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The first morning light spilt in through the cottage windows, brushing the floorboards with gold. Hagan stirred beneath the blanket, groaning into the pillow as he registered two things: the sharp scent of freshly brewed coffee—and the sound of humming.

He cracked one eye open. No one should be that cheerful this early in the morning.

He turned to look at the slight indent in the pillow beside him. The lingering warmth in the sheets where her body had been. The whisper of absence, recent and real.

She was already gone.

Hagan reached out, his hand brushing the soft fabric. He found her pillow, pulled it toward him, and pressed his face into it—breathing in the delicate, clinging scent of night-blooming jasmine and something uniquely her. Earthy. Clean. Soft.

His body ached in all the familiar ways, and his morning wood throbbed with no mercy, stubborn and inconvenient.

"Down, already," he muttered into the pillow, trying to will his body into behaving .

But the memory of her—curled beside him, lips slightly parted in sleep, her breath warm against his collarbone—didn't help. Neither did the way she'd shifted beneath the blanket in the early hours, her thigh brushing his, her fingers twitching just inches from his chest.

Resisting more than a kiss was already killing him. And now she was up, humming, like nothing had happened.

He groaned softly and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

It was going to be a long morning.

He finally made it out of bed, tugging on loose drawstring pants and dragging his fingers through his tangled hair. The scent of coconut and browning sugar hit him next, and he followed it like a trail—his bare feet quiet against the wood floor as he reached the kitchen doorway.

She was standing at the stove, one of his tunics swallowing her frame, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of flour on her cheek. The back of it dipped low, revealing the curve of her spine beneath. Her braid swung gently as she moved, her humming breaking off when she heard him.

"You don't have a heart," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "You left me to face my nightmares alone. "

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. "You were snoring. I barely escaped with my hearing intact."

He scoffed, stepping in and reaching for the steaming mug she'd set aside for him. "I do not snore."

She shrugged innocently. "The walls say otherwise."

Hagan sipped his coffee, eyes never leaving her. "You talk in your sleep, you know. Said something about... squirrel diplomacy?"

She made a face. "I was dreaming about the foxes, thank you."

They fell into a rhythm, bumping hips gently as they moved around each other. She handed him a finished rice pancake wrapped in toasted leaf, warm and fragrant. He unwrapped it slowly—revealing the sweet, coconut-brown sugar filling inside, golden and sticky.

He took a bite. Moaned. "This should be outlawed."

She only smiled as she placed another pancake on his plate.

He leaned against the counter beside her, chewing slowly. "Soooo good."

Her smile faded just slightly when she turned to face him fully. He had that intense look .

He nodded. "I want my morning kiss."

His muscled arm wrapped around her to pull her close with a jerk.

Their breaths mingled with the smell of coconut and sugar between them.

His hand slid over the bare skin of her spin to curve over one buttock.

Her sensitive breasts squashed on his unyielding chest. The kiss was nothing like the one beneath the branches. It was hotter. Hungrier. Less careful.

His lips moved over hers with a purpose, the tension between them snapping like a drawn bowstring. Her hands flattened against his bare chest, then curled into the fabric of his pants at the waist. He pressed her lightly against the counter, deepening the kiss, tasting sugar on her tongue.

She kissed him back like she'd been waiting for it.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little stunned, her braid was tangled over one shoulder and his coffee sat forgotten behind him.

But between them, the bond was thick as honey now.

It clung to every word left unsaid, every glance that lingered just a moment too long.

It hummed beneath the surface of their laughter, made their brushing fingers feel like sparks, made the space between them feel like it might collapse at any moment.

"I don't know how you do it," he said softly .

She tilted her head. "Do what?"

"Act like everything's normal when I feel like I'm about to come apart every time you stand too close."

Her smile was small, quiet, and a little sad. "Who says I'm not holding it together with string?"

The silence stretched, warm and restless.

"A very very thin fraying string," she muttered.

Then she handed him another pancake and said lightly, "Eat before you melt down completely."

He grinned. "Bossy."

"You love it."

And he did.

Gods, he did.

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It was tradition to leave the newly bonded couple alone for a week—time meant for learning each other's rhythms, discovering comfort in shared space, and slowly settling into the shape of us .

Their days were spent in the forest, wandering without aim but always together. Every night, they walked a little further, as if the wild itself was drawing them toward something. Some border of understanding neither of them had crossed yet.

That evening, the light was dusky gold, filtering through the tall pines like liquid fire.

Seren leaned back against a moss-soft tree trunk, her chest rising and falling with quiet, steady breath.

Hagan knelt in front of her, eyes thoughtful and warm, his hand curled lightly around the end of her braid.

"You trust me?" he asked softly.

Seren hesitated—then nodded.

He tugged her braid forward over her shoulder, fingers working carefully at the tie. Her hair tumbled loose, long and thick, slightly crinkled from the braid. He caught the weight of it in both hands and spread it gently across her chest like a curtain of shadow and light.

Then, slowly, reverently, he brushed his fingers up beneath the fall of hair to touch the edge of her bandeau.

"May I?" he whispered.

She gave the faintest nod, breath held .

He undid the knot at her back, and the cloth loosened, slipping down. Her breasts were full, tipped in soft brown. She shivered—not from cold, but the heat of his gaze. He held her hands to her sides when she went to cover herself.

"So beautiful." he mused, as if speaking to himself, "And all mine."

He let her hair spill across them again, concealing and revealing in turns, playing a slow game of peekaboo that made her laugh breathlessly—until he lowered his mouth and kissed the curve of one.

His tongue found the tip, gentle at first, then firmer, and her knees buckled slightly. She caught herself with a hand on his shoulder, the other gripping the bark behind her. Her breath hitched, and something deep and warm bloomed low in her belly.

But just when she thought she might dissolve under the feeling, he stopped. Pulled back. Wrapped her in his arms and held her tight, his bare chest pressed to hers.

She could feel him. Hard against her stomach.

She shifted, restless.

"Should I be ignoring that?" she asked, cheeks flushed.

He gave a low chuckle, lips against her hair. "Ignore him. "

"He has a name?"

"Yeah." He nuzzled into her, smelling the faint wild jasmine on her skin. "And a mind of his own. I call him Big H."

She laughed, breathless and stunned by how close she felt to him—and how much she wanted more.

She leaned back slightly, searching his eyes. "Then why aren't we...?"

Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

He was quiet for a long moment. Then:

"I think about how I treated you," he said softly. "Back then. When I ignored how the tribe ignored you. Bullied you. You didn't deserve any of it. I could have stopped it. But I didn't. I am so ashamed."

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts.

"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.