Page 49 of Bitten Shifter

To his left sits a broad, bald man whose face practically screams ‘divorce solicitor.’ To his right, leaning against him as though she needs support, is a woman who is all too familiar. Her dark, glossy hair is styled in perfect, voluminous curls. She seems thinner than when I last saw her—but then again, last time, she was naked and bouncing around.

Dove.

Of course he brought my sister.

My stomach twists into a painful knot, disbelief burning inside me. I realise my fingers are gripping the hem of my jumper. Today was already going to be hard enough, but this? This is a whole new level of insult.

They came together. To finalise our divorce.

I force myself over the threshold and hug the wall, keeping as much distance between us as possible. My movements are deliberate as I prowl around the conference table, each step heavier than the last, before finally settling in a seat opposite Paul.

Neither of them recognises me.

Paul glances up, his gaze skimming over my face. He dismisses me with a sneer—just another shifter, nothing more. Dove, on the other hand, gives me a once-over, her eyes narrowing as though I’m competition. She inches closer to Paul, resting a manicured hand on his arm in a possessive gesture.

I want to laugh. Really?This man isn’t a prize. A husband who cheats on his wife with her sister isn’t worth fighting over.

The laptop beside me feels like an anchor. If I could dream of the perfect scenario, this might make my top ten—a chance to observe them without pretence or pity, without their emotions clouding my judgement.

Paul looks terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, unkempt hair, and the beginnings of a beard. For a brief moment, I almost pity him, but then I catch sight of Dove again, and that shred of compassion vanishes.

I only now notice the three guards stationed in the room, one of them the smirking blond who seems far too eager for a show. Blondie leans against the wall, arms folded, radiating amused anticipation. He wants me to lose control.

I roll my eyes and pour myself a glass of water. The crystal facets catch the light as I twist the glass, the whirlpool of liquidreflecting the storm brewing inside me. It also gives me eight little versions of an angry Paul.

“When am I going to see my wife?” Paul demands to the silent room, slamming his palm on the table. His voice is hoarse, like he’s been shouting or recovering from a cold.

I set the glass down with deliberate care and lean forward, about to speak, when the door opens.

Merrick strides in with the effortless authority of someone who knows the room belongs to him. His presence changes the air, sharpens it. Paul stiffens; Dove straightens, flicking her hair and offering a nervous giggle.

The thing inside me stirs, and I fight the ridiculous urge to snarl. Dove can cling to Paul all she likes, but the moment her eyes flick towards Merrick, something primal in me flares to life.

Don’t you dare look at him, you cow.

Barry, my shifter solicitor, follows Merrick in, his arms laden with files. “Apologies for the delay. I had to complete some additional revisions pertaining to this case,” he says, offering me a warm smile as he takes the seat beside me. “Good morning. Nasty business with the bite. How are you holding up?”

“I’m managing,” I reply, glancing at the black sensory band on my wrist.

“Good to see you have got a band. That’ll help immensely. Let’s get this done quickly.” He pats the stack of files, then leans back with a reassuring nod.

Merrick unbuttons his jacket and sits at the head of the table. He pours himself a glass of water, then regards Paul with cool detachment.

“Mr Emerson.”

“Who the hell are you?” Paul snaps, his tone sharp enough to make the bodyguards twitch. Barry and the other solicitor wince.

Merrick does not bother answering. Instead, he flicks open the top folder and says, “What can I do for you, Mr Emerson?”

Paul slams his hand on the table again. “I’m here to get my wife!”

Merrick tilts his head, voice dangerously calm. “Are you now? Did you lose her?”

“Don’t play games, you filthy beast,” Paul snarls. “I told you on the phone—we had a disagreement, and now she’s taken a job with the Ministry. I want to talk to her. I want her to come home. Whatever contract she has with you animals is null and void. She’s human. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Mrs Emerson is an adult,” Merrick replies smoothly, “and perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Can you tell me why she left?”

“That’s none of your business,” Paul growls, his expression darkening.

---