Page 59

It was too late. Her temper flared like dry tinder, her voice rising with it.

"Why are you here, Hagan?" she demanded. "Is there something you want? Haven't you taken enough?"

He opened his mouth, but she kept going, every word a blade.

"Have you brought her with you? Is she waiting downstairs? To stroll in and mark her territory again? Go on then—where is she?"

She stepped past him and looked over his shoulder toward the stairwell, eyes scanning.

"Are you here to rub it in?" she hissed. "Is that what this is?"

His shoulders bunched, fingers curling at his sides—but he didn't speak.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper, thick with something he couldn't name. "Did you two...?" She paused. "Do you have a child?"

It broke something in him.

"No," he said, voice ragged. "Seren... gods, no."

"It's the truth," he said, stepping closer.

She shook her head. "I don't want to hear it. You let her in. Over and over. You let her be part of everything. You shared things with her you should've shared with me."

"I made mistakes, Seren— "

"No." She held up a hand, stepping back. "Don't. You don't get to show up now and talk about mistakes."

"I never stopped looking for you," he said, eyes burning. "Never."

"You never should have let me go!" she snapped. "You never should have made me feel like I was a burden. Like I was last. Like you could have both of us and I should be grateful to sit and smile through it."

The air between them throbbed , turbulent and wounded.

"I don't want you," she said. Quiet. Final. A knife through his chest.

His throat bobbed with the effort to swallow the pain. But his voice was steel when he spoke.

"I don't want anybody but you."

But she didn't want to hear it. Not now.

Her face was cold, but her eyes were fire.

But before the argument could catch flame-

Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

Fast. Solid. Familiar.

Threk.

His silhouette filled the stairwell as he climbed—arms full of overflowing shopping bags, a massive pink bakery box balanced precariously on one elbow.

His bearded face was bright with good-natured purpose, his stride casual, humming under his breath like he didn't expect the apocalypse waiting on the landing.

Then he saw them .

Seren. Backed against the doorframe, chest rising and falling like she'd just run a mile.

And Hagan.

Too close.

The good-natured grin vanished. Replaced by something hard and deeply territorial.

He didn't speak. Just moved.

One massive step forward.

Two.

He wedged his enormous body between them with practiced ease—muscle and sheer mass forcing space, his wide shoulders pressing Hagan back. Seren was gently but firmly squeezed against her door.

"Can't—breathe," she muttered, flattened like a note against the wood.

Threk shifted half an inch, but his eyes didn't leave Hagan.

"Step back. Right. Now." he said, voice calm and low.

Hagan didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Was too shocked to comply.

So Threk gave a longsuffering sigh.

And dropped the grocery bags with a thud .

The donut box somehow remained upright, balanced like a miracle on top of a cereal box.

Then—before Hagan could do more than widen his eyes—Threk grabbed him.

A solid hand around his midsection. One arm hooked under his thighs.

"Hey—what the—!" Hagan shouted, his feet leaving the floor.

Three flights of stairs. He was gone like the wind.

Seren ran after them, her sandals slapping the concrete.

"Threk! Wait! That's—!"

They had reached the front entrance.

Threk shifted Hagan like a sack of potatoes, clearly preparing for a launch out the door.

And then, as if changing his mind, he lowered Hagan—more gently—until the wolf's boots touched ground.

They stood there, Hagan bristling, breath coming fast, his shirt slightly askew from the journey.

When Hagan tried to follow him back in , Threk turned, pointing a thick finger at him.

"Stay."

There was enough alpha in the command to make Hagan falter mid-step.

"You may have Alpha blood, but I'm a bear," Threk said calmly. "You have no idea what you're asking for. "

Seren arrived last, panting, hair askew. "What—what is wrong with you?"

Threk turned to her, blinking innocently "Griff says I should menace, not throw. Besides, the landlady wouldn't like it."

Seren trailed behind a mixture of shock and fury on her face. "Threk—this is Hagan."

The bear blinked, looking back and forth between them, then shrugged. "You want dinner?"

Hagan blinked at the sudden about-turn.

Threk turned without waiting for a reply. "I'm cooking."

Seren was left fuming at the doorway.

Hagan just smiled slowly.

Dinner was a strange affair. Tense. Laced with unspoken history.

Hagan sat at the table like an uninvited guest. Seren sent him daggers with every look. The only one talking was Threk—loudly, cheerfully.

"Sorry, wolf," he said to Hagan, dishing out steaming rice layered with vegetables and spices. "If you wanted meat, tough luck. She's still a vegetarian."

The scent was amazing, but Hagan barely tasted it. Not with Seren across the table, silent and fuming.

Threk finished his third helping and stood up, stretching. "Time for you to go."

Hagan hesitated before nodding his head. "Thanks for dinner. I'll be back tomorrow. "

He tried to catch Seren's eye but she stubbornly refused to look at him. She held the door for him, looking at an imaginary fly just beyond his shoulder and then proceeded to slam the door after him before he could say anything.

Seren rounded on Threk the moment the door closed behind him. "What the hell was that?"

"You have unfinished business with the wolf," Threk had said simply, setting down his plate. "Until that's resolved, you won't move on. It's for the best."

Later, in bed, Seren stared at the ceiling. Still simmering.

But in the quiet, her thoughts drifted back. To the moment his finger touched her arm. To the stray whispers she'd picked up from his mind—thoughts he hadn't meant to broadcast.

Don't look at her mouth. Don't look at her mouth. Don't—damn it.

Smells like cedar and night-blooming jasmine.

Does she dream of me too?

Please, Seren. Look at me

If he so much as touches her again, I'll shift and rip him in half.

That braid...

Those damn shorts. Is she trying to kill me?

Still biteable. That arse. Gods.

She smiled despite herself.

Typical male .

Predictable.

Her instinct told her to run. To protect herself. But that feeling was in her chest. Gods.

What the hell was she going to do?