Page 1 of Marked For A Bite (Rebellious Mates #2)

ONE

ZOE

Twenty-five years old today. She'd actually made it to twenty-five.

Her heels clicked against the pavement in a rhythm that matched her racing pulse.

The tailored charcoal dress hugged her curves in all the right places, professional yet feminine—armor for facing whatever today might throw at her.

She'd spent twenty minutes perfecting her appearance this morning, letting her dark brown curls cascade naturally over her shoulders, the honey highlights catching the fluorescent lights above.

What could possibly go wrong on my birthday? The thought carried bitter irony. After the past year's disasters, she'd learned not to tempt fate with such questions.

The elevator ride to the main floor felt eternal. Her reflection in the polished steel doors showed hazel eyes that seemed brighter than usual, almost luminous in the artificial light. She blinked hard, willing the strange glow to fade before anyone noticed.

The episode with her neighbor Helen still haunted her dreams. The memory of Zoe's fingernails extending into claws and her teeth sharpening to points—it defied every rational thought she possessed.

The psychologist had blamed stress and handed her a prescription for anxiety medication that now sat untouched in Zoe's bathroom cabinet.

Mental breakdown from exhaustion. Right. Because exhaustion explained the predatory growl that had torn from Zoe's throat, or the way Helen's terrified scream had snapped Zoe back to humanity.

"Morning, Zoe!" Laura's cheerful voice rang across the museum lobby as Zoe emerged from the elevator. "Ready for the big day?"

Zoe forced her brightest smile, the one that had gotten her through countless professional interactions since her mother's death. "Absolutely. Everything set for the VIP preview?"

"Your Pacific Northwest collection looks incredible. The Duwamish artifacts especially—I swear that ceremonial mask follows you with its eyes."

A chill ran down Zoe's spine. She'd felt drawn to that particular piece since it arrived last month, spending hours studying its carved features and the intricate wolf motifs etched around the eye sockets.

Sometimes she caught herself staring at it during late work nights, feeling an inexplicable connection she couldn't name.

"I'll be in my office prepping final notes," Zoe said, heading toward the administrative wing. "Naomi's coming for moral support, so if you see a gorgeous redhead causing trouble, that's her."

Laura laughed. "The one who convinced you to go skydiving last summer?"

"That's the one."

Zoe's office occupied a corner of the building with windows overlooking Pioneer Courthouse Square.

She settled behind her desk, pulling up the exhibit files on her computer while trying to ignore the restless energy crackling beneath her skin.

Her birthday had always felt significant, but this year carried weight she couldn't explain.

The mysterious letter from her mother sat in her home, sealed and waiting.

Her mother's elegant handwriting had spelled out clear instructions: To be opened on your 25th birthday .

No explanation, no context—just another puzzle piece in the growing collection of unexplained elements surrounding her life.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Naomi: Happy birthday, gorgeous! Can't wait to see you strut around being all professional and intimidating. Bringing champagne for later.

Despite everything, Zoe grinned. Naomi had refused to let her wallow in self-imposed isolation after the Helen incident, showing up with takeout and terrible romantic comedies until Zoe finally emerged from her emotional bunker.

The museum began filling with early visitors, their voices drifting through her office door. Soon, donors and art critics would arrive for the preview, expecting her expertise and enthusiasm. She could do this. She'd been preparing for months.

Her birthmark tingled against her wrist—the small crescent moon that had appeared during puberty, another oddity her mother had dismissed as normal. Today it felt warm, almost pulsing with its own rhythm.

Happy birthday to me, Zoe thought, squaring her shoulders as footsteps approached her office. The familiar click of Laura's sensible flats announced her arrival before she appeared in the doorway.

"Zoe, some of the VIPs are starting to arrive now. Earlier than expected. Your presence is requested at the exhibit." Laura's eyes sparkled with anticipation. "And by the way, you look absolutely radiant."

Zoe smoothed her tailored charcoal dress and adjusted her lightweight black sweater. "Thank you. I'm ready."

The walk to the main exhibition hall felt like a march toward destiny.

Her heels clicked against the polished floors as they passed displays of ancient pottery and Renaissance paintings, but her mind remained fixed on the collection that had consumed her for months.

