Page 2 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

I stare at her for a long beat. “Jesus Christ, you sound like Dad.”

Her face hardens. “With that mouth, so do you,” she mutters but there’s no real venom there. Then a little more quietly, “Maybe he’s not as crazy as we think.”

“Okay, and now I’m leaving.” I back out the door, heart pounding faster than it should. Something about her words sticks to me like molasses—heavy, sticky, sweet with dread.

Back in my room, I yank the curtains shut. The moon’s glow lingers anyway, pressing against the thin fabric like it wants in. I grab my pillow and scream into it. Not loud. Just enough.

This isn’t normal. I’m not normal. I’ve known that since middle school. I move faster than most, see sharper, hear things I shouldn’t. But I always chalked it up to instincts. Hypervigilance. Trauma from growing up with a drunk for a dad.

Now… I’m not so sure.

I’m halfway back under the covers when my phone buzzes.

Stefan :You okay? Had a weird dream.

I stare at the screen. Okay, that’s weird.

Me:Woke up sweating. Full moon things. I’m fine.

Stefan :That’s a lie. I can tell. Want me to come over?

Me:No. Don’t.

I toss the phone onto the nightstand, face-down. The thought of seeing him right now feels… off. Like oil and water. I love him, I think. Or I used to. Or maybe I’m just clinging to normal.

Because normal is slipping through my fingers.

I can’t shake the feeling that this night and this moon is the beginning of something I’m not ready for.

2

CALLUM

The city’s got that hum tonight. The kind that crawls up your spine and tells you to keep your damn head down.

I pace along the treeline just outside the industrial zone, boots sinking into damp earth, Elias trailing a few steps behind me. The sky’s clear, the moon swollen and bright—Hunter’s Moon. Real pretty if you’re into omens and death.

“You feel that?” I mutter, low enough that a squirrel wouldn’t hear it.

Elias grunts. “You mean the part where the air tastes like metal and rage? Yeah. Been chewing on that flavor all night.”

He’s got his hands in his pockets, casual as hell, but I know better. He’s coiled up tight, same as me. It’s not just the moon. There’s something moving under the skin of the world. Change. We can smell it.

“Three triggers so far tonight,” he says after a beat. “All suppressed types. One barely outta high school.”

“Did PEACE pick ‘em up?”

“Two. The kid in Inwood’s still loose. Last seen running full sprint through a Walgreens parking lot with no pants.”

I snort. “Classic.”

“But no casualties,” he adds. “Yet.”

I nod. The “yet” is doing a lot of heavy lifting. First full moon since the solstice—usually thins the Veil even more. Brings out the deep-buried instincts. The ugly ones.

I roll my shoulders. My beast stirs just under the surface, sniffing at the cold wind like it knows something’s out there.

“Still think this is just normal trigger fallout?” Elias asks.

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