Page 71 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

Sure enough, he’s there. Hoodie up, arms crossed, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

“You’re late,” he says without looking.

“You’re dramatic,” I shoot back.

He exhales smoke. “Good. You’re sharp. You’re ready.”

I raise a brow. “Ready for what?”

“Tonight,” he says, flicking the cigarette away. “You shift.”

“I’ve already?—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You’vereacted. That’s different. That’s survival mode. Tonight, youcontrol it.”

My mouth goes dry.

“Outside,” he says. “Now.”

We’re in the woods behind the train yard in less than ten minutes. The kind of place no one looks twice at. Twisted metal. Rotting leaves. Fog curling low like a warning.

Dad moves like he owns the ground under his feet. I trail behind, nervous energy prickling under my skin.

“Breathe through your gut,” he says. “Not your chest. Let the air settle low. Let your bones talk.”

“That’s weird as shit.”

“Then get used to weird. It’s your new normal.”

We stop in a clearing I’ve never seen before—too round, too intentional. There are claw marks on some of the trees. Old. Deep. Almost like?—

“You brought others here,” I say.

He shrugs. “Back when I thought there’d be others worth bringing.”

My stomach turns with realization.

“All the times we thought you were on a bender, you acting drunk out of your mind–”

“Yeah. This is what I was doing.”

“Dad, why would you pretend to be–” He cuts me off.

“Eyes closed,” he says. “Listen.”

I do.

At first, all I hear is the wind. The rustle of leaves. The creak of a sign in the distance.

But then something inside me stirs. Soft. Low. Like a heartbeat that isn’t mine.

“You feel that?” Dad asks.

I nod.

“Good. Now let it out.”

I take a deep breath and let it expand.

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