Bitten Shifter, page 14
part #1 of The Bitten Chronicles Series
Fated mates. Fated mates… I dive into the index, flip to the page, and skim. According to shifter lore, fated mates are a rare gift from the gods, akin to human soulmates but with a deeper, primal bond. A fated mate can be anyone—human, shifter, vampire, or magic user. The connection is sacred, and shifters hold it in the highest esteem.
I pause at a section explaining that the animal within a shifter recognises its fated mate on sight, even if the mate does not have an animal. The text insists that with patience, work, and compassion, this bond can serve as the foundation for a loving, enduring partnership.
Sacred bonds, cosmic connections—sure. It all sounds like hokey pokey to me, but shifters swear by it. There’s even a legal clause stating that discovering a fated mate can annul existing marriages.
Convenient. I suspect Merrick planned to invoke that rule if he’d pursued me when I was human. But I was bitten, and the rules—and my life—changed dramatically.
I flip through the other books. They echo the same sentiments. Fated mates are rare, sacred, powerful, and life-changing. Blah, blah, blah.
“Are you all right?” Riker asks, breaking my focus.
I glance up. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking like he is itching to either run a marathon or punch someone.
“Do you need the toilet or something?” I ask with a cheeky grin.
He snorts. “No. I’m just bored. I was expecting more drama with your ex. It was… anticlimactic.” He shifts his weight yet again, clearly yearning for action.
I shut the book with a thud. “Do you want to spar?”
His eyes sharpen as he arches a brow. “Spar? With you?”
“Yes, with me. I could use a proper fight.”
He folds his arms, smirking. “Can you even fight?”
I gather the books, stack them neatly, and leave the library, heading for the barracks. “Thirty years of judo,” I say lightly.
He stumbles mid-stride, then recovers. “You have done thirty years of judo? You?”
“I started in my teens,” I explain, adjusting the books under my arm. “It’s been the one constant in my life. I only stopped because… well, age. My joints didn’t appreciate me throwing people around like I used to.”
Riker gives me a long look, his expression turning into something close to admiration. “All right, Alpha’s mate. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I suppress a smile. “Careful what you wish for.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
We get changed and head to the state-of-the-art training block. The place is impressive—there’s an Olympic-sized pool, and I can hear the rhythmic slap of someone swimming laps. But it’s the practice room that draws me in like a magnet.
It’s built for combat. Thick blue mats cover every inch, providing a soft yet firm surface faintly textured for grip. The walls are lined with mirrors, giving the room a sense of space and allowing you to observe your every move. Along one side, storage racks hold training gear—pads, gloves, and a few practice weapons.
I warm up, stretching muscles that now feel almost new and strange with my enhanced body.
Riker mirrors me, talking about the thrilling subject of packs and shifter hierarchy while his sharp eyes track everything around us. He is constantly alert, watching the other trainees like a hawk searching for threats. It’s obvious he’s not just muscle—he is extremely good at his job.
The space is filled with activity. Some shifters fool around, while others spar with focus and precision. I ignore them. The looks and whispered comments have already started, mostly about who I am—the bitten human—rather than who I’m mated to.
I roll my eyes and tune them out. Let them talk.
“If someone’s high-ranking in a pack,” he continues his lesson, “they can’t challenge someone lower than them. Challenges only go one way from lower to higher. Keeps it fair—stops higher ranks from picking off the weaker ones for sport.” He shrugs, as though it’s common sense. “Of course, it’s different here. You’re all considered unranked, so any trainee can be formally challenged.”
I nod absently, more out of politeness than genuine interest. The concept of pack politics—challenges, ranks, hierarchies—feels like a distant world I’ve accidentally blundered into. I don’t want any part of it. I have no burning desire to climb an imaginary ladder or prove my dominance. Being in charge of anyone, especially a group of shifters, sounds exhausting.
Poor Merrick.
