Bitten Shifter, page 13
part #1 of The Bitten Chronicles Series
The silence stretches. I should be angry—livid. Merrick has neglected to tell me far more than Paul ever did, yet all I feel is a weary sort of gratitude, a gratitude I don’t want to examine too closely.
I sense Merrick’s presence before I hear him.
“Are you all right?” His voice is softer than I expect.
I glance up. No. “Yeah, I’m just great. I’m legally dead, my name’s been changed, and my ex-husband thinks I’m running off with a shifter.” I wave my hands vaguely. “Alpha Prime? Seriously? You are the Alpha Prime. And you were the one dropping off my work contract? What was that about?”
Merrick settles on the edge of the table, looking far too calm for someone who just detonated my life. “I’m hands-on,” he says with a shrug. “I get things done.”
“Was this whole mate thing your way of ‘getting things done’?”
“No.”
“Did you make it up to speed along the paperwork?”
His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “No.”
“Then what, Merrick? How does any of this make sense?”
He leans forward, his voice steady and deliberate. “I knew the moment I saw you in the hotel lobby. You are my fated mate.”
“Fated mate? I don’t even know what that means.”
“You will learn at the Facility,” he says, daring to brush my forehead with a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry about all this. Everything will be all right.”
“All right?” My laugh comes out sharp. “I’m so confused.”
“I know.”
“I’m terrified.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do this so publicly.” His eyes lose their sharpness, regret shadowing his features. “But your ex pissed me off.”
“Yeah, he has a knack for that.”
“I should’ve talked to you first.”
“Yeah, you should have. That was nuts, Merrick. This whole thing is nuts. Would you have told me about the mate thing if I hadn’t been bitten?” I ask, my voice steady, although my heart pounds.
Merrick hesitates, the weight of the question settling over him. Finally, he sighs. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice low, almost regretful. “I would have protected you, kept you safe from a distance. But… telling you? I don’t know.” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It was hard enough to stay away as it was. I’ve had a security detail on you for months.” His eyes lift to meet mine, and there’s something raw in them. “My life is too dangerous for a human.”
That’s a no, then. A lump forms in my throat, sharp and painful. Why does that hurt so much? I knew we were different, that his world was nothing like mine. I knew he was out of my league. But hearing him say it—that he wouldn’t have told me—hits me hard.
A small, insidious thought worms its way in, was the break-in really a terrorist attack?
Or was I set up? Could Merrick have decided it was better for me to be gone than to be his fated mate?
But no… He wouldn’t have come for me if he’d wanted me dead. Right?
It’s awfully convenient, though, isn’t it? If I survive the change, I will go furry, and suddenly Merrick has a shifter partner who does not look like an old lady. My mind flickers back to Jo and Sandra—the way Sandra looked at Jo with such unshakable adoration. They make it work, but Sandra and Jo aren’t us. Sandra isn’t the Alpha Prime.
The bite, though… it does make things convenient for him.
I look twenty-five years younger now.
I rub my face, the motion doing little to ease the pressure building behind my eyes. This is all just too much. Everybody wants to be loved, to be adored for who they are—not for what some twist of fate decrees. Nobody wants to feel forced into a relationship because of some cosmic matchmaking.
First Paul. Now Merrick.
Neither of them really wants me.
Merrick catches a strand of my hair resting on my shoulder, twirling the end between his fingers. “Hannah did a good job,” he says.
“She did,” I admit.
Before the meeting, Hannah had evened out my hair, undoing the damage from my hasty, self-inflicted chop. It’s not fancy, but at least I don’t look like I lost a fight with a hedge trimmer.
“The things you will need have been packed and are in the car, ready to go. I know you don’t want to leave, and you think you can handle this alone. But you can’t. Trust me.”
“Trust you?” I shoot back, my voice rising. “You set me up for your own amusement. Why should I trust you?”
“Because I’m your mate.”
I throw my hands up. I’m his mate only when it suits him. “You didn’t ask me. There’s this crazy thing—it’s called consent.”
“I know.” His voice is calm, unwavering. “But once you feel your animal, you will understand. You can’t fight fate.”
Oh, I can, and I will. I don’t say it aloud, though. He is the Alpha Prime, after all.
Optimus Prime, I think, stifling a sigh under the weight of this ever-expanding disaster. I thought I’d skirt the Ministry and find help from an outsider. Instead, I walked straight into the jaws of the wolf himself.
“So, I’m leaving now?”
“Yes.”
“To the Facility.”
“Yes.”
Okay, fine. I will go to the Facility. I will do the tests, endure the training, read the books—whatever they need me to do. I will prove myself, be the best bloody shifter they have ever seen. And then, hopefully, I can get back to work. I will keep my head down, focus on my job, and steer clear of Merrick.
I glare at him. “And what are you going to do? Go play Alpha Prime while I’m dealing with this mess?”
“You don’t need me hovering. Riker will take you.”
“Riker?”
“Your bodyguard.”
“Blondie? The big blond guy?”
Merrick’s laugh is warm and unexpected. “He will love that. Have you given me a nickname too?”
“Oh, yeah. You are Mr First Class.”
