Page 5 of Bitten Shifter

Chapter Two

My shoulder clipsthe door frame as I stumble out, barely registering the twinge of pain. I softly close the front door behind me, shuffle down the garden path, and step onto the street. Rows of identical cookie-cutter houses stretch in both directions, prim and proper under the bright spring light.

I never liked this house. I never liked this street.

The gated housing estate where you are expected to wash your car every Sunday, keep your lawn trimmed to regulation height, and ensure the grass stays the right shade of green—hours of care for something that will inevitably grow back.

And if you didn’t conform? The gossipy neighbours would make it their mission to let you know. The sneers. The passive-aggressive remarks. It always felt suffocating.

I glance around the pristine, silent street and feel the most overwhelming urge to shout:“Paul, at number seven, is smashing the granny out of his wife’s sister!”

Now that would give them something to gossip about.

But I don’t. Barely.

Instead, I clamp my mouth shut, scuttle down the road, and unlock the car. I drag my numb, emotionally drained bodyinto the driver’s seat. The door closes with a heavy thud that reverberates through me. I lean back with a groan.

I still need to do things before I can get the heck out of here. The last thing I want is to stay on this street a second longer, but these tasks won’t wait. I pull my laptop from the passenger seat and open it.

First stop: the home security system.

“Dumbarse,” I mutter when I see it’s been switched to privacy mode. Of course, Paul forgot that I designed the damn thing. It records everything outside the house—cars, doors, the lot. I’d set it up after a string of local break-ins. Privacy mode shunts those recordings into a separate folder. A few quick clicks later, I locate and download the files. I don’t look at them—the dozens of files. I don’t need to. Just knowing they are there is enough for now.

Next: the bank accounts.

I log into our joint accounts and transfer half the savings to my personal account.

“I will find a solicitor tomorrow,” I murmur, closing the laptop and setting it aside.

Last stop: my phone.

I hesitate for a moment. I’d chuck the whole thing in the nearest bin if I didn’t need it for work. But I do—I’m self-employed. To avoid being driven mad by the cheater’s incoming calls, I block all personal numbers. It does not take long—my friendship circle is embarrassingly small. Paul never liked any of my friends.

I slip the phone into the centre console, put on my glasses, and start the car. My hands shake as I grip the steering wheel. I take a deep, shuddering breath, but it does not help.

My skin crawls. All I can smell is them. Their coupling. They had sex in my bed. The evidence of their betrayal feels ingrained in my nose, clinging to my skin, hair, and clothes.

I want to shower. I want to scrub myself raw.

Rapid breaths whine through my tight throat. My internal temperature swings wildly between boiling hot and frigid cold. My head is spinning. I need to get a grip.

“Lark,” I whisper, “you can do this.”

I clench the wheel tighter, willing my hands to stop trembling. I can’t lose it now—not when I’m about to drive. I’ve kept my cool until now.

Well, mostly. My lips twitch with a bitter laugh as I think about the flower display in the kitchen. At least they will know I left of my own volition and haven’t gone missing, sparing them the need to call the police.

“I’m too old for this shit,” I grumble, leaning back and letting my head thud softly against the headrest. I trace the bright blue sky with dry, unblinking eyes.

It’s a beautiful day.

How dare it be beautiful?

It should be raining, at least. Thunder. Lightning. Some sign from the universe to mark the wreckage of my life.

A wild idea bubbles up in my mind. I let it simmer, swirling around with the rest of my chaotic thoughts. Calmer now, I check my mirrors, glance over my blind spots, and slip the car into first gear. Robotically, I drive away from the shitshow that was my life.

The town fades behind me, its familiarity blurring into insignificance. Before I know it, I’m on the motorway, heading north toward the Sector Border.

---