Page 14 of Bitten Shifter

Foreign words tumble from Dayna’s lips, sharp and guttural. The incantation crescendos with a flick of her wrist, and a thunderous crack splits the air.

BOOM.

The pressure in the lobby shifts violently, as if the atmosphere has imploded. Pain explodes in my ears, so intense I fear they are bleeding. Behind her, the hotel’s glass doors and the floor-to-ceiling windows shatter in an instant, raining glittering shards across the pavement and car park.

The spell’s shockwave sends everything loose flying. A rogue suitcase hurtles toward my head; I barely have time to gasp and throw my arms up.

Before it makes contact, a blue blur fills my vision.

Mr First Class moves faster than I can process, intercepting the impact of the luggage with his shoulder like it weighs nothing. Without missing a beat, he yanks a cushion from the sofa and deflects an errant spell. The cushion explodes into a cloud of stuffing and shredded fabric.

Then I’m airborne.

He scoops me up like I weigh nothing, dragging me over the back of the chair, my feet scraping against it. My back slams against the nearby column, and he pins me there, shielding me with his body.

His arms are steel bands as he tucks my head against his chest, muffling the chaos around us. His suit is soft against my cheek, and he smells clean and expensive—like cedarwood and leather. Even so, I’m trembling. The air around us plummets at least ten degrees, biting through my clothes as the ozone tang of wild magic saturates the hotel.

Another explosion erupts, this one even closer. I flinch when the fake plant beside us disintegrates in a shower of pottery shards, pelting my calves.

A heavy hand strokes my hair. “It’s okay,” Mr First Class murmurs, his voice calm and steady. “I’ve got you. My security team is on the way.”

His words barely register, drowned out by the chaos. Sparks fly as one of the vending machines takes a direct hit. It sputters in protest, spewing cans, which skitter, bounce and burst, drenching the floor—and our feet—in sticky liquid.

For a fleeting moment, silence falls. I risk a peek from the safety of his arms, spotting the two women shrieking andclawing at each other like feral cats. Security guards finally rush in and wrestle the two mages apart.

I exhale shakily, my heart pounding. My eyes follow the redhead as she’s dragged away; she looks devastated, her face pale and blotchy with tears.

I hope she will be okay.

The shifter’s eyes meet mine, and for a heartbeat, the chaos around us fades. It’s unsettling, this electric sense of connection, as though he sees something hidden inside me—something I never knew existed, something Paul never tried to uncover.

Then, almost reluctantly, he lets me go. His severe expression snaps back into place, leaving me feeling both exposed and oddly small. Without breaking eye contact, he presses his hands against the wall above my head, does a clean, almost graceful push-up away from me, and takes a measured step back. His gaze sweeps over me, appraising.

Whatever test I’m apparently taking, I must pass, because he nods.

Gosh, he really is beautiful. It’s not fair.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice wavering a little. I shuffle past him, brushing dust from my sleeves. “I hope your suit is all right.”

He does not respond, his attention returning to the destroyed lobby. Spotting my computer still perched on the sofa, I hurry over. Plaster, dust, and shimmering bits of glass cling to it. I swipe at the mess with my sleeve, but the debris sticks.I will have to get a wet cloth.

As I fumble, I sense him move closer.

“If you collect your things, we can depart.”

“Pardon?” I blink up at him, thrown by the sudden declaration. “Depart? Why are we going anywhere?”

“You can’t stay here, Mrs Emerson. It isn’t safe.”

“It’s perfectly saf—” I trail off, taking in the wreckage around us. Shattered glass, twisted metal, and toppled furniture. The sharp smell of ozone still lingers.Oh no, he’s right.My voice drops to a whisper. “I… I haven’t got anywhere else to go.”

He studies me for a long moment, his jaw tightening slightly, then speaks with crisp efficiency. “I will arrange everything while you collect your belongings from your room. I will also handle your checkout.” He adjusts his cuffs with practised finesse and strides off to the reception desk.

He does not bother waiting for my reply.

I stare after him, my mouth hanging open. “Wow. Things are moving fast. Way too fast.”

For a brief second, I consider chasing after him to protest, or at least to ask questions, but I hesitate. The truth is, there’s no point arguing.

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