Third Person's POV
"Not happening." Mortimer's face was a stone mask as he took a predatory step forward.
His eyes, glowing with that jagged wolf-light, locked onto Seraphina. His aura came down like a physical weight, crushing the air out of the room.
His voice was a flat, lethal line. "You signed for three years, Seraphina. Not a minute less. Not a second short."
He spat the words like a threat, but inside, his wolf was screaming.
Barton was clawing at his subconscious, a frantic, high-pitched howl of pure terror.
The mating bond—already frayed and bleeding—reacted to Seraphina's will to cut it. It snapped back, lashing Mortimer's soul with a white-hot agony.
It hurt so bad he could barely keep his human skin from tearing open.
"But—"
"I'm a man of my word. I value a contract,"
