Third Person's POV
Mortimer didn't pull any moves. He just cracked his eyes open a sliver, his gaze locking onto Seraphina's profile as she hovered inches away.
Even with his brain being slow-cooked by the fever, his body was redlining.
The second she got close, his instincts went wild. The scent of her—cold, sweet medicinal herbs—was hitting his system harder than any sedative.
Inside his head, Barton was pacing, letting out a low, rhythmic growl that vibrated in Mortimer's skull, "Oh... Mate..."
Mortimer's Adam's apple bobbed.
Seraphina kept her eyes down, refusing to look at him. She yanked the seatbelt across his chest with a sharp, practiced motion.
The sound of the buckle locking echoed in the quiet cabin like a gunshot.
Mortimer snapped back to reality, a flicker of somethin
