Page 39 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

The bond’s getting worse. Stronger. Louder. It hums beneath me like a second heartbeat, wild and uneven. Like my body knows something my mind refuses to accept.

She was close last night. And now, I can’t stop pacing like I’ve got a live wire wrapped around my spine. I haven’t shifted, but the beast inside me is clawing at my chest like it wants out. Like it’s pissed I walked away from her with so much unsaid.

And then there’s the part that really fucks me up—the boyfriend. The goddamn human she’s tethered to like she doesn’t feel this the way I do. Like she could just pretend she belongs in that world when we both know it’s gone.

I sit at our usual table in the back and try not to scowl.

Elias drops into the seat across from me a minute later and raises a brow. “You’re doing the murder-eyes thing again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. And for the record? It’s starting to scare the pups.”

“They should be scared.”

He whistles low. “Damn. You are in a mood.”

I don’t answer. Just stare at the condensation on my glass like it’s got the answers I’m looking for.

The meeting starts late.

And then he walks in.

Mathis.

He doesn’t just enter a room—heclaimsit. That old wolf charisma that makes the air tighten and the temperature drop by three degrees. Shoulders wide, back straight like he’s never once bent to anyone or anything—not even time. His hazel eyes, same as mine, sweep the Hollow with a cool precision that makes overly shows he's the alpha, the one they follow out of fear.

His hair’s shorter now, mostly gray at the temples but still streaked with the dark ash-brown I remember from when I was a kid. Neatly trimmed beard. Not for vanity—he does it to control what people see. Everything about Mathis is deliberate. Sharp. Calculated.

His presence is the kind that silences arguments mid-sentence.

And I still can’t bring myself to call himDad.

Not after the years of silence. The years of training through bruises and orders and half-explanations. He raised me with duty, not warmth. Taught me how to break bones before he taught me how to lie.

I call him Mathis because that’s what he’s always been to me: a leader before a father. A blade before a comfort.

Vann, of course, slinks in behind him—shadow to his sun. That same smug look carved onto his face like he invented smugness.

The room settles into a hush, the kind that tastes like dust and tension.

Mathis wastes no time.

“The Veil’s been down for years,” he begins, voice steady. Controlled. “And we all thought we understood the cost. Thought we had a handle on what it meant for our kind.”

A few nods. One grunt of agreement.

“But something shifted,” he goes on. “The awakening of the Bolvi line? That wasn’t just a fluke. It’s a sign.”

That gets murmurs.

I sit up straighter, pulse ticking up. Here we go.

“Old magic doesn’t wake without reason,” he says. “And the Bolvi name hasn’t been whispered in over three generations. Not since the Fallow Wars. But now? The witches are talking. The seers are stirring. Hell, even the fae have started circling like vultures.”

I glance at Elias. He meets my eyes and gives a small, grim nod.

We’ve heard the rumors. We just didn’t expect Mathis to say them out loud.

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