Page 7 of Guarded By A Savage Shifter

He’s smiling—his gold tooth shining—as I take the mug and take a sip.

“And?” he asks with a big expectant grin.

“It’s the best damn coffee I’ve ever had,” I say, laying it on thick. He looks happy enough with my reaction.

“Great,” he says, slapping my shoulder. “You get paid in cash, don’t kiss the clients, and Spartan Shield Corp has a onehundred percent success rate, so don’t fuck it up or I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

All three of them are growling at me.

Cerberus grins as he grabs a file of papers. “Let’s get some ink on that contract!”

CHAPTER FOUR

Ryker

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I grunt as I walk into my hotel room and stare down at the tiny bed along the wall. After six hours in a plane, crammed into a seat designed for someone half my size, an hour in a taxi with a driver who wouldn’t shut up—this is what I arrive to. A bed made for a child.

I groan as I drop my bag on the ground and try to turn up the air conditioning. All the labels are in Spanish and somehow the room gets even hotter.

I’m hot, annoyed, and hangry. My bear didn’t make the flight easy on me at all. He was growling in my ear the entire time and when I squeezed into the small bathroom, the furry fucker tried to break out of my skin. That would have been a hell of a scene—a furious grizzly bear rampaging down the aisle of an airplane thirty thousand feet in the air.

It’s hot as fuck in this country. The city is surrounded by rainforest, so the air is wet and sticky with more humidity than I’ve ever felt in my life.

I drop onto the bed with a groan and the whole fucking thing collapses.

“Of course,” I say, laughing because what else is there to do at this point?

A few wooden planks have snapped and the thin mattress is on the floor. I’m staring up at the ceiling wondering when this nightmare is going to end. Not the job. The nightmare of not having my mate. Of not knowing where in the world she is.

I pick up the phone and hit the button for the front desk.

The guy answers, but it’s all in Spanish. I spoke a little bit in high school, but that was a while ago and I lost most of it.

What’s the word for bed?

“Casa,” I say into the phone. “No. Cama!”

More rapid-fire Spanish.

“Slow down.”

He talks faster.

“Oh, forget it.”

I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. It’s already late in the evening, so I’m giving up on the bed. I’ll just put the mattress on the floor and do my best to fit on it.

I’m in the middle of texting my uncle—cursing him for getting me into this mess—when there’s a knock on my door.

I get up and wince at the sudden burning sensation searing down my throat. It feels like I just drank a pint of gasoline and followed it up with a lit match.

“What the hell?” I whisper in a hoarse voice as I walk to the door. My lungs are smoldering, but it’s a sweet burn. It almost feels good.

My bear perks up and is suddenly on full alert. He’s not growling or snarling for a change. He’s all perky like a bored dog who just got told he’s going on a walk.

Another knock.

Hopefully, it’s someone who can get me a new bed.

---