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“It doesn’t harm me because I am a fox shifter. We are known to be able to take that level of abuse,” I say.

“Then shift,” the first one says with humor in his tone. My heart is nearly beating out of my chest as anxiety swirls inside of me. My hands are tingling as fear churns in my belly.

“It’s forbidden,” I say quieter.

“We will make an exception,” the third says in my ear. “Shift.”

“I’ve never shifted before,” I say, trying to stall.

“It comes naturally to you. If you can shift, you’ll know how to,” the second says.

“It’s forbidden,” I say again. I’m starting to repeat myself because I don’t know what else to say.

“Want to know what I think?” the first says as he pulls the tie on my blindfold. I immediately bow my head to avoid looking at him. He is standing so close to me that I can feel the heat of his body. The third is just as close behind me, and the second moves in to stand close to my right side.

“You’re a witch,” the first leans down and whispers in my ear.

“I am a fox shifter. It says so on my paperwork from the region I was born,” I say.

“Then shift,” the first says. “A simple miscommunication with a simple solution.”

“I can’t,” I say with my voice shaking. “I’ve never shifted.”

He lifts my chin, and I snap my eyes closed. Witches have a habit of their eyes changing colors when they are under stress. It’s just our body trying desperately to adapt to the threat. It’s the first thing that happens when closing in on something we know will be traumatic. I don’t know if I’ve reached that point, but if they see my eyes like that it will give me away.

“Look. At. Me,” he commends.

“I won’t,” I say in a whispered voice.

“Are you scared yet, witch?” The third asks, still close behind me.

“I am a fox shifter,” I lie again.

“Do you know what happens to a witch when they are in danger?” The first asks me.

“Their body tries to adapt,” I say, giving up on my attempt to remain undiscovered. Maybe if I’m lucky, they’ll have mercy on my soul, and I will be given a quick death.

“How?” the second asks.

“Their eyes change colors,” I whisper.

“What else?” The first asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Look at your body, Lilith. See what we see,” he says.

I look down and open my eyes. My chest and abdomen are covered with bright red markings. “Shit,” I say under my breath.

“Look at me,” the first says. I know I have no way out of this. I didn’t know the adaptation caused this. The one time it happened to me; I had clothes on.

I look up at him and when our eyes meet, I feel as if I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. I am staring at Daemon Asher, a dragon shifter, and I instantly feel an overwhelming pull to him. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to reach out and touch him. His shirt hardly contains his muscles as the fabric is stretched thin around his biceps. He has short, dark brown hair. His beard is neatly trimmed and styled. He is massive and fucking breathtaking.

“Fuck,” Daemon says, still staring at me.

“What’s going on? What happened?” The second says as he turns me to face him in an attempt to break our eye contact. Like a bat to the chest, I feel the same pull again as I’m faced with Callum Usoro, a bear shifter. My body is buzzing with electricity at the way he is staring me down. He is a large man whose rich, brown skin is tight around his powerful-looking body. He has shoulder-length locks and a full beard, neatly trimmed along his jaw.

Kael Willows, the panther shifter, grabs me and turns me to face him when Daemon and Callum take a step closer to me. Kael has jet-black hair pulled up into a bun. He is just as tall as the other two but slightly leaner. All three of these men are massive, strong, and bearded. They’re all staring at me like they want to fuck me to literal death. If they keep looking at me like this, I would be a willing participant in my own murder.