Riker pauses, waiting for a question or comment, but when none comes, he grins. “Not a fan of the whole dominance thing, huh?”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “You can keep your ranks and challenges. All I want is peace—to be left alone and get through this absurd situation alive without more complications. I’ve had enough of people dictating my life, thank you very much.”
Once we have finished warming up, we start with judo basics. Initially, Riker takes it easy, clearly testing the waters, but he soon realises I know what I’m doing. His grin widens as he switches gears, showing me shifter-specific moves—techniques meant for fighting in human form or half-shifted ‘warrior form,’ which sounds insane.
This is more like it. I’m enjoying myself for the first time in ages. Riker is skilled, and though he’s careful, he does not hold back. That means I don’t have to either. The sparring is invigorating—until it isn’t.
A group of young men swagger into the space, their loud voices disrupting the room’s focus. One of them, obnoxious and cocky, starts throwing out petty comments.
“Who let the girl in here? Isn’t anywhere sacred from these bitches? Go make me a sandwich,” he sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. His eyes flick to my arm. “Look at her—looks like she got chewed up and spat out.”
His little pack of idiots laughs on cue.
This change in me isn’t just affecting my movements and senses—it’s making me more volatile. Where once I might have kept calm, now I’ve got a hair trigger. I need to watch myself.
I try to ignore them, I really do, but I see the muscle in Riker’s jaw flexing as he grinds his teeth. He’s annoyed, and I feel the tension shift. We keep working, trying to stay focused, but the guy won’t shut up.
When we slow down to work on a more intricate move, it must look like I’m fumbling to the untrained eye. The loudmouth pounces on the opportunity to pipe up again.
“Who taught her to fight? Barbie’s Ken?” he jeers. “Bet her arse is the only thing keeping her here.”
I can tell instinctively he is an alpha—an overgrown, six-and-a-half-foot baby alpha, but still. The thing inside me is amused. I’m not. Alphas with unchecked egos don’t last long, or so I’ve read. They are a liability in a society as aggressive as this.
He keeps up his commentary, getting cruder. I try to ignore him, but Riker’s growing frustration distracts me, and eventually I snap.
“Oi, kid!” I snarl, turning to face him. “Shut the eff up. Nobody cares what you think.”
He looks like he’s never been challenged before. He freezes for a moment, hesitates, then his bravado kicks in.
“What’s your problem, human?” he says, puffing his chest out and flexing his biceps. “You volunteering to teach me a lesson?”
I smile coldly, but I know better than to act without permission. “Can I take this one?” I ask Riker, keeping my voice casual. “Surely there are extra rules about beating up children.”
Riker smirks. “You could, but you’d make him cry in front of his friends. Don’t want to embarrass him, do you?”
The kid steps onto the mats, his face flushed with anger. “Come on, bitch,” he spits.
The nauseating scent of an angry shifter ripples across the practice room.
“Is that a challenge, boy?” Riker asks evenly, his voice edged with warning.
“Yeah.”
A challenge has been issued. I groan. My first shifter challenge, and it’s with this idiot. Fantastic.
“Skin only, no permanent damage,” Riker says, setting the terms.
Skin only. No fur. That means neither of us can shift. Great. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he is a fully fledged shifter.
I’m about to fight a real shifter.
Shit.
Decades of sparring haven’t truly prepared me for this. I’ve never fought for real—apart from choking out that guy at work—certainly not like this.
I step onto the mats, keeping my body loose, arms relaxed. Without warning, his massive fist slams into my face.
Hard.
Pain explodes behind my eyes like a firework, and my nose cracks. I hit the mats with a sickening thud, vision swimming as blood trickles down my face.
Sloppy, Lark. Real sloppy.
The room goes quiet.
I wipe my face, grimacing as I check my nose. It’s broken. This new body might be incredible, but a broken nose is still a broken nose.
“Stay down!” the kid snarls.
Did that little shit just try to alpha-command me?
