Page 40

Hagan

Hagan woke with sunlight brushing across his face, warm and golden—but something was missing. Again.

It had been days since he'd seen Seren in the daylight.

Days since he'd heard her laugh or caught the scent of her skin as she leaned over a simmering pan.

Her absence crept into him like a draft through a door left ajar.

But still, the bond thrummed within him, deeper and louder each day—a call for consummation, for blood, for union.

Draken had kept him busy, piling on responsibility, pushing him harder. And Hagan had risen to the challenge. Just yesterday, he'd bested his father in a sparring session, locking him into a submission hold that made the old wolf tap out.

He could feel his father's pride echoing through the tribelink. He was becoming everything he'd once dreamed of.

And Lia—steady, tireless Lia—had been by his side through it all. His right hand. His second wind.

He rubbed his face, rolled out of bed, and caught the smell of food .

A soft stack of golden slices of bread still sat warm on the table beside a pot of fragrant yellow curry. The spiced potatoes inside were soft and buttery, perfumed with mustard seeds, ginger, and curry leaves. She'd kept it covered, wrapped in a cotton cloth. As always.

He sighed.

Today, he promised himself. Today I'll come home early.

He ate quickly, barely tasting it. The bond tugged harder with every heartbeat, every memory of her skin against his.

His body burned for her now, with a pull that felt ancient.

But even as his hunger for Seren gnawed at him, a strange unease clung to his thoughts—like something in the edge of his peripheral vision that he couldn't quite see.

Still, he pushed the feeling aside.

The longhouse was busy when he arrived, but he barely noticed. He moved through the corridors with purpose, nodding to scouts and enforcers before entering his office.

Lia was already there. Since that last kiss in the woods, they had settled down into good friends. And yet, sometimes her gaze made him uncomfortable.

Papers were strewn across the desk, maps half-rolled, a steaming pot of tea between them. They worked all afternoon—training schedules, scout routes, meeting requests. They were efficient. In sync. Familiar .

By evening, they were both slouched in their chairs, tension bleeding into fatigue. He leaned back with a groan. She laughed softly and sat on the arm of his chair.

"You remember that time we were caught sneaking into the sacred pool during the full moon?" she asked. Her voice was warm, edged in nostalgia.

He chuckled. "You pushed me in."

"You deserved it."

They were quiet for a moment.

Then she asked it—softly, breaking the hush.

"What happened to us, Hagan?"

He blinked.

"I mean... one day, you were mine. The next, you weren't." Her voice broke slightly, her fingers curling over his shoulder. "I know... I've been trying to move on. I am. But it still hurts. You broke my heart."

He exhaled, shifting under her hand. "Lia... there's someone out there who's right for you. Someone who'll see you for everything you are. "

"Yeah?" she whispered. "You used to say that about me."

Before he could reply, her lips were on his. Familiar. Demanding. And before he registered what was happening, she was straddling him, her hands sliding up under his shirt, her mouth hot and coaxing.

His hands were on her waist—reflex, muscle memory. She leaned into him, reaching for the ties of his pants.

Then—

The door burst open.

Seren

Across the compound, in Astrid's room, Seren was mid-discussion about the upcoming full moon festival when her breath hitched sharply. She doubled over, clutching her chest.

The matemark on her wrist burned white-hot.

The bond twisted violently, as if in pain.

Astrid reached for her, alarmed. "Seren—what is it?"

Her voice was strangled. "Something is wrong? Where is Hagan? Where is he? "

Astrid went pale. "His office."

She hurried to help Seren as she threw up on the floor. Seren shook her hands off and moved towards the door like she was underwater.

In the common area, Veyr turned from his conversation to see Seren burst out of the Lunara's room. Dain who was beside him glanced away; jaw tight with guilt.

Seren didn't wait.

She ran.

The door cracked off the wall as Seren half-fell, half-stumbled into the room—gasping, eyes wide, vision tunnelling.

She saw Lia first—perched on Hagan's lap, shirt rumpled, her bare shoulder exposed. Hagan beneath her, dazed, hands still at her hips. Their bond buzzed violently in her skull, a shriek of wrongness.

His eyes locked onto Seren's—and suddenly, it was like waking from a drugged dream.

"Seren—" he choked.

He shoved Lia off him, rising to his feet so fast the chair clattered backwards. Lia stumbled, startled .

But it was too late.

Seren's fist connected with his jaw in one clean, furious arc.

His head snapped to the side—not from the force, but from the shock. She'd never hit him before. Never looked at him like that. Like he wasn't just a stranger—but something lower.

He barely felt the pain.

But he felt her.

Her silver eyes blazed with loathing, her chest heaving, her eyes burning with something beyond fury.

"Seren—wait—I don't know what came over me—"

But she wasn't looking at him anymore.

Her gaze had fixed on Lia.

Who smirked—just slightly. A flicker, too fast for anyone else to catch.

But Seren saw it .

And then Lia composed her expression, slow and graceful, pulling her sleeve back over her bare shoulder.

Something broke inside Seren. Not with a crack—but a shift. A click of truth falling into place.

She stepped forward—and something shifted in the room.

The air thickened. The ground felt as though it trembled, ever so slightly. The walls of the longhouse groaned as if reacting to a rising pressure. A low hum filled the silence, like a storm gathering behind her eyes.

