Page 102 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

She melts into me, just for a second. Just long enough for both of us to forget what’s waiting below.

When we break, her eyes are glassy. Her voice barely a whisper. Her look tells me she’s finally ready for this. For us and what it might mean. Whether it’s the fear or sudden realization of what might happen, I don’t care.

“Don’t let me go,” she whispers as she squeezes my hand still pressed against her cheek.

“Not a fucking chance.”

41

KENDALL

The air gets colder the deeper we go.

Not just in temperature—but in weight. Like the walls are made of grief and time and the kind of silence that isn’t empty, butwatching.

The others are quiet. No one cracks a joke now. No one mutters. It’s just boots on stone and shallow breathing and the sound of our world changing, one step at a time.

Callum’s close. Always close. I can feel the heat of him at my back, his tension curled tight in his frame like a wolf ready to lunge. But his hand brushes mine when I slow. Barely there. Just enough to say:I’m still with you.

It’s enough to keep me moving. I’m not sure what it is, but being here, all of this happening, it’s made me realize I’m done running from him. That I need him in more ways than whatever it is destiny wants from us. And with Dad missing, his words sink in even harder from our last talk. And I want my world to change with Callum in it, not without him.

We hit the final curve, and then the tunnel opens up.

I stop so fast Ridge almost runs into me.

“Holy shit,” someone breathes behind me.

We’re standing in front of a sealed chamber.

Not just a door—a vault.Massive, curved, etched with the same symbols we saw on the cursed ward above. Only this time… they’re glowing. Soft gold, like the shimmer of my veins when I shift.

I take a slow step forward through the others.

“Kendall,” Callum says, warning in his voice.

But the door’s already humming.

The runes flicker. Whisper. And the center of the vault spirals open, forming a circle just big enough for a hand.

Mine.

“I think it wants you to touch it,” one of the wolves says, voice shaking.

“No shit,” Ridge mutters.

I glance back at Callum.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he nods once.

I press my palm into the hollow.

And the doorbreathes.

That’s the only way to describe it—it exhales. A rush of wind and heat and something older than language. The light swells. The stone glows. And then itopens.

Not with a sound. Not with a grind or a crash. Just a shift. A silent invitation.

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