Page 54 of Bitten Shifter

“Ah.” His smile widens. “I will take it. I can be your Mr First Class anytime.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“No, you can’t. I’ve got a new nickname for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Dickhead,” I say, pushing myself up from the chair.

Merrick chuckles behind me. “Settle in, little mate. I will visit you soon. Be safe.”

I wave over my shoulder without turning around. “Whatever, dickhead.”

I yank open the door to find Blondie—Riker—leaning casually against the wall, his massive arms crossed.

“What’s up, Alpha’s mate?” His smirk is infuriating.

“Which way to the car?” I snap.

“This way, Alpha’s mate.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Why? Every time I say it, you look like you’re gonna scream. It’s hilarious. Mate, mate, mate, mate… Would you prefer Pup? Perhaps Blondie’s ward might suit you better?—”

I let out a frustrated scream, and he bursts into laughter, his deep chuckle echoing down the hall as he leads me to the car.

Chapter Twenty-One

Zone One is onlyforty minutes from Zone Two, but it feels like an entirely different world. While Zone Two is sleek and urbane, Zone One exudes military precision. It appears to be designed for training and discipline, a cross between a sprawling army camp and a reform school.

The Facility looms ahead, surrounded by a towering fence. I can only assume it’s warded. The architecture is characteristic of shifters—equal parts imposing and practical. As we approach the gates, a guard waves us to a stop and checks our identification.

Riker hands over my new gold pass, replacing the blue one I’d barely grown accustomed to. The guard examines it then regards me with sharp, assessing eyes. After a moment, he offers me a shallow bow.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alpha’s mate,” he says.

I manage a tight smile. “Thank you.”Please don’t let my eye twitch.

Riker glances back at me, smirking. I dig my knee into the back of his seat and he laughs.

The guard hands the pass back, the gate opens, and we’re waved through.

Although the familiar shifter greenery greets us as we drive in, the buildings here are starkly different. On the right is a squat structure that resembles an old gymnasium.

“That’s the barracks,” the driver announces in a tour guide tone. “That’s where everyone stays. Each person has their own bedroom and bathroom, plus a communal area if you’re feeling sociable.”

We pass the barracks and pull up in front of a mansion-like building, which contrasts sharply with the utilitarian surroundings. It’s the same building featured on the brochure—the one I’ve yet to open.

We step out of the car, and a man rushes down the steps to greet us. He beams as though I’m royalty.

“Miss Winters!” He clasps my hand in both of his, shaking it vigorously. “A pleasure to meet you! I’m Director Sullivan. I hope your stay with us will be both safe and pleasant. I heard about your attack—terribly unfortunate—and I want you to know we will take excellent care of you.”

“Thank you,” I say, resisting the urge to shake out my arm after his exuberant greeting. His enthusiasm is a little overwhelming, and his grip feels capable of detaching my arm altogether.

“We have scheduled some assessments for you later today,” Mr Sullivan continues as we climb the steps. “Just a formality, of course, to ensure nothing will interfere with your progress. It’s essential to be in the best possible frame of mind for this momentous occasion.”

Momentous occasion. Right. Because being bitten and turned into a shifter is something to celebrate.

As he chatters on, I glance back at Riker. He coughs and mumbles something under his breath. Thanks to the sensory-dampening band, I can’t catch it. I give him a questioning look and point at the band, but he only smirks again.

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