Page 74

Seren woke to the steady throb of Hagan's heartbeat beneath her ear.

The room was still, morning light spilling in through the narrow window in long golden streaks onto the bedclothes.

She blinked groggily, her body twisted in an awkward sprawl.

One arm was pinned beneath her, numb from being trapped too long, while her hip throbbed from the narrow bed's unyielding edge.

Hagan's arms were wrapped tightly around her, even in sleep. One of his hands rested over her ribs, fingers twitching faintly as if still caught in the remnants of a dream.

Seren exhaled softly and began to gingerly ease herself away.

Hagan shifted immediately, brow furrowing, arms tightening instinctively around her.

She paused, letting her breath slow. Then, gently, she pressed a hand against his chest and slipped free from his hold.

His skin was warm, and for a moment, she let herself lean down, inhaling the scent of pine and forest and something uniquely him.

For a moment, she sat there, gazing down at the contrast between the paler skin of his chest and the patina of her own hand. They were so different.

She straightened quickly, shaking herself.

Enough.

Last night was... complicated. She knew he wouldn't accept comfort from anyone but her. She hadn't meant to stay. Today, she needed distance and clarity.

She had come to Vargrheim with a purpose, and it hadn't changed. The strangeness afflicting the tribe—the Forsaken at the border, the killings, her withering forest and land—none of it had disappeared just because she'd slept in Hagan's arms.

This was just a moment away from all that. A time-out. Not a promise.

Seren stretched, her arms lifting above her head, eyes screwed shut as her spine popped audibly. Her muscles ached with a weariness that wasn't just physical. That dream had taken its toll.

Last night, without even knowing it, she had drifted into his dream.

She'd found herself walking the darkened halls of Hagan's subconscious.

The walls were high and grey with the blemishes of age staining the walls.

As she moved forward, the sturdy walls gave way to decay, with huge gaping holes letting the night air in.

The smell of burning flesh and wood seeped in.

She hadn't intended to stay long, but her feet led her forward - notes of grief enticing her forward.

As she neared the grey forest beyond, a young boy's silhouette stood looking beyond - his back to her.

It took her a moment to recognise Hagan's twelve-year-old self, as she had seen him on that first day in Vargrheim.

She wanted to run away but his subconscious kept pulling her deeper—showing her what he could see beyond.

Draken's death again and again, in different permutations.

Draken falling from a cliff. Draken pierced through with an arrow.

Draken burned. Draken betrayed. Always calling for Hagan to come to him.

Each death played out like a theatre of pain, and no matter how loudly she called, Hagan wouldn't turn to her.

Only when she'd reached out—touched his shoulder, shaken him—had he finally looked up at her.

They were almost the same height, so they were both at the same eye level.

Recognition had flared in his naked azure dream-eyes, and she saw the depth of torment in his inner soul.

Gently, she'd steered away, down corridors of memory until they stood in a sunlit glade from his childhood.

A fishing trip. Draken laughing, soaking wet, holding a slippery trout in his bare hands.

The water clear, cold and bright. So bright you could see right to the bottom.

When Seren turned back, it was the adult Hagan gazing at the scene, a look of utter calm in his eyes. This was a true memory, a happy time past. Then, he gazed at Seren for the first time. There was no way she could mistake the look of adoration and longing focused on her.

Seren came back to the present as if waking up from a haze. She bent to pick up the tray from the side table and turned toward the door.

But she felt it.

His gaze.

She slowly turned.

Hagan was awake, watching her. His hair was tousled, eyes bleary with sleep, but every trace of his usual armour was gone. Just open vulnerability in the curve of his mouth and the way his hand slowly dropped to the blanket where she'd lain.

Suddenly, she felt breathless, like she had run a long distance uphill.

"This doesn't mean anything," she said abruptly, her voice coming out firmer than she expected.

Hagan held her gaze for a long moment. Then, he nodded slowly. "I know."

His voice was deeper. Rough from sleep. Honest.

"I've got a long way to go," he acknowledged. "But... thank you. For staying with me."

She just gazed back.

Didn't trust herself to speak.

She just nodded once—and left the room with the scent of the forest still clinging to her skin.