Page 34 of Bitten Shifter (The Bitten Chronicles #1)
Chapter Thirty-Four
He kissed me. I almost choke on the thought. And wow—that kiss. Let’s just say I didn’t know people could kiss like that. The connection, the fire, the everything. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. How can a kiss make me feel so unmoored yet so grounded at the same time?
When I get outside, I still feel dazed and have to shake myself awake.
There are seventeen of us—three groups of four, then our group of five. I’ve made the numbers wonky. Great start, Lark.
Each team has its own transport, sturdy vans with heavily tinted windows and bench seating in the back. It’s a very different experience from the time I was stuffed into one of these.
Our vehicle is the last to pull away from the kerb. As we drive, familiar streets roll past my window. My old workplace disappears behind us, and further down, I spot the massive oak tree and… I squint, pressing my palm to the window and leaning in so far, my cheek smushes against the glass.
I stare back at the empty plot where the house used to stand. “The wizard’s house is gone,” I say, disbelieving.
“Yes,” Merrick says. “With everything that happened, I forgot to tell you. It disappeared the day you were abducted.”
A small, distressed noise escapes me before I can stop it. “Gone? Just like that?”
“It can go anywhere in the world,” he says. “Anywhere it wants to be. Some say they move where they are needed. But I will admit, I’m glad it’s the last wizard’s house in my territory. You think it helped you, but houses like that can hinder just as easily.”
“I know,” I mumble, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But it did help me. It saved me from the vampire and gave me somewhere safe to heal.”
A strange ache settles in my chest. It’s ridiculous, really, to mourn a house. But it wasn’t just brick and mortar—it felt alive, like it had been waiting for me for decades, holding space for someone who needed it most. Silly thoughts, I know, and ones I’m not brave enough to share. Still, I close my eyes and whisper a silent thank you to the house and the wizard’s soul within it. Wherever you have gone, I hope you are safe too.
Forty minutes later, the van rolls through the border checkpoint and the tunnel of doom. I brace myself instinctively, waiting for the familiar gut-wrenching slap of the border’s magic.
But… nothing happens.
I blink in surprise. Riker catches my expression and bursts into laughter, smugness radiating off him.
“The magic won’t bother you now you’re a shifter,” he says, grinning.
“What?” I gape at him. “All that time, I thought you and the driver were total badarses. Turns out you were just… unaffected?”
He leans back, still smirking.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do we need a hankie to mop up all the smugness dripping off your face?”
His laughter booms, echoing through the van.
It takes another hour and twenty minutes to reach the location. The human representative greets Merrick with a curt nod and firm handshake before stepping aside to observe, his presence stiff and silent.
At Merrick’s signal, I send out a pulse of magic, severing all communications in the office building. “Communications are down,” I report, pulling on the heavy jacket as the teams split off.
Merrick’s lips curl into a sharp, predatory smile as his eyes flick my way. The look is brief, but I catch it—a silent reassurance, tinged with pride. I nod back, though my stomach twists into knots. His soft words cut through the tension. “Hold on to my belt and do exactly as I do.”
Meeting his steady gaze, I step closer, my fingers brushing the thick fabric of his jacket before gripping his sturdy leather belt. I hold it tight, careful not to restrict his movements.
For a brief moment, the air hangs heavy and still. Then, with a subtle motion of Merrick’s hand, we move. I mirror his crouched steps, heart pounding, as Riker stays close behind me.
We reach the front entrance. The other teams are already in position, silently preparing to converge or intercept anyone trying to flee. The lead shifter kicks in the glass doors with a thunderous crash that reverberates through the empty hallway. Weapons are drawn as we step inside.
My stomach lurches at the metallic tang of blood. I step over a thick, dark pool, the scent cutting through even my sensory band. It’s worse than I imagined, blood, meat, and the acrid stench of bowels emptied. I clench my jaw, fighting the gag rising in my throat.
The air is thick with human fear. I can taste it—feel it clawing at my senses like an invisible predator.
