Page 47

Hagan

Like the doomed star of a grand and tragic spectacle, Hagan stood at the centre of the tribe's watchful eyes, his life unravelling in the aftermath of his own folly. Everything he had unknowingly taken for granted had dissolved into nothingness.

Lia's revelations didn't just burn through the bond between him and Seren—they scorched the foundation of everything else in Hagan's life. Her powers as an enchantress were only amplified by her Wolfblood from her father's line. She could hypnotise the susceptible with a touch.

His parents had changed beyond recognition. His father could not meet his eyes. Not due to anger. But due to guilt.

That was worse.

His mother hadn't said a word when she looked down on him, beaten and bruised, in the longhall. She had lain a hand on his arm and looked at him like she was trying to reconcile the boy she raised with the man who had let this happen to his fated. Her eyes were clouded with guilt.

His father had spoken only once, voice low, cracking: "The fates chose her. And we failed her."

Veyr... Veyr refused to speak to him or even look at him after the fight .

He didn't know if he should be grateful or jealous of all the time Seren spent with him.

And Dain?

Dain hadn't said a word since the truth came out—about Lia's enchantment, about how long she'd manipulated them both.

About how he had helped her. Dain had stood in that long silence with guilt written across his face like a brand, but also anger—because somewhere deep down, he had loved her too.

Lia had admitted to using her magic—whispers, spells, subtle touches—to cloud Hagan's mind, and Dain's.

And Dain, who'd been in love with her for as long as he could remember, had turned a blind eye.

He'd thought Hagan used her and threw her away.

But the truth was... messy. After Hagan had explained that he was going to be true to Seren, Dain and Lia had become close friends.

And gradually lovers. It had just happened.

Secretly.

And when Hagan began working with her again, Lia had clung to the hope that he was coming back. Dain wanted her to be happy, and Hagan had been too distracted to see how twisted what was happening right in front of him.

And even now that the lies had been peeled back, that damage was done.

His parents were heartbroken. His tribe was whispering .

Hagan had been coming to the Oracle's cottage every day.

Sometimes, he came with food. Other times, with a carefully rehearsed apology. But the moment he stood in the doorway and looked at her—the girl curled into herself like a closed bud—everything he'd planned to say vanished. Words melted into gibberish. Nonsense. Apologies that came out all wrong.

And Seren just lay there, silent.

She didn't even look at him.

He left every time feeling like his chest was full of broken glass.

The cottage they shared felt like a tomb.

But he could still smell her in the bedclothes, so that was where he had to be.

At night, when he couldn't sleep, he remembered all the things she had done for the tribe.

Quiet, unnoticed things. The way she passed along small, important information she'd picked up.

The food she made for him—always hot, always waiting, even when he came home late. How she never once asked for thanks.

Even when the border threats had died down months ago, Hagan had kept tightening security, drilling the patrols, pushing the wolves harder .

The tribe came first.

But somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten what the bond taught—what the Oracle herself once told him: between bonded mates, you are each other's tribe before all else.

He hadn't lived by that.

And now... now she was paying the price.

And then things got worse.

Seren disappeared.

It happened in the dead of night. He'd only left the Oracle's doorstep to bathe and grab food. Veyr, who'd been silently guarding her, had to do a border patrol shift.

She slipped through both their fingers.

She was gone.

They found bear tracks. Her scent disappeared into the river.

No trail. No clue. No idea if she was alive or dead.

The noose that had been tightening around his neck now felt like a constant. There was this constant feeling like he wasn't getting enough air. Hagan hadn't slept in days.

Then—twilight.

A buzz over the tribelink.

Someone had seen Seren walking alone toward the sacred pool.

He ran in wolf form, his heart pounding like a war drum. He arrived just in time to see the shimmering ward flare up around her .

He knew.

Knew something was terribly wrong.

They rose around Seren in a perfect circle from the circle of white—gleaming , pulsing with power, and humming with static. The air smelt of blood and desperation.

She was already in the centre, lips moving in a steady chant. Her voice, carried by the wind, was both beautiful and terrible.

And then—

He saw it.

The glint of silver.

The blade.

Her hands moved with terrifying grace as she lifted the knife, her wrists already bared.

"No—"

His voice cracked, ripped from his throat in a snarl of panic .

The blood came in long, dark ribbons.

It flowed down her arms, spilling freely into the earth. It pooled at her feet, soaked into the sacred soil as the spell circle pulsed with crimson light.

He didn't think—he lunged.

Shifted mid-stride, half-wolf, all fury, claws slamming into the golden edge of the ward.

It held.

And burned.

A shock of agony tore through him, hurling him backwards, steam rising from the place his skin had touched the barrier. He staggered, stumbled—and threw himself at it again.

And again.

It was like smashing into the sun.

The skin along his shoulder blistered, the flesh of his palms seared raw—but he didn't care. Didn't stop.

"Seren! "

Her head was drooping now. Her legs buckled.

Blood still flowed in streams.

The scent of it was overwhelming. It choked his throat and shattered his focus.

"Seren, please—"

"Hagan!"

The voice was sharp.

The Highclaw emerged from the gathering crowd, his face a mask of confusion and dread. He took one look at the circle, then at Hagan's scorched arms.

"Stop," Draken barked, grabbing his son's shoulders.

"She's bleeding out!" Hagan roared, wild-eyed. "She's—look at her!"

"I see her," Draken snapped. "And if you keep hitting that barrier, you'll go down too."

"She's dying! "

Draken glanced at the blood-soaked earth; his jaw clenched tight. "These are old wards. Forbidden magic. I've only seen it once before. And we cannot penetrate it. The Oracle is on her way."

"She's fading!" Hagan was panting now, sweat and smoke rising from his skin, hands trembling. The ink on his wrist started running. "I can't feel her anymore!"

Draken's expression shifted—brief, stricken.

Inside the circle, Seren dropped to her knees.

Her head bowed. Her hands hung limp at her sides.

How much blood could one person lose?

Was she still alive?

Then—

Her body tilted.

Slowly, horribly.

Her arm slipped outside the ward line.

And that was all Hagan needed.

With a scream, he dove forward and seized her wrist, yanking her toward him. The circle sparked violently but didn't resist the pull .

She collapsed into his arms.

She was pale. So pale. Her pulse was thready, her breath faint. He held her against his chest, trembling and ran.