Page 4 of Marked For A Bite
The thing about being the pack's enforcer was simple—everyone expected you to be the monster so they didn't haveto become one themselves. Logan had accepted that burden ten years ago. The pack needed someone willing to cross lines others couldn't, and he'd volunteered for that darkness.
But lately, the lines keep shifting.
Logan found himself questioning orders given to him recently by the High Council. Their unusually extreme demands and methods sat wrong in his gut.
When you start questioning if committing murder and other violent acts is justified, maybe it's time to re-evaluate your life choices.
The path wound through ancient cedars whose trunks could hide small buildings, their canopy so thick that dawn remained theoretical rather than visible. Logan's enhanced senses cataloged every scent marker, every territorial boundary, and every subtle shift in the forest's rhythm. This land lived in his bones after thirty-four years of respecting and protecting it.
Kieran's cabin materialized through the trees—a modest structure that reflected the acting Alpha's preference for function over status. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of coffee and something else. Tension. Urgency.
Logan climbed the steps and knocked once before entering. "You called."
Kieran looked up from where he stood beside a massive oak table covered in territorial maps and scattered reports. His silver-blue eyes held the weight of leadership that had settled on him like an ill-fitting coat after his father's mysterious disappearance.
"Thanks for coming so quickly." Kieran's voice carried that particular edge that meant serious business. "We have a situation that requires your specific skill set."
"Human problem or shifter problem?"
"Both." Kieran moved around the table, his movements carrying the controlled tension of a predator preparing tostrike. "Lena's been monitoring communication channels and picked up something concerning. There's a human hybrid shifter manifesting in Portland—completely unaware of what she is."
Logan's eyebrows rose fractionally. Unmanifested hybrids were rare, dangerous, and magnets for exactly the kind of attention that got people killed. "How do we know she's a hybrid?"
"She attacked someone at a museum exhibition two days ago. Public outburst with witnesses. Luckily, no one got hurt and authorities are calling it a mental breakdown. But Lena says the description matches classic partial shifting symptoms." Kieran pulled out a photograph printed from what looked like a news website. "Her name is Zoe Raymond. Twenty-five, museum curator, and apparently has some personal connection to Pacific Northwest indigenous artifacts."
Logan studied the image—a professional headshot showing a striking woman with light brown skin, curly dark brown hair, and unusual hazel eyes. Something stirred in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome.
"Why not send local contacts to handle extraction?"
"Because three different groups claimed responsibility for my father's disappearance, the High Council refuses to investigate, and now another hybrid manifests right when tensions are highest." Kieran's jaw tightened. "Something is going on and things just aren't adding up for me. Like someone wants to use extreme measures to keep our wolf shifter kind protected, while at the same time, the universe is steering us straight into a major social evolution."
"So, what's your big worry about this hybrid then?"
"I think she's a target who doesn't know she's in danger. Just like Maya was in the beginning." Kieran met Logan's eyes. "I need someone I trust completely to bring her back safely. Someone who won't hesitate if trouble shows up."
Logan accepted the mission the way he always did when it came to his pack—without argument, without hesitation, and with the fierce loyalty that had defined his service to the Silvercrest pack for a decade. But as he looked at the photograph again, something shifted inside him. Something that felt dangerously close to protective instinct.
"How long do I have?"
"She's holed up in her house, probably terrified and confused. But if the wrong people get to her first..." Kieran didn't need to finish that sentence. They both knew what would happen to unprotected hybrids in these uncertain times. And it wasn't anything good.
"I'll leave within the hour." Logan pocketed the photograph, already calculating routes and contingencies. "Portland is a four-hour drive if I push it. Should reach her by dusk."
"Logan." Kieran's voice stopped him at the door. "Bring her back alive. Whatever it takes."
Logan nodded once and stepped back into the forest, his mind already focused on the mission ahead. But as he jogged toward his cabin to gather his gear, the image of hazel eyes and curly hair lingered in his thoughts with uncomfortable persistence.
Just another extraction. Just another job.
But his wolf disagreed with that assessment entirely.
Logan soon moved through his cabin with practiced efficiency, muscle memory guiding him through the ritual of mission preparation. The leather gun holsters felt familiar against his ribs as he secured his Glock 19 and backup .380. Three knives found their designated spots—a tactical blade at his thigh, a throwing knife at his ankle, and his father's hunting knife secured horizontally across his lower back. The Kevlar vest would wait until he reached Portland. No point in advertising his intentions during the drive.
His black cargo pants held everything without restricting movement, each weapon positioned for quick access. Logan had learned long ago that hesitation in drawing a blade often meant the difference between completing a mission and becoming a casualty. The weight of his arsenal provided comfort rather than burden—familiar tools for an unfamiliar situation.
A hybrid manifesting without pack guidance. This could go sideways fast.
The drive to Portland blurred past in calculated speed, his modified Jeep eating up highway miles just under the threshold of police attention. Logan's photographic memory had already cataloged the route, alternate escape paths, and potential complications. Urban extractions carried different risks than wilderness operations, but his methods adapted as needed.
