Page 37 of Bitten Shifter (The Bitten Chronicles #1)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Whatever he is imagining, he can forget it. Yes, he’s seen a glimpse of my bare skin by accident, and sure, we have kissed—once. It was the kiss to end all kisses, an epic kiss, but I’ve got bigger things on my plate.

I know life is fleeting, and part of me thinks I should be climbing Merrick like a tree—but I won’t. Not yet. I have so many things I’m dealing with, and adding intimacy to the mix isn’t wise, especially when my wolfish hormones are all over the place.

The least he can do is take me on a proper date.

I slip out of my pyjamas and into something comfortable: leggings and a jumper. After a quick check in the mirror, I pad down the hall and knock on his door.

“Come in,” Merrick calls.

Stepping inside, his scent hits me like a tidal wave. It’s everywhere, saturating the room, wrapping around me. The man smells ridiculously good—cedarwood and leather, with a warm hint of amber. My wolf stirs, and a wild part of me wants to roll around on the carpet to soak it in. Must be a wolf thing, because that’s just plain weird.

The thick grey carpet muffles my steps as I cross to his sofa and sink into it. Merrick’s apartment blends the building’s gorgeous architecture with a sleek, modern twist. It feels effortlessly elegant yet lived in—a reflection of its owner. If this is just his temporary accommodation, I’d love to see his permanent home.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

After running through a few suggestions, I opt for coffee. As he wanders off to make it, I can’t help checking him out. Bare feet, grey, low-slung jogging bottoms, and a white T-shirt clinging to every sculpted muscle. The man is a walking dream.

“The laptop’s on the side,” Merrick calls from the kitchen. “No password. You will find the information on the desktop.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I pick up the sleek device and open it. There’s a detailed report on Leonidas. No recorded last name—maybe a string of them over the centuries, lost to time. Who knows? What is clear is that this vampire is ancient, around two thousand years old, and one of the last of the oldest vampires.

And he is hunting me.

Of course he is. Why not throw an ancient, psychotic vampire into the mix? If life’s going to pile on, it might as well be over-the-top. Give me a magic nobody recognises, turn me into a super-rare shifter, and pair me with the head of the entire shifter world. I’m over it. Somebody else can be the centre of the universe for a change.

I don’t want to be greedy.

Why is it that people who want to stay in the shadows always get dragged into the spotlight?

I shake off my internal moaning and refocus on the report. Leonidas is described as brilliant and unhinged. It seems some vampires, after living so long, lose themselves. Many find hobbies or passions to stay sane; Leonidas appears to have chosen hunting people. And he has been busy.

I deliberately skip the photos and detailed case notes—enough death for one lifetime. Next time Merrick suggests I sit something out, I might actually listen.

Leonidas does not seem to have a specific type for his victims. Perhaps something in the blood calls to him. I look up from the laptop, letting my thoughts drift. How hard must it be to live for centuries, watching everyone around you fade away while you endure? Our DNA may have evolved, but we’re still human and deeply flawed—capable of kindness but also great cruelty. Nature went all out when it made the derivatives.

Now I’m a shifter, and my lifespan has increased immensely. I might live three to four hundred years. It’s mind-blowing and scary.

The sharp clink of cups on the coffee table jolts me out of my thoughts, and I flinch.

“Are you all right, Lark? You have gone a bit pale,” Merrick asks, concern colouring his tone.

“I’m just overtired, and this document is… horrible.”

“Yes, it is,” he agrees, studying me with narrowed eyes. “What else is wrong?”

“Nothing.” The lie comes easily, but guilt churns in my gut. Years of burying things with Paul have left their mark. Old habits die hard.

Merrick tilts his head, unconvinced. I huff. Hiding won’t work—not with him. Not when he can scent my emotions. Not when he is my mate. I can either shut him out or trust him to help carry it.

My chest tightens at the thought, but I take the leap.

“This is my fault,” I finally say, the guilt dragging the words out. “If I’d just stayed in the stairway, if I hadn’t run and bled all over Zone Two… I’m so sorry.”

His expression softens, but I can’t stop.

“And now this vampire—Leonidas—he’s going to hurt you, or Riker, or someone else I care about. I can’t figure out his endgame, other than… my death.” I shake my head, my eyes stinging with tears. “I know this is my mess, but how do I fix it? My wolf is barely competent. I’ve shifted twice, both times by accident. Fight with teeth and claws? I can’t even walk across carpet without tripping over my nails.”

A brittle laugh escapes me. “This is a nightmare.”

Merrick does not answer right away. Instead, he leans forward and cups the side of my face, his thumb brushing away my frustrated tears.

“Lark,” he says softly, “you are forgetting a few things.”

I meet his gaze. The warmth there is almost overwhelming.

“If you hadn’t run,” he continues, “you might never have fallen into the wizard’s house garden, and you might not be here now.”

He is right. That house saved my life. Running wasn’t all bad.

“You are not alone anymore. You are a shifter, with a fated mate who adores you and an entire country of shifters at your back. Whatever happens, we will face it together.”

“I don’t know how to deal with all that,” I whisper. This feels like yanking out a festering splinter lodged deep beneath my skin.

“I know.” His lips twitch in a faint smile. “It will take time.”

Sensing my need for a change of subject, “We got your test results back. Would you like to hear about them?”

I nod, snapping the laptop shut. He leans back, expression gentling.

“They compared all your results—from the hospital, the Facility, and the older ones from your youth. Your DNA profile has changed drastically.”

I sit straighter, bracing myself.

“The good news is the shifter DNA has locked in. Your shifter and technomancer traits have merged and stabilised, so you are a magical shifter.”

“So… no vampire fangs if I get bitten?”

“Correct,” he says, smirking slightly.

“Good to know.”

“The Ministry of Magic will definitely want you to do some training,” he adds.

I shrug. “Do they know what part the wizard’s house played in my change?”

“No. They are baffled. There’s no record of a wizard’s house ever being linked to a shifter. The Ministry suspects distant magical lineage might connect you to it, but that’s only speculation. There’s no precedent for a magic user being turned into a shifter.”

“So, it’s all guesswork,” I murmur.

“For now. We will know more tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I ask, taken aback. “So soon?”

“Yes,” Merrick says. “We’re going to the Magic Sector. You have recovered from wolfsbane poisoning, we have dealt with the rogue Human First chapter, and the Ministry has already given us as much time as they are willing. They need to ensure you are not a threat. We can’t risk a war.”

“And Leonidas? The vampire?”

“We will travel during the day, so there’s less risk. By night, we will keep you behind a strong ward. I’m taking a small, highly trained team. If I arrived with half the Shifter Sector, it would look both aggressive and insecure. I won’t let them think I don’t trust the Ministry of Magic to protect you. That said, I’m not leaving your side.”

I force a smile, but unease coils in my stomach.

This does not feel right.