Bitten Shifter, page 25
part #1 of The Bitten Chronicles Series
When I reach my building, the grey wolf trailing me watches me go inside.
Because I refused to speak to Merrick, he decided the best way to handle my rejection was by following me everywhere in his wolf form.
He won’t let me go.
I give Matthew a quick wave as I pass the security desk. He waves back, his gaze flicking briefly to the wolf before pretending he sees nothing. The lift dings softly, and I step inside.
If I ignore the steady presence of the wolf shadowing me, it’s almost as though my life has returned to normal, as if I’ve never had an epic adventure that upended everything.
I avoid the blond, nosy neighbour—Riker—who conveniently moved in across the hall.
Inside my apartment, I set Hatty on her book stand and make a half-hearted attempt at dinner, more from habit than hunger. Then I settle on the sofa, flipping through television channels until I land on an apocalypse film. I’ve developed a strange fascination with them—there’s something grimly satisfying about watching worlds crumble while people fight to survive. It puts my problems into perspective. They feel smaller by comparison.
Hours pass in a blur of explosions, desperate protagonists, and collapsing cities, but eventually, I find myself drawn to the window. It’s foolish, I know. My heart tugs before my feet can argue. I sigh, wander over, and lift the curtain a few centimetres.
There he is on the grass below the balcony, curled into a ball with his head resting on his paws, gazing right back at me.
It’s raining.
For two weeks, this has been his routine—trailing me to work, following me home, then spending the nights outside my building, staring at my window. He is my big furry shadow.
The weather was decent until now, but as July settles in, the heavens have opened.
Using my shifter magic, I focus on him. Raindrops cling to his fur and drip off his nose.
“Bloody wolf,” I mutter under my breath. “Why won’t he just get lost?”
It’s easier to stay angry than admit how much I miss him, but after two weeks, my hurt is wearing thin.
What will he do when winter arrives? The cold will be brutal. Yes, his coat will keep him warm, but he is not just a wolf—he is a man. A man reduced to this. I wonder if people are laughing at him, and I worry what this will do to his reputation.
He looks so sad.
I turn away, yank the curtains closed, and flop onto the sofa. The television is still on, but I can’t concentrate.
My fated mate is outside in the rain, and I’m just sitting here. This is bloody ridiculous.
With a frustrated growl, I snatch a fluffy towel from the airing cupboard, stomp down the hall, and grab my keys and building pass. After putting on my trainers, I head downstairs and outside.
“Get in here!” I snap at the wolf.
His head is lowered, tail tucked, the drenched wolf tries to make himself smaller. He is soaked through as he follows me inside.
Matthew watches with wide eyes. I ignore him, throw the towel over Merrick, and dry him off with more vigour than necessary.
“You can’t leave water everywhere—someone might slip. Your stinky fur is dripping,” I grumble, rubbing harder than I need to.
Merrick, of course, does not smell. His coat is glossy and clean, but I don’t want to acknowledge it. He stands patiently, fixing me with those big blue eyes as I work from head to tail.
His tongue lolls out when I dry his belly.
“Shut up,” I mutter.
“Alpha Prime,” Matthew says quietly, bowing his head in respect.
I roll my eyes and step into the lift, Merrick padding beside me. He sits obediently by my leg as we ride up, the damp towel dripping in my hand.
When we reach my apartment, I open the door, and he follows me inside.
“Don’t you dare shift,” I warn, tossing the towel into the washing machine.
I fill a bowl with water and take a couple of raw steaks from the fridge. He has been losing weight, and I can’t stand seeing his ribs show. Placing the steaks on the floor next to the water bowl, I turn on my heel and march to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
In my dressing room, I change into pyjamas, then slam myself onto the bed, fluffing the pillow with more force than necessary.
With the covers pulled up to my chin, I listen to the rain and the soft tap-tap-tap of Merrick’s claws pacing the hallway. At last, I hear the door creak as he settles, leaning against it.
I growl under my breath and close my eyes, but sleep does not come.
I’m being childish and cruel.
I’ve never been one to use the silent treatment—it’s such an arsehole move, an awful tactic. Yet here I am, doing exactly that. It wasn’t my intention. I broke up with him; that should’ve been the end.
But getting rid of a shifter, a fated mate, is harder than it sounds.
He has decided to be my self-appointed bodyguard.
I don’t know who’s running his empire while he’s out here playing the world’s saddest stalker. Perhaps he is secretly working when I’m not looking.
What do I do with him?
I miss him. I… I love him. I wouldn’t be so hurt by his plan to catch Leonidas if I didn’t love him. But can I forgive him?
Chapter Forty-Eight
Unable to bear the weight of my thoughts, I get up and creep to the door. I crack it open, and his ears perk up as he lifts his head to look at me. His eyes brim with longing and something that looks suspiciously like guilt.
“How long are you going to do this?” I whisper, exasperated. “You are driving me mad.”
He whines, then rolls onto his back, offering his belly in complete submission.
“Don’t do that,” I say, folding my arms. “You are making me feel bad, and this is your fault. You’re the one who used me as bait to trap a psychotic vampire.”
