it.

Barely.

The moment it was in his hands, he felt nothing.

He didn't look at it.

Didn't trace the careful stitches.

Didn't acknowledge the time, the effort, the meaning.

Instead, he felt the pressure of Lia's gaze, the weight of Dain's disdain, the entire tribe's expectations hanging heavy in the air.

And then, in a tone he had never used before, one that felt foreign even to his own ears, he said—

"This looks like it'd be better suited for scrubbing floors."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Wrong, the moment they left his lips.

A hush fell.

His father's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Hagan."

Anger. Sharp .

Hagan's fingers curled tightly around the blanket. His pulse slammed against his ribs.

He hadn't meant to be cruel. He had never been mean like this to anyone.

But now—

His father was furious. His mother looked disappointed.

And Seren—

She didn't say anything.

Didn't react.

But something in her changed.

He saw it—the way her expression stilled, the way her shoulders straightened, the way something quietly shattered behind her eyes.

And for some reason, that made his chest ache more than his father's anger.

"Hagan. Inside."

The order came through the tribelink, a voice that brooked no argument.

Then, in a gentle voice, even for his dad, "Seren, come with me"

Hagan swallowed hard.

He should feel victorious. He had stood up to his father.

He didn't.

His fingers were still curled around the blanket as he turned away, walking toward the longhouse.

The words still echoed in his ears.

Why did she come ?

Why couldn't she stay where she belonged?

And yet—

That strange knowing still lingered, deep in his chest.

A memory that wasn't a memory.

Like an itch between his shoulder blades.