Page 42 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

Vann shifts beside me, annoyed. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“We’ve had visions,” the red-robed leader says. “One of our seers saw the Bolvi girl standing at the edge of a burning forest—one path leading into fire, one into shadow. Behind her, blood.”

Kendall.

“She’s still young,” I say. “Still trying to figure out what the hell she is.” I see Vaan give me a confused look and quickly recover. “Or so I would assume given her scent.”

“And yet her blood ripples through old bindings,” the woman says. “The kind evenweforgot we made. The kind meant tostay broken.”

Another councilor speaks up. “Your kind has always feared the wild ones. Because they can’t be controlled.”

“Because they don’t respect balance,” Vann says.

I shoot him a look.

“They don’t obey,” he continues. “Don’t fall in line. That kind of power invites chaos.”

“Or freedom,” I mutter.

“What was that?” the councilor asks, tilting his head.

I meet his gaze. “Maybe what scares everyone is that she’s not the monster they expected. Maybe what scares them is that she mightsurvivethis. On her own terms.”

The room goes still.

Then the leader leans forward. Her irises flicker—pure flame for a moment.

“There are factions forming, Callum Wulfson. Creatures who believe her rise means the downfall of old orders. That the Bolvi line was only sleeping, waiting for the world to weaken enough to rise again.”

“It’s one girl,” I say. “Not a prophecy.”

“She’s aspark,” the leader says. “And the world is dry as kindling.”

That settles in my gut like ice. They’re not talking about her anymore. They’re talking abouteverything.

The packs. The witches. The broken peace. The humans sharpening knives in back rooms. We’re all on the edge of something.

And Kendall? She might be the one to tip it.

“We’ll speak again soon,” the leader says. “But understand this—if she burns, she won’t burn alone.”

We leave in silence. The ride back is long, and Vann doesn’t speak. Not once.

But me?

I feel the heat still curling under my skin. And I know that this isn’t just about hiding her anymore.

It’s aboutchoosing sides.

17

KENDALL

Iwalk for hours.

Through alleys and down cracked sidewalks. Past shuttered shops and flickering streetlamps and the too-loud hum of a city that never really sleeps, just mutters to itself in low, mechanical tones. I try to feel normal, like a girl on a late-night aimless wander and not someone with blood under her nails and a war pounding inside her skull.

I told Stefan I was going to see Adora. That was the lie I left him with—because it felt easier than saying,“I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore.”

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