Page 44 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

“It’s not the same, Kendall!” she shouts. “You have help. You have answers. I’ve beenalonein this over a week, even longer mentally—freaking out and hiding it and pretending to Mom that I was fine while I was literally losing my fuckingmind.”

I take a breath, but she doesn’t stop.

“He shouldn’t have done it to you. He sure as hell shouldn’t have done it to me. And if you think I’m just gonna sit around while he molds you into some secret weapon for whatever bullshit war he’s prepping for, then maybe you don’t know me at all.”

I step toward her. “What are you saying?”

But she just shakes her head, grabs her bag, and brushes past me.

“You better talk to Mom and ask her why this happened!” I finally shout as she reaches the door.

Adora freezes and for a moment I think she might ask me more. I’m ready to tell her what I know if it means she’ll stay. She’ll listen. That she’ll be my sister and with me in this.

But instead she takes another step away.

“Where are you going?” I demand.

“Anywhere that isn’there,” she throws over her shoulder. “I can’t breathe in this family anymore.”

And then she’s gone.

I stand therefor a long time, staring at the door she walked through, trying to decide if I should chase her.

I don’t, but only because I’m too full of rage to move.

And by the time I make it home, my hands are trembling, my pulse skipping. The air feels thick. The scent of rain that hasn’t fallen. Thatstatic. Thatpull. My anger and irritation are boiled to the top and I can’t suppress it anymore.

And then I see Stefan leaning against the porch railing like he’s been waiting. Like he never stopped.

“Kendall,” he says, standing straight. “We need to talk.”

“Not now?—”

“No,” he cuts in, voice harder than I’ve ever heard. “No more deflecting. No more vague bullshit. You’re not the same, and it’s killing me trying to figure out why.”

I go cold. “Stefan?—”

“You smell different. You move different. Youlookat me like I’m a stranger half the time. And I keep giving you space thinking it’s temporary, that it’s just stress or trauma orsomethingwe can work through?—”

“Youcan’twork through this,” I say, voice sharp. “You don’twantto.”

“Try me!”

I clench my fists. Feel my nails start to stretch, my bones ache. The moon’s not even full, but the heat isthere. I haven’t changed since the bite, but I recognize what’s trying to happen. It can’t though.

“You don’tgetit,” I whisper. “You never will.”

He takes a step closer. “Thenmakeme understand.”

Something snaps.

Suddenly I’m not holding it back anymore.

My bodyshifts—bones cracking, skin pulling tight, muscles flexing under too-thin flesh. It’s not a full shift, not quite, but my hands claw out, my eyes glow gold, and a low snarl rips from my throat.

Stefan stumbles back.

And thehorroron his face hits me harder than any blade ever could.

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