Chapter 7 · He Signs the Port Away

"Give me the folder, Rowan." Callum's hand was out, palm up, steady like he hadn't just watched a wedding die on a glass floor twenty minutes ago.

Three Vantis lawyers stood behind him in what used to be a coat closet and was now, apparently, where pack business happened when the chapel turned into a crime scene. Draven Voss himself leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, still in his father-of-the-bride tux, watching me like I was the last item on an inventory list.

"Which folder," I said. "The one where you reject me on tape, or the one where your marriage bond to his daughter was never legal to begin with?"

"Either. Both. Now."

"No."

His jaw ticked. He crossed the room in two steps and got a hand around my wrist — not gentle, not soft, a grip that meant business — and the second his skin touched mine the mark on my collarbone lit up like someone dropped a coal down my shirt.

I didn't gasp. I bit it down. But he felt it.