MARKED FOR PRETEND - Chapter 25: Chapter 25
You are reading MARKED FOR PRETEND, Chapter 25: Chapter 25. Read more chapters of MARKED FOR PRETEND.
Chelsea's pov
She didn’t know when it started, maybe it was after the dungeon, or after Kael whispered, “I won’t let them touch you.”
Maybe after he laid beside her like a storm that only she could soothe.
But something shifted.
⸻
At first, she’d avoided him.
She’d flinched at his gaze.
Hidden behind excuses.
Tiptoed around the walls of the East Wing, hoping to go unnoticed.
Because what could you possibly say to a man who had once looked at you and said—
“I can never love you.”
The words had burned that day in the library.
And though neither of them had brought it up since…
It still lingered.
Between every glance.
Every breath.
Every silence.
And yet, Kael stayed.
He didn’t speak of love.
He didn’t push.
He just remained a quiet shadow at her side, as though tethered there.
He didn’t speak much,not with words.
But she could feel him.
In the way he always walked a little too close, like he wanted to memorize the sound of her steps.
In the way his gaze tracked her even when he pretended not to look.
In the way he always positioned himself between her and the world, without ever asking.
And gods, his scent.
He breathed her in like it anchored him.
Sometimes, it felt like he wanted to crawl inside her skin just to be closer.
He didn’t need to say you’re mine.
The way he existed around her said it enough.
Some days, they barely spoke, she had sit by the window, legs curled, reading.
He’d be across the room, eyes half-lidded but always aware.
The silence between them wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Of unspoken things, of tethered breaths, of something growing.
⸻
But Chelsea noticed the change.
In herself.
She no longer flinched when his presence filled a room.
She no longer avoided his steps in the hallway.
She no longer hid her gaze when his brushed hers.
But the peace wasn’t perfect. In fact , she counted the days.
Not the days since the dungeon nor the days since Kael, but the days until her birthday.
And that terrified her.
Chelsea didn’t know why she kept counting the days, she never cared much for birthdays-not since the fire.
Not since the cottage burned and the only family she had ever known was turned to ash.
But this one… this one was different, because mark on her wrist had started to ache.
A low pulse beneath the skin.
It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t painless either.
It was alive.
The witch had told her once:
“Your name came wrapped in lining, burned around the edges, and scrawled beside a date the day I found you, the day I saved you. So that is what we will call your birthday. That is why we will always celebrate it.”
But Chelsea never felt like celebrating.
Not when she woke from screaming dreams, nor when the moon felt too close, nor when her skin itched with something that didn’t have a name.
⸻
But this year…This year, the ache was stronger.
This year, something was coming.
She felt it in the way the torches flickered when she passed, in the whispers she wasn’t meant to hear.
In the way the air shifted when Kael—not Kaden—walked into a room.
The wolf had surfaced.
And with him came a storm Chelsea couldn’t name yet.
She’d overheard the end of a heated discussion outside the war room, something about a surge of magic felt past the northern border. Something old. Something waiting.
She knew it was tied to her.
Even if she didn’t understand how.
⸻
Some nights, she barely slept.
She sat at the edge of her bed, palms trembling, thoughts louder than the silence pressing against her chest.
“You should hate him,” she told herself.
“You should fear him.”But she didn’t.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because Kaden cold, unreadable, unreachable—had never tried to comfort her.
But Kael…
Kael breathed her name like it was a prayer.
He didn’t mark her with a bite or a claim; he marked her with presence.
And she was beginning to crave it.
⸻
In her room, the scar had begun to glow faint and silver at first. Then with heat, burning, like it was calling something.
On the parchment where she’d once traced the letters of her name… now, faint symbols shimmered around it.
Not in any language she recognized.
Not one the witch ever taught her.
She hid it.
From everyone.
Even from Kaden.
Especially from Kaden.
“It’s not just a birthday,” she whispered.
Something ancient was waking up inside her.
And somehow, she knew:
“It’s about to begin.”
*But what no one knew was that the date written on that linen wasn’t just her birthday.
It was the same night the Witch of Halemoor was burned alive.*
And the day… was almost here.
