Page 42

Hagan

The door clicked shut behind her.

Hagan's composure splintered like fragile glass.

She was gone.

Not with fire. Not with screaming. But with silence and finality.

Veyr glanced at him—just once—then turned without a word and followed Seren into the deepening twilight.

The bond buzzed in Hagan's chest like a hornet's nest—frantic, disoriented, bleeding. It felt wrong, unbalanced. Hollow. Her absence pulsed through him, louder and louder. Like his ribs had been carved out from the inside.

His body twitched forward on instinct—he needed to follow her, to explain, to fix it.

But Draken stepped into his path.

"Let me pass," Hagan growled, his voice low and frayed with desperation.

"No."

"She needs me—! "

"She needs space," Draken said, his tone sharp, hard as stone. "And you need to face what you've done."

Hagan shoved him, fury flaring.

But Draken didn't move.

Behind him, the longhouse was still. No one spoke. No one dared.

The silence was louder than any judgment.

Hagan's hands dropped, useless at his sides. All the fight drained from him, all the strength that had built over months now gone in a single breath. He turned, staggering like a wounded animal, and collapsed onto the nearest bench.

His elbows dug into his knees. His hands were buried in his hair.

"What do I do?" he whispered.

No one answered.

Not yet.

Moments later, Vir returned, the air around him taut with tension .

"She's gone," he said flatly. "Gaia. Packed up and disappeared. It hasn't been long. No trail. No scent."

Draken's mouth tightened. "Send enforcers. South and East. If she has help, we'll find them."

Then, turning to Garrik with sharp command: "Restrain Lia. She's not to be left unguarded. Lock her down in the prison quarters. She speaks to no one unless I say so."

Garrik nodded grimly.

Two enforcers stepped forward, flanking Lia without a word.

But her voice cut through the stillness, small and brittle. "Hagan... please."

He didn't move as they dragged her resisting form away.

" I didn't want to hurt anyone. I didn't mean for this to happen. But I love you, Hail. I do."

He flinched.

Behind her, Dain stepped forward, his voice low and sick with guilt .

"I helped her," he said. "Not because I hated Seren—but because I believed Lia belonged at your side. I was wrong. I undermined Seren. I lied. I thought I was protecting the tribe... but I was protecting my own idea of it. I was supposed to lead Seren to you if she didn't find you together."

It was a setup.

Hagan hunched over, tears slipping through the cracks between his fingers, his jaw clenched tight.

"She trusted us."

"The little Lunara..."

"He touched another."

"How could they let this happen?"

The sacredness of the bond had been shattered in full view of the tribe, and now its pieces cut everyone. Shame clung to the walls. Anger simmered just beneath it.

Some were furious—with Hagan, with Lia, with the leaders who stood silent too long.

Others were gutted, heavy with guilt .

And then there was the bond itself.

The sacred ink that had sealed them—the ritual drawn with the knot of the ancestors—could not be undone. Not truly. Once marked, once linked, only death could sever what had been bound by fate.

And for those who were fated... it was worse.

Fated mates couldn't stay away from each other, not for long. Even in pain. Even in hatred. The bond would pull, would ache, would draw them like gravity.

And Hagan—bleeding, broken, kneeling in the wreckage—held onto that like a lifeline.

Maybe... maybe that would give them time.

Time to speak.

Time to make it right.

Time to earn her forgiveness.

But then the doors burst open.

Veyr returned.

And this time, he wasn't silent .

His shirt was half-buttoned, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage. Blood still stained his knuckles from the splintered doorframe at the Oracle's cottage.

Hagan stood slowly.

Veyr launched across the room, fists flying. The first blow caught Hagan across the jaw, sharp and clean. His head snapped sideways, and he staggered, tasting copper. But he didn't block the second hit.

He didn't want to.

The next punch landed in his ribs—followed by another to his gut. Each one dug deep, cutting through his breath, through his guilt.

And then he fought back.

They crashed into one another like storm and fire, all control abandoned. No claws. No shifting. Just knuckles, elbows, knees. Human fury.

Years of brotherhood splintered in bone.

Veyr's rage was surgical. Focused. Every strike was a punishment. Every hit landed with the weight of all the moments he'd stayed silent—for Hagan. For the prophecy. For Seren .

"You said you'd protect her!" Veyr roared, slamming his fist into Hagan's ribs. "You promised!"

"I know!" Hagan gasped, blocking, swinging blindly.

"You let her touch you—while Seren waited for you—trusted you—" Veyr's voice broke, and he drove his shoulder into Hagan's chest, knocking him against the stone pillar.

Hagan snarled, catching Veyr in the side with a brutal uppercut.

"I didn't mean to—!"

"But you did!" Veyr bellowed, slamming Hagan's head against the wood with a crack. "You chose her. Over everything."

They hit the floor hard, wrestling through broken chairs and shattered dishes. Blood spattered across the flagstones—most of it Hagan's, but not all.

Hagan's collarbone snapped with a sickening pop as Veyr wrenched his arm in a brutal twist.

He didn't scream.

He welcomed it. He deserved the pain .

His shoulder dislocated next. He slumped, chest heaving, sweat and blood mixing at his temple.

Veyr stood over him, panting, his face battered and split at the lip. His fists trembled.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why would you do this to her? After everything?"

Hagan didn't lift his head. He didn't defend himself.

He just knelt there in the wreckage—his body broken; his soul gutted.

His voice was hollow.

"It's all my fault," he whispered. "It's all on me."

Veyr stood over Hagan, chest heaving, blood running down his jawline and soaking into his shirt.

His knuckles were raw. His breathing was uneven.

And then, without a word, he turned his head and spat—a thick gob of blood hitting the floor beside Hagan with a wet smack.

Final .

Disgusted.

Done.

He didn't say anything else.

Didn't need to.

He turned and walked away, shoulders tense, leaving Hagan broken in body and spirit—on the floor with nothing but silence, judgment, and the weight of everything he'd thrown away.