Page 7 of Marked For A Bite
The first man entered her bedroom—military buzz cut, tactical vest, and rifle raised. Logan's hunting knife appeared in his hand like magic as he stood behind her opened bedroom door, the blade catching the last rays of dying sunlight streaming through her window.
"Target spotted and escaping through?—"
Logan moved from behind the door like lightning wrapped in human form. The knife found its mark before the operative could finish his sentence, and Zoe watched in horrified fascination as Logan's body became poetry written in violence. No wasted movement. No hesitation. Pure, lethal efficiency that spoke of years honing this deadly craft.
The second man appeared in the doorway, his weapon already firing. Logan ducked and rolled, his blade finding soft tissue with surgical precision. The sound of metal meeting flesh and bone made Zoe's stomach clench, but something deeper responded with savage approval.
He's protecting you. He's magnificent.
Blood splattered across her bedroom walls in abstract patterns that would have been beautiful if they weren't so terrifying. Logan dispatched both men with brutal economy, their bodies hitting the hardwood floor with wet thuds that seemed to echo through her bones.
When he vaulted through the window a moment later, Zoe caught the scent rolling off him—adrenaline, testosterone, and something wild that made her wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin.
"Move," he commanded, grabbing her hand.
They ran through the gathering dusk, Logan setting a punishing pace that should have left her gasping. Instead, her body responded with supernatural endurance that felt both exhilarating and alien. Her legs carried her down the sidewalk without strain, and her lungs worked with perfect efficiency despite their sprint.
"Three blocks," Logan said, his voice barely winded despite their speed.
His modified Jeep sat like a black predator crouched between two sedans. Military-grade modification gleamed in the streetlight—reinforced bumpers, tinted windows that looked bulletproof, and an engine that purred with barely contained power when Logan turned the key.
"Where are we going?" Zoe buckled her seatbelt with hands that trembled slightly.
"Somewhere safe." Logan pulled into traffic with controlled aggression, his green eyes constantly checking the mirrors. "Away from here."
Within minutes, his jaw tightened. "Fuck."
Zoe twisted to look behind them. A black sedan, two cars back, matching their every turn with suspicious precision.
"Friends of yours?" she asked, surprised by the steadiness in her own voice.
"No." Logan's hands gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. "Hold on."
He led them on a chase through Portland's winding streets, taking corners that made her stomach flip and running yellow lights with split-second timing. But the sedan stayed with them, persistent as a shadow.
As the city gave way to forested mountains, Logan suddenly pulled the Jeep onto the shoulder and killed the engine.
"What are you doing?" Zoe's voice pitched higher as he opened his door.
"Ending this." He stepped out into the growing darkness, his black jacket making him nearly invisible against the trees.
"Logan, no! Get back in here!" The words tore from her throat with desperate urgency that surprised her. Why did the thought of him in danger make her chest feel like it was caving in?
"Stay in the Jeep." His voice carried that authority that brooked no argument. "I know what I'm doing."
The sedan's doors opened, and two figures emerged with weapons glinting in the moonlight. Professional stance and coordinated movement—more military operatives.
Then Logan began to change.
His bones cracked and reformed with sounds like breaking timber. His clothes shredded as his body expanded, his muscles rippling and reshaping themselves. Dark russet fur erupted across his skin as his face elongated into something magnificently terrifying.
The wolf that stood where Logan had been was massive—easily twice the size of any wolf Zoe had ever seen in documentaries. His fur caught the moonlight like living flame, and his eyes burned with golden intelligence that was still utterly, unmistakably Logan.
He launched himself at the first operative with a snarl that vibrated through Zoe's bones. The man's scream cut short in a wet gurgle as powerful jaws found his throat.
The second operative raised his weapon toward Logan's exposed flank.
Something primal and protective exploded in Zoe. Her rational mind screamed at her to stay safe, but a deeper instinct—her wolf—roared that her mate was in danger.