She lifted her hand—and slapped Lia across the face with a sound that cracked like thunder.

Lia staggered, stunned.

Then snarled—and raised her hand to strike back.

Seren caught her wrist mid-air.

And everything changed.

The moment their skin touched, something lit behind Seren's eyes. A shimmer. A glow. A sudden widening of her pupils as if seeing something no one else could.

She dropped Lia's hand slowly. Took a step back .

Her voice was devoid of emotion.

"Well played, Enchantress."

Silence fell like a blade.

Lia went still, her face pale.

Seren continued in a voice not hers "Old magic never lies. You should've done your homework."

She looked at Hagan—not with hatred, but something far heavier.

"Tell him who you really are."

All eyes turned to Lia.

And this time, she had no mask to hide behind.

Lia straightened slowly, her cheek red from the slap, but this time there was no smugness.

Her eyes darted around the room—toward Draken who had seen everything, toward Hagan, toward the Oracle who had just entered.

Her lips trembled as she tried to compose herself, shoulders hunched as if expecting another blow .

"I— I don't know what you're talking about," she said, voice cracking despite her efforts to stay even. "This is... this is insane."

But her hands were shaking.

She took a small step back, bumping into the edge of the overturned chair. Her composure was slipping—cracking at the edges.

From the far side of the longhouse, Draken stepped forward.

His expression was filled with rage. The weight of the Highclaw's aura rolled out in slow, crushing waves. The floor beneath Lia creaked.

"Speak the truth," Draken commanded, his voice like stone against steel.

Lia flinched—her composure faltering. She tried to straighten, to hold his gaze, but her knees buckled. She fell to the wooden floor with a gasp, clutching her stomach.

"I—I—" Her voice cracked. "My mother. She is a witch of the enchantress caste. I don't even know who my father is."

Silence .

She sobbed once, breath hitching. "They... mated to make me," Lia whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible beneath the weight of Draken's aura pressing down on her. "Not out of love. Not even out of lust. It was a pact."

She lifted her eyes, blinking rapidly, her fear thick in the air now.

"A Highclaw—of a tribe I never knew the name of—came to my mother years ago. He told her the prophecy had already spread. That a Lunara would rise, bound to the future Alpha of Vargrheim. That their union would shape the tribes—bring power, balance, change."

Her voice faltered, a tremor running through her limbs.

"They wanted it stopped. He offered her a bloodline favour. If she could sever the bond before it ever truly formed."

"I was the blade they forged."

Gasps echoed through the room—Dain, frozen in horror; Garrik with his jaw clenched; Veyr, face unreadable .

"I was raised to charm him. To twist around him.

I was taught what to say, how to feel, what would make him trust me.

" Her voice cracked on that word, and her beautiful blue eyes darted to Hagan, shame flickering there.

"I didn't know everything. They kept things from me.

But I have been told as long as I can remember to get close.

Just close enough to poison the bond before it sealed. "

She laughed bitterly, then winced. "And it worked... almost."

Her voice held no venom now—only weariness. Defeat.

"I don't even know who my father is. My mother said he was one of the wolves. A warrior with no name, only a purpose. She called me her 'crafted spell.' Said I was the curse they would never see coming."

Her shoulders sagged as though speaking it had taken something from her.

"I didn't ask for this. But I was made for it."

She looked away.

"I am sorry, Hagan."

Dain stepped back like she had struck him, his face crumpling, his eyes searching hers with the hollow disbelief of someone whose world had just splintered .

"You—" he whispered. "You lied to all of us."

Lia looked up at him, real pain flickering through her expression for the first time. But before she could speak, all eyes turned.

Seren.

She was no longer standing.

Seren sat now, slumped on one of the long benches along the wall of the hall, her head in her hands, fingers tangled in her hair. Her posture was broken—folded inward, not in defeat but in pain too heavy to hold upright. Her shoulders trembled once, then stilled.

The magic around her no longer flared—it whispered. Low and mournful, like the wind rustling through a dying grove. It seeped from her like breath, ancient and quiet, the kind that belonged to things older than language.

Hagan couldn't stop looking at her.

Even with Lia's confession echoing through the room. Even with the bond between them burning like a frayed wire. He couldn't pull his eyes away from the girl who had once walked beside him in the woods, camera in hand, smile crooked and true .

Now, she wouldn't even look at him. The guilt was eating him alive.

"Explain the rest," she said quietly.

Lia blinked. "What—?"

Everyone felt it. A shadow of grief and power hung over the room like the hush before a storm. She said nothing, but her grief was palpable—spreading in waves all around her.

Seren opened her eyes. Silver and knowing.

"You said you were placed in Hagan's path," Seren murmured. "But what you're not saying—is that none of this would have worked if he didn't care for you. At least a little. You couldn't spin your web without at least a thread from him. That is how the magic works."

A ripple went through the room.

"You cannot cast a spell on stone and expect it to bloom," Seren continued. "Something in him responded to you. Maybe it was an old habit. Maybe it was the love he had. But magic needs soil to grow. And a plant does not grow on salted earth."

She stood then, slowly, like an old woman, her joints creaking her soul in tatters .

" I refuse to be part of a bond built on what could never truly belong to me."

Hagan took a step forward. "Seren—"

But she raised her hand without looking at him.

And slowly, Hagan felt the pain of her pulling away.