Something inside me coils, tight and furious. My body reacts instinctively, strength coursing through my veins. I kick up with both legs, my back arching as momentum jolts me upright onto my feet.
Pinching my nose between my fingers, I wrench it back into place with a sickening crack, fresh blood gushes, streaming down my chin and soaking my shirt.
Around me, the trainees groan.
I glare at the kid through a haze of pain, tears, and rage. The thing inside me roars to life, furious and ready for vengeance. If I were still fully human, I’d be dead—and then he dared to order my animal side to stay down?
It’s on.
Riker steps forward, looking ready to demolish the kid himself, but I hold up a bloodied hand. “I’ve got this, thanks.” My voice is calm, underpinned with cold fury.
The kid freezes for a moment, then glances at his pack of idiots with a cocky grin. “Did you see how far she flew?”
Time to teach this toddler some manners, and I loosen the grip on my control.
I charge forward, a blur of motion. Before he can react, I pivot into him, driving my hip into his midsection. My hands grip his arm and collar, twisting sharply as I sweep his leg out from under him.
His massive frame flips over my hip, crashing to the mat with a satisfying slap.
I grin and mouth, “Who’s the little bitch now?”
He is back on his feet in a heartbeat, growling as he throws a wild punch. I duck effortlessly, the rush of air brushing past my head. My old sensei’s voice echoes in my mind. Don’t think. Move.
Spinning on my heel, I drive my elbow into his jaw with bone-crushing force. The sharp crack reverberates up my arm, and blood sprays from his mouth as he stumbles.
“Wow, was that a tooth?”
He lunges, desperate and clumsy, trying to use his size to overpower me. I feint backwards, baiting him. As he barrels forward, I plant my foot on his hip and pivot. My body arcs like a bow, using his momentum to flip him clean over. He lands hard, the impact driving the air from his lungs in a guttural gasp.
“Still think Ken trained me, Baby Alpha?”
He barely gets a chance to breathe before I’m on him again. Sliding one leg over his neck, I trap his arm with the other, locking him into a perfect reverse triangle choke. My legs squeeze like a steel vice, cutting off his airflow. He thrashes wildly, his face turning crimson as he claws at my thighs.
I release him just before he goes limp, shoving him off with a sneer of disgust. He collapses onto his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for air.
I don’t let him recover.
Leaping forward, I bring my leg down in a precise axe kick. My heel connects with his shoulder, slamming him face-first into the mat with a roar of pain.
Chest heaving, I grab hold of his hair, tilt his head, and glare down at him, blood dripping from my nose. The thing inside me stirs, urging me to finish it, to rip his throat out with my teeth.
My hand curls into a fist as I fight the primal instinct clawing at my mind.
“We done?” I growl.
The kid nods, his face pale and sweaty.
I drop his head and walk away, leaving him crumpled and humiliated on the mat.
“That idiot asked her for a sandwich, and she turned him into a mop and cleaned the floor with his face!”
Riker steps forward, his voice a low, menacing snarl as he addresses the room. “Next time you so much as look at the Alpha Prime’s mate, boy, I will kill you. That goes for the rest of you.”
The room falls silent, tension crackling like static.
I don’t look back as I walk out.
Let them whisper. Let them fear me.
Right now, I need a shower and a cup of coffee.
I don’t belong here.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I shower and change, trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline. The rooms here are fine—basic, clean, and functional. They remind me of student accommodation. Not exactly cosy, but it will do. I hope Riker is comfortable in his space.
Anger churns inside me as I towel off my hair. How could I have let my guard down so easily? Never again. I need to remember that shifters don’t abide by human rules.
In the mirror, I regard the alien face staring back at me. Even with a puffy nose, swelling, and bruises blossoming beneath her eyes, she still looks exquisite.
I hate her.
Lark, a mirror can’t show your worth. It does not reflect your soul and the person you truly are inside.
She is still me. I am still me.