He rolls over and whines again, quieter this time.
I sigh, feeling my resolve begin to crack. “Would you like to set a time to talk?” I ask tentatively.
He nods at once, his tail giving a small wag.
“All right,” I say. “We can talk. Maybe have breakfast—”
He shifts in an instant, so seamless and smooth it’s as if magic itself holds its breath. Suddenly, he is standing there—gloriously, infuriatingly naked. All sculpted muscle, golden skin, and blatant confidence.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean now,” I huff, keeping my gaze firmly above his neck.
He is so impossibly handsome. I once thought clean-shaven Merrick was the pinnacle of masculine beauty, but now, seeing him with stubble, I realise I was wrong. The roughness of his facial hair gives him a raw, primal quality that somehow makes him even more breathtaking.
And his eyes.
Bloody hell, his eyes. They are achingly sad, and the sight of them sends a keen ache straight to my chest.
My heart hurts.
I want to launch myself into his arms, to lose myself in his warmth and strength—but I can’t.
I can’t…
Can I?
Sometimes you have to stand your ground, be true to yourself.
Sometimes you have to admit you were wrong.
If he had hurt me deliberately, there would be no question—he could spend ten years following me, and my resolve wouldn’t budge. But he didn’t hurt me on purpose. He trusted the wrong person, yet did he truly have a choice?
What would I have done if our roles were reversed?
I’d want him to forgive me.
He messed up.
He did it out of love. And he will make mistakes again—maybe even big ones, just as I will. Can I be cruel enough to deny us both a chance at happiness?
His eyes search mine, soft and brimming with something that steals my breath. They move over my face, slow and deliberate, as though he is studying something precious, he can’t bear to lose.
He is looking at me as if I’m precious.
When I look at him, I see forever. My happiness is right there, within reach—all I have to do is take a leap.
My vision blurs as tears well in my eyes. I sniff, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, desperate to hold them at bay. But my whole body trembles, struggling to stay composed. When I finally exhale, it’s a shaky breath that escapes as a small, wounded sound. I sense him stir.
A tear slides down the side of my nose. I swipe it away with the heel of my hand.
Then suddenly, he is there.
His hand cups my face, warm and steady, his thumb gently clearing the tear’s path. Another tear falls, but he catches that too, his touch unwavering and patient. A low, soft rumble resonates in his chest—something I’ve never heard before. It takes me a moment to realise he’s purring.
Wolf shifters can purr?
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around me. My cheek settles against his bare chest, and I’m enveloped in his warmth and comforting scent. The purr deepens, and the bass hums through me, soothing the tangled mass of hurt and stress, melting the tension in my muscles, and stilling the storm raging in my head.
Merrick feels safe.
For the first time in weeks, I feel safe.
Leaning against him, it’s as though the broken pieces inside me finally begin to slot back into place.
“I love you, Lark,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I will always love you. And if you decide you can’t forgive me, I will still love you. I will protect you for the rest of my life, because my world does not make sense without you. My life means nothing if I don’t have you.”
I lift my head, and his eyes—those beautiful, piercing eyes—glisten with unshed tears. Seeing this strong, steadfast man laid bare before me twists something deep inside.
Guilt and shame bubble up, knowing I’ve pushed him to this point.
Yet love follows, overwhelming and undeniable love.
“You lit up my world like the sun breaking through a storm,” he goes on quietly. “You made me realise how lost I was. Because when I’m not near you, I feel it—sharp, unbearable. Missing you hurts, Lark. It’s like a physical pain.”
He pauses, resting his forehead gently against mine. His breath is warm and steady, yet electric with unspoken feeling.
“Losing you because I misjudged things was the worst moment of my life. The vampire used magic to breach the wards, disrupting Lander’s freezing spell—it didn’t trigger until that magic was displaced. When he attacked you, the spell finally activated, but it was too close. Too damn close. I should’ve planned for everything. I should have known.”
His jaw tightens, and he exhales in frustration. “I hate myself for risking you. I hate that I failed you. I don’t ever want you to feel that fear again. Not from me, not from anyone.”
“You didn’t fail me,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, his voice raw. “I did. But I won’t fail you again. As long as I’m breathing, I will protect you. Always.”
His hand brushes my cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path over my skin. “Please, Lark,” he says, voice cracking. “Forgive me?”
The desperation in his gaze is nearly unbearable.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can think.
I see my own surprise echoed in his eyes, but he keeps me close.
“You are it for me, Lark. I will never stop fighting for us.”
“I’m sorry,” I manage, choking on the words. “I was terrified—so much was happening, and I didn’t know how to cope. That’s why I was so angry with you. It was all too much. I’m so sorry.”
His fingers slide into my hair, massaging my scalp with disarming gentleness.
“I love you,” I say, my voice quiet but laden with everything I’ve held back.
Merrick’s arms tighten around me, his breath catching as he holds me. Each unspoken vow hums between us in every heartbeat.
I once thought the breakdown of my marriage was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But now I see it was only the beginning—a painful shove toward a destiny I’d never imagined, a fate waiting for me all along.
It didn’t break me; it transformed me.
