Page 37

The township was blooming.

Garlands of jasmine and pale forest roses were strung between the houses, their scent rising with the late sun.

At the centre, the square had been swept clean and laid with rushes.

Children darted beneath the feet of women adorned in white flower crowns, laughter trailing like ribbons in the air.

The men wore traditional tunics—their colours woven from the threads of their family line.

The morning sun filtered through the trees, gilding the leaves like fire. Hagan stood near the edge of the clearing, fidgeting with the cuffs of his black and gold tunic. Dain and Veyr were nearby, already dressed, but it felt like the whole world was holding its breath.

He'd been restless all morning—too hot, too aware of the bond humming just beneath his skin since the bonding tattoo ink had been prepared. Since she had started getting ready.

He sensed her behind him before he saw her. Such was the bond between them.

Seren stepped into the clearing, and everything else vanished.

The golden sheath she wore shimmered like sunlight over water, clinging to her curves, graceful and proud.

Her dark braid had been woven with sprigs of lavender and a narrow thread of gold.

The bandeau she wore in red marked her bloodline, but it was the look in her eyes—calm, fierce, and a little nervous—that nearly undid him .

He couldn't breathe.

She caught his stare. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then—gods help him—she smiled.

It was shy at first, then tilted into something teasing. Like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Which, given their bond, she probably did.

Beside him, Dain muttered, "Try not to drool."

Veyr didn't say anything, but Hagan noticed the flick of his gaze—assessing, distant, almost protective. And Hagan suddenly understood just how many eyes were on her now. How many would always be on her.

And still, she was his in a way that no other could compare.

When she reached him, she cocked her head slightly. "You look good."

"You..." He swallowed. "You look—"

He forgot the word. His mind was blank .

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...."

Neither of them moved away.

But not everyone was pleased.

Lia stood to the side, her expression carved in frost. She wore the white flower crown like the rest, but it was crooked. She hadn't come near Seren once, but she had hovered just behind Hagan all day, her presence like a cold wind.

Dain too had been silent. Watchful. He had seen the kiss —Seren knew that by the way he looked at her like she'd taken something that didn't belong to her.

Earlier, he'd passed by with a glance and muttered under his breath, "Enjoy Lia's seconds while you can. She'll always be Hagan's first love."

Seren had turned, sharp. "And what does that make you? Her mouthpiece? "

He had gone stiff. His mouth opened—then shut—and he stalked off.

She regretted the words immediately. There had been pain in his eyes. The kind that developed over years of longing. No one knew more about that kind of agony than her.

The sacred pool was clear as air.

It lay at the edge of the forest, flanked by elder trees and a rise of mossy stones.

Rumours whispered that it was a portal to another world—if you stepped in at the wrong moment, you'd be pulled into something older and stranger.

No one stepped into the sacred waters, no matter the time of the day.

The pebbles at the bottom shimmered in every shade—violet, coral, pale blue. As the elder approached, the crowd quieted. The old man carried a bowl of enchanted ink, dark as night and glowing faintly from within. In his other hand, a bone needle carved with ancient runes.

The ceremony began with words—words Seren barely heard as she looked at Hagan beside her. He looked calm. Proud. And completely hers .

Her parents had wished to come but the unrest at the border had prevented it.

Patrols had been attacked at the border—throats cut, stomachs sliced open.

Fortunately, they held on with their shifter healing until they could be found after they had called for help through the tribelink.

Draken had tightened the perimeter and looked drawn from the strain, though he said nothing as he stood off to the side.

Boden, Rheon, and Rhik were returning from the Seren's homeland.

Two of them were bringing partners from Seren's bloodline to be bound through ritual and tribal ink.

Her family was far away and that made Seren ache a little.

To share this moment with people who understood both sides of her would have been perfect.

Still, today was not about who was missing—but who had become family.

The elder murmured over their hands, placing one atop the other.

Then came the needle.

The ink burned. Not like fire—but like something opening. A thread woven into skin and soul.

The twin halves of the knot—a mirrored looping design made from a single line—were etched into the inside of their wrists. The final dots sealed the bond.

It would last until death .

And as the crowd erupted in cheers and music started, Seren couldn't look away from Hagan. They smiled at each other, matching burns on their skin, matching wildness in their hearts.

The feast was long and noisy, with roasted meat, fruit wine, and songs that made little pups fall asleep under the tables.

Seren laughed until her cheeks ached, danced until her toes went numb, and tried not to notice the moments Lia's gaze found hers across the firelight—cold, sharp, full of malice.

Hagan must have seen it too. He squeezed her hand, grounding her. "Give her time," he said.

"I will."

But the whispers were harder to ignore. About Lia being left behind. About how quickly Hagan had moved on.

Seren bit her cheek and said nothing.

Their cottage was tucked halfway between the oracle's house and the township. Privacy, Draken had said, as he led them there himself. A gift. A blessing.

"Tradition," someone shouted from the crowd behind them. "Carry her over the threshold! "

And Hagan did—with a laughing "sorry" and an exaggerated stumble through the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Inside, the cottage was warm. One room. A bed. A pantry full of food. Firewood was stacked neatly in the corner. Simple. Perfect.

"Well," Seren said after a pause, "this is... awkward."

Hagan scratched the back of his neck. "I didn't plan the single bed, I swear."

Seren sent him a glance from under her long lashes.

He grinned, then reached into a pouch at his belt. "I made you something."

It was a carving—a little rabbit crouched in tall grass; every detail was so intricate that her fingers trembled as she took it.

"I love it," she whispered.

He smiled, shy and soft. "I have something for you," she said, digging into her satchel.

She pulled out a delicate gold ring. Twisted vines curled around the band, ending in a crescent moon .

"I had it made," she said. "I thought you'd wear it on your necklace. But..."

He took it and slid it onto his ring finger.

"Not tradition," he said. "But perfect."

They sat on the bed, facing each other. Quiet.

There was... energy between them now. Ever since the ink, the bond pulsed like a second heartbeat.

She could feel him—shadows of his thoughts, flickers of his emotions.

He looked at her and she knew he was thinking about how soft her lips had felt.

She thought about kissing him again and his breath caught.

They didn't speak of it.

Instead, they lay down facing each other, sharing a blanket and awkward questions. What was your first memory? Do you like storms? If you were a bird, what would you be?

At some point, their hands met between them. He felt like liquid light passed from her to him. He leaned forward, brushed his lips softly over hers.

"Too soon?" he murmured.

"No," she whispered. "Just enough. "

And with that, they closed their eyes.

Not yet lovers.

But no longer strangers.