DAVE
The Wolf King's Call
The mark on Kat's throat glows silver in pre-dawn darkness, pulsing with my heartbeat like we're sharing the same circulatory system. I trace the edges with careful fingers, feeling divine energy humming beneath skin that's warmer than it should be, denser somehow, restructured by Prime venom that rewrote her biology at molecular level.
"It's beautiful." The words feel inadequate. The scar tissue forms patterns that look almost like script—Old Norse maybe, or something older that predates human civilization. "Like the Prime carved its name into you."
"Yours." Her voice carries resonance that wasn't there yesterday, harmonics that make the windows vibrate slightly. "The mark makes it impossible to forget whose I am."
Through our bond, I feel changes beyond the
