Page 96 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

Kendall stares at me. Her usually bright blue eyes are dull now. Shadowed.

“Callum,” she breathes. “What is it?”

“They’re not just coming for us with firepower,” I say, stepping closer to her. “They’re coming for what weare. Our instincts. Ourbonds. Ourminds.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not possible. You can’t just… rewrite someone.”

I look her in the eye. “It is. If they’ve found something old enough. Something buried deep enough that it remembers what we werebeforewe had control. Before wechoseto be something more than monsters.”

Kendall’s throat works, and she glances down at her hands like they might give her an answer. “Do you think it has something to do with me? Or Adora?”

I hesitate.

Because yeah. I do.

I think this is all tied together—the way her power’s been shifting, the bond between them, the visions she’s had. The sudden way Adora’s instincts flipped from curious to ruthless. The way Kendall glows when she taps into her bloodline. The Hollowed isn’t some distant threat. It’sinsidethe story now. Woven in with them. With us.

But I don’t say that.

Instead, I touch her wrist. “We keep moving. We find Edmund. We finish this trail.”

Her jaw tightens. She nods once. But her pulse doesn’t slow.

Neither does mine.

Because now I know—this isn’t about taking over.

This is aboutundoingeverything.

The Brood doesn’t want peace. They don’t want power in the way most people think of it. They wantdestructionat the cellular level. A world without bonds. Without structure. Without mercy.

They want the Hollowed toconsumeus.

We start walking again, deeper into the trees. But even with her beside me… I can’t shake the feeling that something’s watching us. Waiting.

39

KENDALL

The wind shifts just before we move out.

It carries a copper and something sharper—like old bones cracking under the weight of something rising.

Callum doesn’t flinch, but I know he smells it too. We're not the only ones here anymore.

The rescue team is small, but solid. Five shifters and three werewolves—all loyal to Callum from the backroom meetings he’s been pulling together for weeks. Reformists. Fighters. Ones who still believe we’ve got a shot at surviving this shittogether.

There’s something about seeing them all—shifters with jagged tattoos, werewolves with scarred arms and suspicious eyes—standing side by side that makes my chest tighten.

Hope’s not dead. Not yet. They also don’t know I’m Bolvi. Not officially. But I see the looks. The sideways glances. The subtle scent tests in the air when I walk past. They don’t say anything, but I’m not stupid.

They feel it.

I’m trying not to let it shake me. I’m trying to be more than what’s in my blood.

Callum leans in close as we move out. “You good?”

“Define good.”

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