She didn’t know when it started, maybe it was after the dungeon, or after Kael whispered, “I won’t let them touch you.”
Maybe after he laid beside her like a storm that only she could soothe.
But something shifted.
⸻
At first, she’d avoided him.
She’d flinched at his gaze.
Hidden behind excuses.
Tiptoed around the walls of the East Wing, hoping to go unnoticed.
Because what could you possibly say to a man who had once looked at you and said—
“I can never love you.”
The words had burned that day in the library.
And though neither of them had brought it up since…
It still lingered.
Between every glance.
Every breath.
Every silence.
And yet, Kael stayed.
He didn’t speak of love.
He didn’t push.
He just remained a quiet shadow at her side, as though tethered there.
He didn’t speak much,not with words.
But she could feel him.
In the way he always walked a little too close, like he wanted to memorize the sound of her steps.
In the way his gaze tracked her even when he pretended not to look.
In the way he always positioned himself between her and the world, without ever asking.
And gods, his scent.
He breathed her in like it anchored him.
Sometimes, it felt like he wanted to crawl inside her skin just to be closer.
He didn’t need to say you’re mine.
The way he existed around her said it enough.
Some days, they barely spoke, she had sit by the window, legs curled, reading.
He’d be across the room, eyes half-lidded but always aware.
The silence between them wasn’t empty.
It was full.
Of unspoken things, of tethered breaths, of something growing.
⸻
But Chelsea noticed the change.
In herself.
She no longer flinched when his presence filled a room.
She no longer avoided his steps in the hallway.
She no longer hid her gaze when his brushed hers.
But the peace wasn’t perfect. In fact , she counted the days.
Not the days since the dungeon nor the days since Kael, but the days until her birthday.
And that terrified her.
Chelsea didn’t know why she kept counting the days, she never cared much for birthdays-not since the fire.
Not since the cottage burned and the only family she had ever known was turned to ash.
But this one… this one was different, because mark on her wrist had started to ache.
A low pulse beneath the skin.
It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t painless either.
It was alive.
The witch had told her once:
“Your name came wrapped in lining, burned around the edges, and scrawled beside a date the day I found you, the day I saved you. So that is what we will call your birthday. That is why we will always celebrate it.”
But Chelsea never felt like celebrating.
Not when she woke from screaming dreams, nor when the moon felt too close, nor when her skin itched with something that didn’t have a name.
⸻
But this year…This year, the ache was stronger.
This year, something was coming.
She felt it in the way the torches flickered when she passed, in the whispers she wasn’t meant to hear.
In the way the air shifted when Kael—not Kaden—walked into a room.
The wolf had surfaced.
And with him came a storm Chelsea couldn’t name yet.
She’d overheard the end of a heated discussion outside the war room, something about a surge of magic felt past the northern border. Something old. Something waiting.
She knew it was tied to her.
Even if she didn’t understand how.
⸻
Some nights, she barely slept.
She sat at the edge of her bed, palms trembling, thoughts louder than the silence pressing against her chest.
“You should hate him,” she told herself.
“You should fear him.”But she didn’t.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because Kaden cold, unreadable, unreachable—had never tried to comfort her.
But Kael…
Kael breathed her name like it was a prayer.
He didn’t mark her with a bite or a claim; he marked her with presence.
And she was beginning to crave it.
⸻
In her room, the scar had begun to glow faint and silver at first. Then with heat, burning, like it was calling something.
On the parchment where she’d once traced the letters of her name… now, faint symbols shimmered around it.
Not in any language she recognized.
Not one the witch ever taught her.
She hid it.
From everyone.
Even from Kaden.
Especially from Kaden.
“It’s not just a birthday,” she whispered.
Something ancient was waking up inside her.
And somehow, she knew:
“It’s about to begin.”
*But what no one knew was that the date written on that linen wasn’t just her birthday.
It was the same night the Witch of Halemoor was burned alive.*
And the day… was almost here.
End of MARKED FOR PRETEND Chapter 25. Continue reading Chapter 26 or return to MARKED FOR PRETEND book page.