Page 2 of Marked For A Bite
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. Yourinterpretation 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 tohuntoverwhelmed 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?—"
"Naomi." Zoe caught her friend's hand. "I love you for wanting to take care of me, but I need space to process this. I promise I'll call you in a few days when I'm feeling more like myself."
Naomi's reluctance painted her expression, but she recognized the stubborn set of Zoe's jaw. "Fine. But if you don't answer your phone within forty-eight hours, I'm breaking down your door."
"Deal."
After Naomi left with multiple backward glances, Zoe sat in the silence of her bedroom. The mysterious letter from her mother waited on her dresser, unopened but suddenly urgent.
Something fundamental had shifted inside Zoe today on her 25th birthday. Something that demanded answers.