“Mr First Class?” He smiles.
“Yeah. I thought you were a courier.”
“Ah.” His smile widens. “I will take it. I can be your Mr First Class anytime.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“No, you can’t. I’ve got a new nickname for you.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“Dickhead,” I say, pushing myself up from the chair.
Merrick chuckles behind me. “Settle in, little mate. I will visit you soon. Be safe.”
I wave over my shoulder without turning around. “Whatever, dickhead.”
I yank open the door to find Blondie—Riker—leaning casually against the wall, his massive arms crossed.
“What’s up, Alpha’s mate?” His smirk is infuriating.
“Which way to the car?” I snap.
“This way, Alpha’s mate.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why? Every time I say it, you look like you’re gonna scream. It’s hilarious. Mate, mate, mate, mate… Would you prefer Pup? Perhaps Blondie’s ward might suit you better—”
I let out a frustrated scream, and he bursts into laughter, his deep chuckle echoing down the hall as he leads me to the car.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zone One is only forty minutes from Zone Two, but it feels like an entirely different world. While Zone Two is sleek and urbane, Zone One exudes military precision. It appears to be designed for training and discipline, a cross between a sprawling army camp and a reform school.
The Facility looms ahead, surrounded by a towering fence. I can only assume it’s warded. The architecture is characteristic of shifters—equal parts imposing and practical. As we approach the gates, a guard waves us to a stop and checks our identification.
Riker hands over my new gold pass, replacing the blue one I’d barely grown accustomed to. The guard examines it then regards me with sharp, assessing eyes. After a moment, he offers me a shallow bow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alpha’s mate,” he says.
I manage a tight smile. “Thank you.” Please don’t let my eye twitch.
Riker glances back at me, smirking. I dig my knee into the back of his seat and he laughs.
The guard hands the pass back, the gate opens, and we’re waved through.
Although the familiar shifter greenery greets us as we drive in, the buildings here are starkly different. On the right is a squat structure that resembles an old gymnasium.
“That’s the barracks,” the driver announces in a tour guide tone. “That’s where everyone stays. Each person has their own bedroom and bathroom, plus a communal area if you’re feeling sociable.”
We pass the barracks and pull up in front of a mansion-like building, which contrasts sharply with the utilitarian surroundings. It’s the same building featured on the brochure—the one I’ve yet to open.
We step out of the car, and a man rushes down the steps to greet us. He beams as though I’m royalty.
“Miss Winters!” He clasps my hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously. “A pleasure to meet you! I’m Director Sullivan. I hope your stay with us will be both safe and pleasant. I heard about your attack—terribly unfortunate—and I want you to know we will take excellent care of you.”
“Thank you,” I say, resisting the urge to shake out my arm after his exuberant greeting. His enthusiasm is a little overwhelming, and his grip feels capable of detaching my arm altogether.
“We have scheduled some assessments for you later today,” Mr Sullivan continues as we climb the steps. “Just a formality, of course, to ensure nothing will interfere with your progress. It’s essential to be in the best possible frame of mind for this momentous occasion.”
Momentous occasion. Right. Because being bitten and turned into a shifter is something to celebrate.
As he chatters on, I glance back at Riker. He coughs and mumbles something under his breath. Thanks to the sensory-dampening band, I can’t catch it. I give him a questioning look and point at the band, but he only smirks again.
Mr Sullivan notices. “Ah, that band—an expensive model! Someone must care for you a great deal.”
His smile makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
“You and your bodyguard will be staying in a suite in the main building. It’s typically staff accommodation, but we—”
“Oh no, please don’t do that,” I interrupt, horrified. “I don’t want any special privileges. I will stay in the barracks.” I gesture back toward the squat building.
Mr Sullivan looks startled. “But you’re the Alpha’s—”
“It’s fine,” I say firmly. “I don’t want to stand out.”
The last thing I need is for everyone to assume I’m receiving preferential treatment. I’ve spent my whole life blending in, and I’m not about to start playing the privileged card now.
Mr Sullivan hesitates, clearly torn. “Well, if that’s what you want, Miss Winters…”
I glance at Riker. “Is that all right with you?”
He shrugs. “Works for me.”
“We have two available rooms,” Mr Sullivan says, regaining his composure. “They are near each other, so your bodyguard will be close by.”
I nod politely. “Thank you, Director. How long do you think I will need to stay here?” Please don’t let it be months.
“Well,” he says with a broad smile, “the full training course typically takes at least four months. Many of our trainees have been prepping for years. Most are born shifters going through their natural change, or turned candidates who’ve had extensive preparation. You, of course, are in a unique situation, so you will have additional classes to catch up.”
My heart sinks. Four months. Years of preparation. And here I am, utterly clueless. It’s as though I’ve been thrust into an advanced fighter jet programme with no idea how to fly a plane.
“A couple of weeks, perhaps. The Alpha Prime has requested that you remain here until you have learned to shift. After that, he will take you to the Capital for private tutoring.”
The edge in his tone suggests he is less than thrilled about that arrangement. Evidently, my being whisked away by Merrick chafes his professional pride.
