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CALLUM

T he Hollow feels different tonight. Like everyone’s waiting for the floor to crack open and swallow us whole.

I push through the entrance, jaw clenched, boots echoing louder than usual. Conversations stall when I walk in—not all the way, but just enough for me to notice. A few heads tilt toward each other. A few eyes flick in my direction, then away too fast.

They’re not talking about me. Not openly. But I can feel it. The burn under my skin has nothing to do with them, though.

It’s her.

Kendall.

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—he claims it. 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 him Dad .

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.

“There’s talk of prophecy,” he continues. “Of balance being broken. Of war returning in a form we’re not ready for.”

My hands curl into fists. Not because I don’t believe it. But because I do. And I already know what’s coming next.

“So,” he says, gaze sweeping the room. “We prepare.”

There’s a beat of silence before he turns—right toward me.

Of course.

“Callum.”

I tense. “Yeah?”

“You and Vann are going to Draconis Fire.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

“What?” I say. “Why?”

“They’ve requested a presence. Ours. To discuss terms if open conflict breaks out.”

“You’re sending me?”

“You’re the heir. And you’re the one who decided to vouch for the Bolvi girl so openly when she was awakened, so it’s only fair you go represent our stake in this.”

I feel every eye in the room shift toward me.

Of fucking course.

This isn’t a mission. It’s a punishment with a diplomatic bow wrapped around it.

Vann, to his credit, smirks his smug fangy grin at what he considers justice.

“Glad to have you by my side, Alpha,” he says, voice laced with mock respect.

I don’t look at him. I can’t. If I do, I’ll break something—and it won’t be subtle.

“Fine,” I say. “When?”

“Dawn.”

I exhale through my nose, sharp and slow. “Great.”

The meeting dissolves a few minutes later. People linger, talking in low tones. Mathis pretends he doesn’t see me shooting daggers at the wall with my eyes.

But I know he does.

Because for all the strength he carries, all that ancient, commanding presence—there’s still something behind his eyes that flickers every time he looks at me. Something like guilt. Like recognition of the line he crossed between being my father and being my commander.

But it’s too late for that now.

He raised me to lead.

Even if it means I have to burn the whole damn map he handed me to do it.

The meeting dissolves a few minutes later. People linger, talking in low tones. Mathis pretends he doesn’t see me shooting daggers at the wall with my eyes.

Elias leans over. “You okay?”

“No.”

____________________________________________________________________________

The path to Draconis Fire isn’t paved.

It’s carved—rough and deep and ancient, as if something clawed it out of the earth and dared anyone else to follow.

Vann and I travel in silence most of the way. Which is ideal.

He’s got that smug satisfaction rolling off him like steam. Probably thinks being assigned together means I’ve been leashed. Pulled back into the fold. But he doesn’t get it. He never fucking gets it.

I’m not leashed.

I’m watching the chain—and deciding whether to break it.

The deeper we move into Fire territory, the hotter the air gets. Dry heat. Smoky. Like the land remembers when it burned and liked it .

“They still like to show off,” Vann mutters beside me, eyeing the jagged stone ridges that rise in the distance like a crown.

“I’d say the same about you,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “You can play noble all you want, Wulfson. But you’re still one of us. You bleed like the rest of us.”

“Then maybe we should stop bleeding for the wrong reasons.”

He doesn’t answer.

The road curves into the cliffside, revealing the Draconis compound—a fortress built into black rock, glowing faint with veins of molten energy that pulse underfoot. Fire magic, deep and old.

A reminder that dragons don’t need to roar to show you they could swallow you whole.

Two guards stand at the entrance—one fully scaled down his left side, the other with golden irises that burn even in shadow. They don’t speak. Just look at us like they’re already bored with the idea of our existence.

We’re led inside.

The air grows hotter. My skin itches. Sweat beads along the back of my neck.

Vann walks like he belongs here. I walk like I’m daring someone to ask why I don’t.

We’re brought to a central chamber, round and high-ceilinged, with a skylight cut into the stone above—smoke curling lazily through it. Seven dragons sit in a crescent arc of obsidian thrones, glowing symbols etched above their heads.

This is the Fire Council .

At the center sits a woman in blood-red robes, scales rippling down her collarbone like armor.

“Callum Wulfson,” she says, voice smooth and warm as a furnace. “And the ever-pleasant Vann of Hollow Ridge. Welcome to Draconis Fire.”

“Appreciate the hospitality,” I say.

“We’re told the Bolvi bloodline has awakened,” she continues without preamble. “And that your pack harbors opinions on what to do with her.”

My jaw tightens. “We don’t speak for the entire supernatural community.”

“Yet here you are,” another councilor says, leaning forward, gold cuffs jingling softly. “The heir to one of the largest shifter strongholds. If you don’t speak for them… why are you here?”

“Because they sent me,” I say. “To make sure war doesn’t start over ignorance.”

That gets a few raised brows.

Vann shifts beside me, annoyed. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“We’ve had visions,” the red-robed leader says. “One of our seers saw the Bolvi girl standing at the edge of a burning forest—one path leading into fire, one into shadow. Behind her, blood.”

Kendall.

“She’s still young,” I say. “Still trying to figure out what the hell she is.” I see Vaan give me a confused look and quickly recover. “Or so I would assume given her scent.”

“And yet her blood ripples through old bindings,” the woman says. “The kind even we forgot we made. The kind meant to stay broken .”

Another councilor speaks up. “Your kind has always feared the wild ones. Because they can’t be controlled.”

“Because they don’t respect balance,” Vann says.

I shoot him a look.

“They don’t obey,” he continues. “Don’t fall in line. That kind of power invites chaos.”

“Or freedom,” I mutter.

“What was that?” the councilor asks, tilting his head.

I meet his gaze. “Maybe what scares everyone is that she’s not the monster they expected. Maybe what scares them is that she might survive this. On her own terms.”

The room goes still.

Then the leader leans forward. Her irises flicker—pure flame for a moment.

“There are factions forming, Callum Wulfson. Creatures who believe her rise means the downfall of old orders. That the Bolvi line was only sleeping, waiting for the world to weaken enough to rise again.”

“It’s one girl,” I say. “Not a prophecy.”

“She’s a spark ,” the leader says. “And the world is dry as kindling.”

That settles in my gut like ice. They’re not talking about her anymore. They’re talking about everything .

The packs. The witches. The broken peace. The humans sharpening knives in back rooms. We’re all on the edge of something.

And Kendall? She might be the one to tip it.

“We’ll speak again soon,” the leader says. “But understand this—if she burns, she won’t burn alone.”

We leave in silence. The ride back is long, and Vann doesn’t speak. Not once.

But me?

I feel the heat still curling under my skin. And I know that this isn’t just about hiding her anymore.

It’s about choosing sides .