Page 84 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

She doesn’t hear me. Or maybe she does and doesn’t care.

“You always needed someone to follow,” she says. “Dad. Callum. Me. But I don’t need anyone. Not anymore. Not now that I know who I really am.”

My throat tightens.

“You don’t even know what that means yet.”

“I know enough,” she spits.

Callum steps between us. His presence is grounding, but not enough.

“Enough,” he says, voice firm.

“I’m not done,” she snaps.

“You are,” he says again, slower this time. It’s not a request.

She glares at him. Then at me.

She storms off—shoulders tight, jaw clenched, hands still trembling.

I don’t follow.

Because I know the look in her eyes. That wasn’t just rage. That was grief she hasn’t named yet. That was heartbreak she doesn’t know how to hold.

That was someone who’s been lied to her whole life and finally, finally feels powerful enough to burn everything down just to build something new.

But she doesn’t see that she’s burning herself, too.

I sink to the ground, fingers buzzing from the power I barely controlled. The glow in my veins hasn’t faded. Neither has the chill in my chest.

Something’s coming.

I’m not sure which one of us it’s going to take first.

34

CALLUM

Cold air clings to my lungs as I step aside, letting Kendall slip past me into the cabin with her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her silver-streaked hair catches the weak moonlight, and I slam the door harder than necessary.

"Do I really have to be here again?" she asks looking around.

"It's the best option right now. Especially with whatever Adora is going through. I don't trust that spar match tonight." I catch Kendall's blue eyes glint and can tell she thinks the same thing.

“Fire’s gonna take a minute.” I crouch by the hearth, stacking logs with military precision. The last ember of daylight’s already bled out of the sky, leaving the room swimming in shadows that don’t quite hide the remnants of what happened last time we were here. couch. The floors are still clawed up from last time while she?—

“You’re grinding your molars.”

I glance over my shoulder. Kendall’s perched on the armrest, not the cushions, her boots dangling. Smart. Avoiding the battlefield. “Adora’s been twitchier than a feral cat since the bloodline chat. This place is off-grid. Safe," is all I manage to say.

“Safe,” she echoes, peeling off her leather gloves finger by finger. “Like your dad’s bunker speeches?”

“Mathis isn’t wrong about the humans.” The match hisses to life in my hand, flame licking the kindling. “They smile while sharpening knives. But this?” I jerk my chin at the moss-chinked walls. “This is just wood and stone. No agendas.”

She snorts. “Says the guy who called Gideon's Torch ‘rabid gerbils on a power treadmill’ last week.”

“They are.” The fire crackles awake, painting her in golds and reds. Her cheeks flush, and I pivot toward the pantry. “There’s coffee. Or whiskey.”

---