The Duwamish artifacts called to something deep within her—a recognition she couldn't name, a pull that felt ancestral.

The exhibition space buzzed with elegant conversation as donors and critics circulated among the displays.

Zoe's breath caught seeing her work through fresh eyes.

The ceremonial masks, carved totems, and intricate beadwork formed a tapestry of Pacific Northwest indigenous culture that sang with authentic power.

"Ms. Raymond." A sharp voice cut through the ambient chatter. Richard Blackwood, the art critic from the Portland Tribune , approached with his trademark sneer. "Fascinating collection, though I question the curatorial choices."

Zoe's professional smile remained steady. "I'd be happy to discuss any specific concerns."

"The contextual framework feels... amateur." His pale eyes glittered with malice. "Though I suppose we can't expect sophisticated analysis from someone with your... background."

Her birthmark began to throb, warmth spreading up her arm. "My master's degree in art history from Columbia speaks for itself."

"Does it?" Blackwood circled a display case containing wolf-motif artifacts. "These primitive wolf carvings, for instance. Your interpretation completely misses the mark. They're nothing but savage totems from a barbaric culture—hardly worthy of serious scholarly attention."

The warmth in Zoe's wrist exploded into searing heat. Her vision sharpened, every detail of Blackwood's smugness burning crystal clear. The way he dismissed the wolves and attacked the culture ignited something primal and protective.

"These aren't savage totems." Her voice dropped to a dangerous register. "They represent spiritual connection, pack loyalty, and?—"

"Pack loyalty?" Blackwood laughed. "How delightfully primitive."

Zoe's fingernails lengthened into razor-sharp claws as rage consumed rational thought. The need to defend, to protect, and to hunt overwhelmed every civilized instinct. She lunged forward, her claws extended toward Blackwood's shocked face.

"Zoe, no!" Naomi's voice pierced the red haze as strong arms wrapped around her waist.

"What the hell—" Laura grabbed Zoe's shoulders, helping Naomi pull her back from the terrified critic.

Blackwood stumbled backward, his face ghostly pale. "She's completely insane!"

The exhibition hall fell silent. Patrons stared with expressions ranging from horror to fascination. Zoe's claws retracted as quickly as they'd appeared, leaving her trembling and disoriented.

"Everyone's looking at me," she whispered, her legs giving out.

She collapsed among her precious artifacts, consciousness flickering like a dying flame. Voices swirled around her—Naomi shouting for someone to call 911, Laura clearing the crowd, and security asking questions she couldn't answer.

The world fragmented into disconnected moments. Paramedics checked her pulse. The cool metal of a gurney against her burning skin. Naomi's worried face hovering above as they loaded her into the ambulance.

"What's happening to me?" Zoe's fever-cracked voice barely registered above the siren's wail.

Through the delirium, wolves prowled her vision.

Massive creatures with intelligent eyes that seemed to recognize her.

One stood apart from the rest—russet-furred with deep green eyes that watched her with ancient wisdom.

Its presence felt familiar and protective, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.

The fever dreams consumed her until blessed darkness claimed her entirely.

Zoe woke up in her own bedroom, moonlight filtering through the gauze curtains. Her mouth felt cotton-dry, and her body ached as if she'd run a marathon. Naomi sat in the reading chair beside her bed, worry etched across her beautiful features.

"Thank God." Naomi leaned forward, pressing a cool hand to Zoe's forehead. "Your fever finally broke."

"What happened?" Zoe struggled to sit up, her charcoal dress replaced by comfortable pajamas. "The last thing I remember was?—"

"You collapsed at the exhibition. They rushed you to the hospital and pumped you full of pain meds, plus some anxiety medication.

" Naomi's green eyes held barely contained panic.

"The doctors recommended extended leave from work.

They think the ongoing stress triggered a severe mental health episode this time. "

Mental health episode. The clinical phrase sat wrong in Zoe's chest, like forcing a square peg through a round hole. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Six hours. Zoe, you scared the hell out of me. Richard Blackwood is threatening to press charges."

The memory of her claws and the overwhelming need to protect the wolf artifacts flooded back. That hadn't felt like madness—it felt like an awakening.

"I need some time alone," Zoe said carefully. "Just a few days to clear my head."

"Absolutely not. I'm staying right here until?—"