When I step out, Riker is leaning against the hallway wall, his damp hair curling slightly, his ever-watchful gaze sweeping the corridor.
“You all right, Rocky?” he teases.
“Yeah.” I touch my nose gingerly, wincing at the tenderness. “At least a crooked nose will add character.”
Riker’s laugh echoes along the hallway, his good mood is annoyingly infectious.
“I’d stick to not getting punched in the face again. But don’t be surprised if someone tries to rope you into another challenge. Some of these kids will be vying for dominance the moment they shift.”
“Great,” I mutter. “More idiots trying to prove themselves at my expense.”
“I suspect they will be more worried about you after today. That throw was a thing of beauty.”
I roll my eyes. “It was pure self-defence.”
We head to the mess hall, the enticing aroma of food wafting down the corridor. I take a plate of spaghetti topped with cheese chunks and add some garlic bread, while Riker piles his tray high as though he has not eaten in weeks.
“You sure that’s enough?” I tease.
“Barely,” he replies with a grin, balancing a salad bowl precariously on the edge of his tray. “This is only round one.”
We choose a table against the wall, instinctively securing a spot with a clear view of the mess. I take a tentative bite of garlic bread and glance around. Across the room, Alice’s bright laughter catches my attention. She is seated at a nearby table, animatedly chatting with a small group of trainees.
I lift a hand to wave; she spots me immediately, her grin widening as she waves back enthusiastically, her curls bouncing with the motion.
“Making friends already,” Riker says around a mouthful of food.
“She’s nice,” I reply, turning back to my plate.
“Sorry I outed you earlier.”
I wave it off. “It does not matter. The whole Facility will know by morning anyway. Besides, the terrorists at the Ministry were after the Alpha Prime’s mate—apparently me. It’s no secret if the baddies already know.”
His fork pauses mid-air. “You only just remembered this now?”
I nod. “I didn’t piece it together until earlier. I suppose that punch to the face knocked something loose.”
“You should’ve told us sooner.”
His disapproving frown throws me off. “I know,” I sigh. “It wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of priorities. I only learned about my ‘new status’ this morning. I’m still trying to wrap my head around this ‘fated mate’ nonsense. Everything seems so up in the air I doubt I will ever catch up. Riker, why would they come after me?”
He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight. “Merrick has plenty of enemies,” he begins, his tone calm but tinged with frustration. “The attack involved a motley crew—vampires, shifters, humans—a coalition of fools trying to make trouble. Don’t worry; everyone involved has been dealt with.”
I swallow, bracing myself. “The white wolf who bit me?”
“Dead,” he replies bluntly. “You will never have to worry about that bastard again. Lark, Merrick should be telling you all this.”
“I’m asking you.”
Riker hesitates before nodding. “Some people dislike how Merrick rules. They resent the separation of sectors and want to blur the lines. They don’t understand the necessity of our way of life. All they care about is power and profit. Money. They look at our land, our strength, the way Merrick runs things, and they want a piece of it. They want control.” His gaze sharpens. “And they will destroy anyone who stands in their way—Merrick, you, anyone.”
He pauses, his thoughts elsewhere. “What they don’t realise is that, as shifters, we need structure. Without control, we become dangerous—not just to others but to ourselves. You know we’re not cuddly animals. We’re powerful. A shifter who can twist a steel bar with their bare hands needs boundaries; otherwise, it’s chaos.”
I nod slowly, nibbling my garlic bread.
“We have been on the brink of extinction before, and we learned the hard way. That’s why everything is regulated now, to keep everyone—both strong and vulnerable—safe. Most of us appreciate that. We like the control, the sense of safety behind our walls. The security. But a small faction hates the restrictions. They hate needing visas to move in and out of the territory. They think Merrick’s leadership is the problem, and if he were gone, the borders would open, and we’d live freely among humans and other sectors. What they don’t get is that most of us want things to stay as they are.”
