Page 39 of Bitten Shifter

“She is fine,” he snaps, cutting me off. “She told me you rescued her, then hid her in your hiding spot while you took on armed terrorists with a dart gun. You could have been killed.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “I mean, I’m sort of fine. I will be okay.”

Not lying to him is quickly becoming a full-blown challenge.

“You are human and easily damaged. What you did was a mistake,” he growls. “I will give you a day, and then I’m coming for you.”

Well, that’s not ominous at all.

“Okay. All right. Um, do I need to call the Ministry, or?—?”

“The Ministry is aware,” he says curtly. Then he hangs up. No goodbye, no closing words—just silence.

Ooh, he was mad. I stare at the phone, then drop it onto the counter and sink into a kitchen chair, my head in my hands.

What the heck am I going to do?

It’s not like I can pack a bag and leave. Every piece of identification shows my old face—my real face, my actual age. No one will believe I’m the same person.

I can’t run. I can’t hide.

No. I need to woman up, avoid mirrors, and get used to this new normal. I’ve never been one to obsess over my reflection anyway. As long as there’s nothing in my teeth, I’m good. It is what it is, and I have to deal with this. This… this face? It’s just a surface, a façade. It’s not who I am.

What people see does not reflect the mess happening inside. I’m still me, right? Just… wrapped differently. I can moan and cry all I want, but like the end of my marriage, it won’t change a bloody thing.

This isn’t something I can escape. The thought hits me.Shifters are dangerous.

What if this does not stop at my face? What if I turn into something else?

I feel some ‘thing’ within me. There’s no guarantee I will become a wolf—or anything remotely manageable.

And a wolf? A wolf isn’t a puppy.

I close my eyes, and the memory crashes in, swift and brutal. The sharp teeth sinking into my arm, the sheer weight of the wolf pinning me down, the sickening grind of bones under its bite.

“Oh no,” I whisper, clutching my arm as if I can still feel the phantom pain. My stomach lurches; I slap a hand over my mouth as bile rises in my throat. I can’t tell if I’m going to vomit or pass out.

Inside me, something whines—a soft, pitiful sound.

A keening moan escapes my lips, high-pitched and panicked. I slide to the floor, back against the kitchen cupboards, trembling.

I should’ve told Merrick to come immediately. I should’ve begged him to stay on the phone.

I’m an idiot. A bloody fool.

My breathing turns shallow, my chest heaving in quick, panicked bursts. What will happen to me? What are they going to do? Unregulated shifters are a threat.

They will kill me.

They are going to bloody kill me for being an unsanctioned shifter. I’m as good as dead.

Chapter Sixteen

I toldMerrick I was going back to bed, and I really didn’t want to lie to him—not now. Almost childlike, I crawl under the covers, even though my mind is racing and my body feels anything but restful.

I lie there, staring at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. It takes longer than I’d care to admit, but eventually, despite my whirling thoughts, exhaustion wins and I drift off.

When I wake, I sit on the edge of the bed, breathing hard.

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