Ex-Mate Wants Me Back (Seraphina and Mortimer) novel Chapter 149

Chapter 149-

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Finally, cutting through the foul stench of the open drain, Mortimer climbed back out of the deep well, moving with agile wolf speed while cradling Dash.

The golden retriever puppy was a total disaster, covered in filthy wastewater that kept dripping off his matted fur.

“Dash!” Seraphina’s eyes went completely red.

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Chapter 149

Third Person’s POV

Dash moved uncomfortably, his instincts telling him to crawl closer to Seraphina’s warm embrace.

But even that tiny movement pulled at his injuries, forcing a sharp cry of agony from his throat.

Seraphina felt her lungs tighten with a suffocating pity, She immediately threw her black puffer jacket over the puppy’s shivering body.

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, grounding her wolf and letting her focus center.

She placed both hands gently above Dash’s matted fur, her palms beginning to glow with a soft, warm light.

Her pure healing energy flowed cleanly into his skin, soothing the worst of the trauma.

Her eyes were entirely wet with tears as she kept her voice low and steady. “You’re okay, you’re okay… Dash, you’re a good boy. We’re going to see a doctor right now. Just be brave for me, okay?”

A few feet away, Mortimer stood with a rigid posture, his sharp, predatory eyes cutting a sideways glance at Wilmot, who was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed like a useless bystander.

“Move,” Mortimer barked, his voice heavy with an Alpha’s direct command. “Get the car.”

Wilmot raised an eyebrow, his face flat with resistance.

He threw a disgusted look at Mortimer’s custom leather shoes, which were currently caked in foul-smelling gray sludge from the storm drain. “No way in hell. You smell like a stray that just crawled out of a dumpster fire. I am not getting that garbage all over my Maybach.”

Mortimer’s expression turned completely black, a dangerous, volatile spark flashing in his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning, a brand-new, limited-edition sports car will be sitting in your garage,” Mortimer said, his voice dropping into a low, warning rasp.

Hearing the terms of the deal, Wilmot’s face relaxed into a wicked, satisfied smirk.

He casually spun his key fob around his finger, turned on his heel, and walked toward his car with an elegant, unbothered stride.

In record time, Dash was rushed straight into the Foobao Pet Medical Center.

The vet on duty happened to be the same guy from before-the handsome Dr. Smith.

After a tense, rapid examination, Dr. Smith pulled his mask down, his expression heavy. “He has a fractured rib, and he inhaled a dangerous amount of toxic gas while trapped down there. It’s a good thing you brought him in when you did. One minute later, and not even the Moon Goddess could have saved him.”

He looked down, his eyes filled with genuine pity as he stroked the puppy’s ears.

“Poor little guy. You really can’t catch a break, can you?”

Lying on the stainless steel exam table, Dash seemed to feel the kindness in the vet’s voice. Like a dramatic, traumatized child, the puppy buried his oversized head right against the doctor’s hip, letting out a fragile, codependent whine.

Standing by the table, the tight knot in Seraphina’s chest finally loosened.

She kept her fingers moving gently through Dash’s matted fur, looking up to give the doctor a soft, breathless thank you.

Mortimer didn’t step foot inside the exam room.

He recognized Dr. Smith instantly. This was the exact same guy from the clinic entrance weeks ago-the one drenched in

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patchouli cologne who had been laughing and talking with Seraphina like they were old friends.

So… he was Dash’s primary vet?

That meant the last time Seraphina was acting completely shady and secretive at the clinic, she was literally just managing a dog’s medical charts?

But damn it, even though his rational brain knew his was just standard client-vet communication, watching Seraphina smile at that man still felt like a physical sting. A toxic wave of possessiveness and irrational envy kept tearing through his nerves.

“Hey, let me ask you something,” a voice drawled next to him. Wilmot was leaning against the doorframe, his face absolutely glowing with pure, unadulterated amusement. “How does it feel, Alpha Mortimer? What’s going through your head right now, knowing that the ‘rival’ who made you lose your goddamn mind for weeks… is a one-month-old golden retriever?”

Mortimer cut his eyes sideways. His gaze was a cold, lethal blade that could have slit Wilmot’s throat on the spot. His lips were clamped into a flat line, refusing to utter a single syllable.

How did he feel?

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