Page 91 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

She spins on her heel. “Go find your little bondmate, Callum. I’m done playing soldier in your story.”

“You go rogue, Adora, and they’ll label you a threat. They’ll hunt you.”

“I hope they do,” she mutters. “I’m tired of hiding.”

She disappears into the trees before I can stop her.

While I’m left staring at the smoke trail of her wake.

37

KENDALL

Ipress my palm to the doorframe, close my eyes, and inhale slow.

Callum’s scent lingers—woodsmoke, musk, and a kind of storm-static that always makes my skin buzz. I track it out the back, through the brush, down a slope slick with old rain and fallen pine needles.

He’s headed east. But I’m not the only one moving.

My neck prickles before I hear it—a branch snap. Soft. Too soft for a normal footfall.

I whip around just in time to see a figure dart between trees—cloaked, fast, andwrong. The scent hits me second. Bitter. Acrid. Familiar in the worst way.

Someone’s beenfollowing me.

My blood ignites. I drop low, shifting all the way, knowing there’s no in-between for werewolves—claws out, eyes gold. A growl rips through my chest as I pivot andlunge.

The figure ducks, but I catch their cloak and slam them into a tree. They hiss—literally hiss—and their hood falls back, revealing pale skin stretched too thin over a face that’s barely human.

Shifter? No. Not quite. Not PEACE either. Somethingbetween.

“You’ve been watching me,” I shift back as I spit, claws at their throat before they retract.

They grin, blood in their teeth. “Since your first howl, Bolvi bitch.”

I snarl—and then a blur of silver crashes into them from the side.

Adora.

She slams the attacker to the ground with a snarl, knees pinning them down, claws already drenched. “He was tracking you. I caught the trail an hour ago.”

“You followed me?”

“I followedthem,” she growls. “Your scent was all over their path.”

The attacker thrashes under her, muttering something in a language I don’t recognize—words that feel like bile in the air. I move to help, but Adora finishes it herself, slamming her elbow into his temple with a sickening crack.

He goes still.

We’re both panting.

“You okay?” she asks, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “You?”

She shrugs like her pulse isn’t racing. “Barely a warm-up.”

I look at the body. “He wasn’t human.”

---