Something terrible happened here.
We follow a grisly trail of blood into the central office. The furniture has been shoved to the edges of the room, creating an open space dominated by a massive TV screen and a single, misplaced sofa. The screen flickers red, displaying grim words in jagged, looping text: Game over. You’re dead. Game over. You’re dead.
“They were playing some kind of shooter game,” I say, my words catching in my throat.
“Are you okay?” Merrick asks, bumping his shoulder gently against mine.
“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice cracks. I let go of Merrick’s belt and cough, trying to clear the lump in my throat. My legs itch to bolt from the suffocating horror of this place, but I can’t. I won’t. Instead, I pretend it’s all fake—just a set, just makeup.
But no amount of pretending can erase the reality.
The Camera Guy is missing his head.
They are all dead.
Something—or someone—has ripped them apart.
“This wasn’t a shifter,” says the big guy who breached the doors. He sniffs the air, grimacing at the sight.
Once the building is cleared, the human observer is brought in. He surveys the scene, jaw tight. “Try not to touch anything,” he warns, composure fraying despite his professional facade.
“Can I turn off the screen? I don’t have to touch it,” I ask—the flashing Game over message is drilling into my skull.
“That’s fine,” he says, waving a distracted hand.
I wave mine, and the screen goes black. The sudden darkness makes the room feel even more oppressive. Nausea claws at my throat, and I force myself to breathe steadily. The floor is a minefield of blood, gore, and… bits. My knees threaten to buckle.
“Riker, take Lark back to the van,” Merrick says. His voice is calm but edged with worry.
“Sure thing. Come on, Rocky, you’re looking a little pale.”
“Wait.” My voice wavers, but I force myself to continue. “Do you… want to see what happened to them?”
Merrick’s intense gaze softens. He sets his hands on my shoulders. “Are you still willing to access the security system?”
I nod. “Yeah, and I can replay it on the TV.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure you want to see that?”
I swallow hard, ignoring the bile rising in my throat. “We have to know what happened.”
“Okay, little mate.”
“If it helps,” a woman from one of the rear-entry teams chimes in, “they came through the front. The back doors were chained shut, and the chains hadn’t been touched in years.”
“That is helpful, thank you,” I reply, turning my attention to the tech. I draw on my magic to sift through the building’s digital history, starting with the cameras and scrubbing through the footage.
The interior cameras show nothing unusual—the group is alive, absorbed in their game. “Their device activity slowed just before dark,” I mutter, mostly to myself. I fast-forward, isolate the footage, and bring up a split screen on the TV. Four feeds fill the display, each focused on a different part of the building.
As night falls, a pizza delivery guy appears on the street cameras, his cap obscuring his face. He pounds on the glass door, and one of the Human First members gets up, wallet in hand, and heads to the main entrance.
What happens next makes my blood run cold.
The Pizza Guy drops the box and lunges, his hands morphing into claws as he rips out the man’s throat in one brutal motion. No one else reacts—they are too absorbed in the game. On the feed, the Pizza Guy killer drags the lifeless body by the hair, leaving a dark, glistening trail of blood. He dumps the corpse behind the sofa, and still—no one notices.
The room fills with the wet sounds of carnage as he moves impossibly fast, faster than the cameras can track. I let out a shaky breath and make the main room feed full screen. We watch as he tears through the remaining Human First members, each kill as vicious as the last. It’s a massacre.
He spends extra time on Chatty, the sound of ripping and snarling filling the room. When he uses the red Swiss Army Knife to pluck out Chatty’s eyeballs, I clamp my eyes shut, unable to watch until the noises stop.
When I open them again, the blood-soaked killer is staring directly into the camera. His red eyes glint, and his pale face tilts in amusement. His voice comes through the speakers, unnervingly melodic.
“They dared to mess with my hunt,” he says, lips pulling back in a sharp grin that exposes his fangs. “I will be seeing you soon, little birdie Lark.”
Oh, shit.