Damien's POV
The ink on the last document dries too slowly. My father sets his pen down with a sharp click that vibrates through the desk. He does not look up from the manifest. His mind stays fixed on grain shipments and trade percentages with the Blackthorn pack.
“Tonight,” Dexter says, his voice like grinding stones. “Make sure she is clean when you take her.”
“Yes, Father,” I reply, my tone carefully scrubbed of any emotion.
“She has too much pride in her,” he adds, finally raising those small, wet grey eyes. “A breeder needs breaking, not coddling. You learned that from me, or you should have.”
The familiar, cold weight drops onto my shoulders. Hearing him voice what he counts as my flaws makes the skin across the back of my neck tighten.
I despise the way it sounds, and turn aw
