Page 109 of Bitten Shifter

I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Was he eavesdropping this whole time?” I whisper, mortified.

Merrick does not bother hiding his amusement. “Probably.”

“I’ve got you some clothes, Alpha,” Riker’s voice chimes in. “I will leave them at the door. Don’t want your bare arse on the leather.”

“Bloody nosy bear,” I mutter, drawing a deep chuckle from Merrick.

“But if you two are keeping this ‘fated mate’ thing going,” Riker continues, “you might want to invest in soundproofing. The whole Sector doesn’t need to hear how much you lo?—”

“Riker,” Merrick growls, voice low and warning. “Not tonight.”

Riker laughs, evidently undeterred. “All right, all right. I will meet you by the car.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Bonus Scene 1 - The Hotel

Merrick’s point of view

The momentI step into the hotel lobby, a faint thrumming prickles beneath my skin, like an itch I can’t scratch. My gaze sweeps the room, instincts sharpening before I consciously assess the space. It’s clean, quiet, and entirely unremarkable.

Except for her.

My eyes lock on the woman sitting on the lobby sofa, a laptop at her side. Her scent strikes me before I fully register her presence—warm and faintly sweet, like strawberries, vanilla, and sunshine. The realisation hits like a blow to my chest, and my beast stirs.

No. Not possible.

I freeze mid-stride. From her profile, she seems ordinary enough—casual, comfortable, a hint of weariness in her posture. She adjusts the cheap jumper she is wearing, tugging at the sleeves as though shielding herself from the world. Nothing about her matches what I expected from the Ministry’s newest IT recruit. Certainly not this.

Mine.

I shove the thought away and keep moving, each step deliberate and steady, though my instincts scream otherwise. I didn’t come here to claim a mate. I came to deliver documents, vet a new hire with Human First ties, and discreetly investigate a potential security breach near the border. Routine.

Routine for anyone else, perhaps, but not for me. I don’t play courier, and I’ve never vetted a new hire in person—especially not a human. Yet here I am, staring at my mate while fate conspires to upend my carefully constructed plans. I can’t afford distractions, especially not pretty ones like her.

Still, a flicker of satisfaction sparks when her eyes lift to meet mine. They widen, surprise and vulnerability flickering across her face before she glances away, flustered. She is trying to compose herself, but I notice the signs—her quickened pulse, the subtle shift in her scent, attraction and nervousness laced with a sharper edge of defiance.

Interesting.

I approach, movements controlled and presence deliberate. She looks up, meeting my gaze with a challenge in her beautiful brown eyes. It’s so hard not to smile. This human, barely half my size, is staring me down. Feisty. Brave. Possibly foolish, but the primal part of me appreciates it.

I stop in front of her, and for a moment, everything else fades. Her lips part slightly, as though she wants to speak but hesitates. The urge to lean closer—close the space between us—drums dangerously in my chest.

She is extraordinary.

“Mrs Emerson,” I say, letting the name linger like a bitter taste. Restraint burns in my chest, holding back the simmering fire. If I dwell on what that name implies—on the man who tied her to it—I might tear this entire place apart.

“Yes, that’s me.” Her voice is polite and professional, but there’s a steely edge beneath it. “Are you the courier for the Ministry?”

“Something like that.” A faint twitch at the corner of my mouth betrays my amusement. It’s not a lie, but hardly the whole truth.

Her brow furrows momentarily, doubt glimmering in her expression. She suspects I’m mocking her. I extend my hand. “May I see some identification?”

“Yeah, sure.” She fumbles in the pocket of her oversized jogging bottoms, pulling out a plastic card. The motion is ungraceful but somehow endearing, entirely unguarded.

My fated mate is captivating—naturally beautiful, no matter what she wears. Her baggy clothes don’t hide her curves.

When our fingers almost brush, I sense the tiniest tremor. She is anxious but trying to hide it.

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