Page 3 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

“I think something woke up tonight,” I say. “And it ain’t just a bunch of half-baked shifters who missed their orientation.”

He nods, jaw tight.

We cut across an old service road, passing boarded-up buildings and busted-out streetlights. The city’s outer rim is all bones and echoes—where the world ends and the woods begin. That’s where the lost ones go. Where they run when their bodies betray them and the instincts take over.

And it’s where the wolves tend to show up.

I slow, sniffing the air.

There. Faint. Musky. Pine and something… sharper.

Elias lifts his head too. “That’s not one of ours.”

“Werewolf?”

He nods. “Has that wet-dog bravado to it.”

I sigh. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

Werewolves.

Noisy. Pack-obsessed. Always walking around like they’re the final evolution of shifters. Never mind that they wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit them in the ass.

“They’ve got a compound east of here, don’t they?” Elias says. “Could be a scout.”

“Or a lone wolf out for blood.”

“We engaging?”

“Only if they engage first,” I mutter. “I don’t want a goddamn diplomatic incident.”

We move slower now, deliberate. I crouch near a cluster of thornbushes, motioning for Elias to circle wide. He vanishes like smoke, silent and deadly.

I close my eyes and focus, pulling in the smells, the sounds.

There. A heartbeat. Heavy footfalls. Breathing—fast, ragged.

Then a growl, low and guttural.

My eyes snap open.

A shape moves through the trees—big, fast, moving on all fours. Amber eyes flash in the moonlight.

Shit.

I back up a step, hand on the knife at my belt. Not silver—it’s not like that. Just steel and purpose.

The werewolf skids to a stop maybe twenty feet from me. It’s a female—tall, lean, fur the color of dirty snow, breathing hard. She’s halfway through a shift, still caught between human and beast. That means she’s either real new or real reckless.

Her lip curls, fangs flashing. “You smell like city rot.”

“Better than smelling like a kennel,” I shoot back.

She snarls and takes a step forward. Her claws dig into the dirt.

“I’m not here to start anything,” I say, holding up both hands. “Just patrolling. Same as you, I bet.”

“You’re too close to our territory.”

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