Page 43 of Bitten Shifter (The Bitten Chronicles #1)
Chapter Forty-Three
After the revelation of the grimoire, Mary—looking a little pale and tired—escorts me to my room.
“You will find it tricky to navigate this place. Even I get lost if I’m not paying attention,” she says with a warm smile as we turn down another corridor that looks exactly like the last one. “So please don’t wander off. I will be back tomorrow, and we can have breakfast together. You have earned a good night’s sleep—it’s been quite a day. It’s been a pleasure teaching you, Lark. I’ve enjoyed myself immensely.”
“Thank you, Mary. You have changed my view of magic for the better. I can’t believe how much I’ve learned. And the grimoire…” I clutch it to my chest, it’s a comforting weight in my arms. “It’s amazing. I promise to take good care of her.”
“I know you will.”
On impulse, I lean in and give her a gentle hug. She stiffens slightly in surprise, then relaxes, patting my back with a quiet chuckle.
“All your things should be in there,” she says, pulling away and pointing to a door. “Your mate was very insistent on you having everything you need. Now I must go and take a nap myself.” She covers a yawn with the back of her hand. “Oh, I’m so tired. It’s awful getting old. Don’t do it,” she laughs, her eyes twinkling with residual amusement.
“Good night, Mary.”
“Good night, my dear.”
I watch her shuffle down the corridor, worry tugging at me. The spark she’d had earlier is gone, replaced by exhaustion. I hope she will be okay.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for her help. But then again, I don’t regret it.
Mary is a marvel.
Stepping into the room, the door closes and locks behind me with a firm click.
The space is lovely, far nicer than I expected. It’s on the ground floor, with French doors opening onto a small courtyard where a trickling fountain provides a soothing soundtrack. I glance at it and immediately feel the urge to find the bathroom.
“They have really committed to their monochrome aesthetic,” I mutter, taking in the black-and-white décor.
A kettle sits on a small counter, surrounded by an assortment of tea bags, hot chocolate, and instant coffee sachets. A mini-fridge hums quietly, stocked with sandwiches, chocolate, and crisps. It’s oddly comforting to know I won’t starve, even though I’m still full from the lasagne.
The bathroom is a pleasant surprise. A deep bathtub beckons, and I waste no time filling it with hot water and a generous dollop of whatever bath products I can find. Placing the grimoire on the centre of the dressing table—safely away from the steam—I also remove my necklace, setting it gently beside the book.
As the tub fills, I grab my phone to message Merrick, checking in to make sure he and the others are safe. Talking is out of the question—we can’t risk eavesdroppers—but texting is secure. I tell him about my day, the training, the flawed sensory bands, and Mary’s promise to teach me how to craft better ones tomorrow.
After some thought, I take the necklace with me. I refuse to be vulnerable in a bath in this place. No, thank you.
I sink into the hot water with a sigh, the heat soothing muscles that have been tense all day. Between sitting stiff-backed in the council chamber and enduring the building’s oppressive magic, my body has been through the wringer. But after working with Mary, the atmosphere feels less stifling, almost as if the building has decided I’m not a threat.
It’s strange how much I’ve learned in one day. It’s opened my eyes to the power magic users wield—and to what I could become if I wanted. But I don’t want power. I want safety. I want Merrick. I want a simple life, where I can finally be myself.
Eventually, the water cools, and I reluctantly climb out, drying off and pulling on a comfortable lounging outfit—jogging bottoms, a sports bra, and a loose T-shirt. Vulnerability isn’t an option here, not even for pyjamas.
After drinking a few glasses of water, the room still feels warm, so I crack open the French doors to let in the night breeze. It does not help much, but it’s better than nothing.
I settle on the sofa, phone in hand, and exchange more messages with Merrick. His replies arrive quickly, his words offering a steady warmth that eases the tension in my chest.
Still, the ache of missing him gnaws at me, sharper with each text. The way he signs off with a simple ‘I love you’ makes it even harder to ignore the empty space beside me.
I glance at the grimoire, but a faint headache makes me decide to delay looking at it. Instead, I lift my hand, wiggling my index finger.
Mary expects progress tomorrow, and I don’t want to disappoint her. I focus, drawing on the shifter magic she taught me to control. Slowly, my nail thickens, elongates, and darkens, its edge turning predatory. A flicker of pride warms my chest.
Then, in my peripheral vision, a blur of movement catches my attention.
My heart stutters, unease trickling down my spine. I lower my hand, sitting up straighter.
The blur solidifies into a figure, and suddenly, I’m staring into a pair of blood-red eyes.