Like a butterfly, I emerged from the wreckage stronger, freer, and finally ready to embrace the life I was meant to have.
“The storm’s passed. Would you like to go for a run?” Merrick asks softly.
“A run?”
“As wolves,” he clarifies, a teasing smile curving his lips.
Before I can reply, a muffled voice calls through the front door. “I can drive. I will get the car.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Was he eavesdropping this whole time?” I whisper, mortified.
Merrick does not bother hiding his amusement. “Probably.”
“I’ve got you some clothes, Alpha,” Riker’s voice chimes in. “I will leave them at the door. Don’t want your bare arse on the leather.”
“Bloody nosy bear,” I mutter, drawing a deep chuckle from Merrick.
“But if you two are keeping this ‘fated mate’ thing going,” Riker continues, “you might want to invest in soundproofing. The whole Sector doesn’t need to hear how much you lo—”
“Riker,” Merrick growls, voice low and warning. “Not tonight.”
Riker laughs, evidently undeterred. “All right, all right. I will meet you by the car.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Bonus Scene 1 - The Hotel
Merrick’s point of view
The moment I step into the hotel lobby, a faint thrumming prickles beneath my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch. My gaze sweeps the room, instincts sharpening before I consciously assess the space. It’s clean, quiet, and entirely unremarkable.
Except for her.
My eyes lock on the woman sitting on the lobby sofa, a laptop at her side. Her scent strikes me before I fully register her presence—warm and faintly sweet, like strawberries, vanilla, and sunshine. The realisation hits like a blow to my chest, and my beast stirs.
No. Not possible.
I freeze mid-stride. From her profile, she seems ordinary enough—casual, comfortable, a hint of weariness in her posture. She adjusts the cheap jumper she is wearing, tugging at the sleeves as though shielding herself from the world. Nothing about her matches what I expected from the Ministry’s newest IT recruit. Certainly not this.
Mine.
I shove the thought away and keep moving, each step deliberate and steady, though my instincts scream otherwise. I didn’t come here to claim a mate. I came to deliver documents, vet a new hire with Human First ties, and discreetly investigate a potential security breach near the border. Routine.
Routine for anyone else, perhaps, but not for me. I don’t play courier, and I’ve never vetted a new hire in person—especially not a human. Yet here I am, staring at my mate while fate conspires to upend my carefully constructed plans. I can’t afford distractions, especially not pretty ones like her.
Still, a flicker of satisfaction sparks when her eyes lift to meet mine. They widen, surprise and vulnerability flickering across her face before she glances away, flustered. She is trying to compose herself, but I notice the signs—her quickened pulse, the subtle shift in her scent, attraction and nervousness laced with a sharper edge of defiance.
Interesting.
I approach, movements controlled and presence deliberate. She looks up, meeting my gaze with a challenge in her beautiful brown eyes. It’s so hard not to smile. This human, barely half my size, is staring me down. Feisty. Brave. Possibly foolish, but the primal part of me appreciates it.
I stop in front of her, and for a moment, everything else fades. Her lips part slightly, as though she wants to speak but hesitates. The urge to lean closer—close the space between us—drums dangerously in my chest.
She is extraordinary.
“Mrs Emerson,” I say, letting the name linger like a bitter taste. Restraint burns in my chest, holding back the simmering fire. If I dwell on what that name implies—on the man who tied her to it—I might tear this entire place apart.
“Yes, that’s me.” Her voice is polite and professional, but there’s a steely edge beneath it. “Are you the courier for the Ministry?”
“Something like that.” A faint twitch at the corner of my mouth betrays my amusement. It’s not a lie, but hardly the whole truth.
Her brow furrows momentarily, doubt glimmering in her expression. She suspects I’m mocking her. I extend my hand. “May I see some identification?”
“Yeah, sure.” She fumbles in the pocket of her oversized jogging bottoms, pulling out a plastic card. The motion is ungraceful but somehow endearing, entirely unguarded.
My fated mate is captivating—naturally beautiful, no matter what she wears. Her baggy clothes don’t hide her curves.
When our fingers almost brush, I sense the tiniest tremor. She is anxious but trying to hide it.
I take the card, studying it longer than necessary—not to confirm her identity but to absorb her name. Significant. Important.
My mate.
Lark.
Lark Emerson.
Lark Winters, my wolf growls.
I flick the card back to her, the gesture casual.
“Okay, well, thank you,” she says, accepting both the ID and the envelope of documents. She balances the hefty package on her knees. “Thank you for coming and dropping this off.” Her wave towards the exit is almost dismissive, as though to usher me away. My beast rumbles, amused.
There is so much fire in her, hidden beneath nerves and exhaustion.
“No, Mrs Emerson. I must wait for you to review the documents and, if necessary, sign them.”
Her brows shoot up. “I thought it was just paperwork for me to look over.” She frowns at the envelope. “That’s… unconventional.”
“It might take some time,” she warns, glancing at me uncertainly. “Would you like to take a seat?”
“No, I’m fine.” I clasp my hands behind my back, forcing a parade-rest posture. The effort not to close the distance—to comfort her—burns through me.
Her gaze flicks around, unsure what to make of me.