Fantastic. I’m already making friends.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sit through the psychologist’s session, keeping my face blank and my mouth tightly reined. This isn’t my chosen doctor. I didn’t hire her. She is the Ministry’s expert, and I’m fully aware her notes will end up in my file. So, I play along, answering her questions with upbeat, practised responses that sound perfectly adjusted and optimistic.
I lie through my teeth.
“Yes, large dogs make my heart race.”
“Yes, I feel mildly anxious to be around shifters.”
“Of course, I’m taking everything one day at a time.”
She laps it up. By the end, I escape her office with a professional smile, a vague recommendation for ‘a few more sessions,’ and her assurance that I’m ‘adjusting remarkably well.’”
Sure. Whatever gets me out of here.
On the way to my assigned room, pamphlets in hand, I spot a girl struggling with a large metal case. Sweat beads on her forehead, and her cheeks are flushed pink from the effort. She bites her lip, her palms bright red where they grip the handle.
“Hi,” I say, stepping around her. “Need a hand?”
She blinks up at me with wide blue eyes, pale blonde curls framing her face. When our eyes meet, she dips her head, letting her hair fall like a protective curtain.
“Oh, I’m all right,” she whispers.
“No, really, I can help. That looks heavy.”
Her gaze flicks up again, uncertain. “Really?”
“Of course! Let me grab one side. Between the two of us, we can manage. Where are we headed to?”
“Just down the hall.”
“No problem.”
She moves to the front handle but hesitates before turning her back to me. “Thank you. It’s a case from the shifter military—apparently, they used it for rockets, I think. But now…” She giggles nervously. “It’s just packed with my stuff. Mostly books. I couldn’t leave them behind. I’m a total bookaholic, and e-readers just don’t smell the same, you know? I’m not bothered about clothes that much, so I stuffed the case full of—”
She keeps talking as we shuffle down the corridor, her end dipping precariously. I adjust to match her uneven grip, taking care not to lift too high as she struggles. I’m much stronger than I should be.
We finally reach her room, she opens the door, and I help manoeuvre the case inside. We set it down at the foot of her bed with a thud.
“Oh, look at my hands!” She rubs her red, sweaty palms on her jeans. “Thank you so much! That was so kind of you. I’m Alice.”
“Lovely to meet you, Alice. I’m Lark.”
“Lark,” she says, smiling brightly. “That’s such a pretty name. So, where are you from? I’m from a tiny coastal town. Our house is by the beach, and the view is so beautiful.”
“Um, I’m from the Human Sector.”
Alice doesn’t skip a beat. Her smile widens. “Really? That’s so interesting! I’ve never been, of course—protection and all that nonsense—but one day, when I’m older and fully shifted, I’d love to visit. Where would you recommend I go first?”
We chat about various places, and I mention sights I think she might enjoy. She even lights up at the idea of spying on vampires, though only from a safe distance.
“So, are you nervous about shifting?” she asks, bouncing on her toes. “I’m so excited! I’ve started meditating, but it’s so difficult. How do people sit there and think about nothing? And the meditation instructor on the app keeps smacking his lips. It’s so annoying!” She scrunches her nose in mock disgust, and I laugh.
“Yes, meditation isn’t for everyone.”
“What do you do for work?” she asks, tilting her head.
“I’m in IT.”
“Oh, cool! So you, like, build computers?”
“Sort of. I do some building, but mostly programming.”
“That’s amazing. I run a cupcake business. I make weird and unusual cupcakes. If you want a Sunday dinner cupcake, I’m your girl. I can create the entire thing in fondant. Look.” She takes out her phone and shows me pictures of intricately decorated cupcakes. They are amazing; some are shaped like flowers, others like miniature feasts, and more.
“Alice, these are incredible! You’re really talented.”
“Thanks!” She beams. “One thing shifters are great eaters, so it’s a match made in heaven.” She dashes to her metal case, flips it open, and pulls out a tin. Alice pops the lid to reveal a bouquet of cupcakes so lifelike they could be fresh flowers.
“Here, try one!” she offers.
“Thank you. I almost hate to ruin it—it’s so pretty.” Nonetheless, I take one and bite into it. The flavour is outstanding. “Alice, this is delicious.”
Her face lights up. “I’m so glad you like it! Here, take another one for later.” She presses a second cupcake into my hands, still smiling. “And thank you again for helping me.”
“Well, I’d better get going.”
“Oh, of course! I didn’t mean to keep you. But… we’ll chat later, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“Yay!” She claps her hands together, practically bouncing in place. “See you soon!”
Riker is waiting outside Alice’s room, his expression turning melodramatic as I finish off the half-eaten cupcake.
“Seriously?” he says, feigning betrayal.
I grin, lick a stray crumb from my lip, and wave the second cupcake at him before stowing it in my room. “Not a chance.”
His grumbling protest follows us all the way to my next appointment, where an overly enthusiastic instructor hands me three massive tomes on shifter history and customs. Riker trails behind me as I trudge to the library.
The library is beautiful—towering shelves line the walls, and a fireplace is tucked into a cosy corner by the window. I settle into a chair and crack open the first book.
