Page 63 of Bitten Shifter

It feels strange to be out here after dark when I’ve spent most of my life locking myself in at night. The base’s high perimeter fence, floodlights, and vigilant guards give me a senseof security, but a hum of awareness thrums beneath my skin. I’m not human anymore, and the night does not feel the same.

It’s sharper, more alive with sounds and scents I never noticed before, even with the band—leaves rustling, the faint tang of metal on the air, the whisper of distant footsteps.

I sip my coffee and set the mug on a post near the barracks, planning to grab it when I’m done. A nearby running track catches my eye, and the urge to move surges. This is exactly why I live in jogging bottoms—for spontaneous decisions like this.

I run.

The steady rhythm of my feet on the track and the cool night air calm the restlessness inside me. I hit a loping pace, fast but sustainable.

My thoughts wander, tracing everything that’s happened over the past few days. It’s almost incomprehensible. The psychologist was wrong. I haven’t truly acclimatised—I’ve just buried my feelings beneath sheer willpower. If I stop, it might all collapse. So I keep running.

I run farther than I have in years—perhaps even farther than I did in my twenties. Next time, I will bring a weighted backpack to challenge myself more.

The track loops near the fence, its imposing presence strangely comforting. Checking it satisfies an odd, itching need I didn’t realise I had.

Maybe I’m part guard dog?

The books say shifters thrive in packs, stronger together than alone. But I’ve never been a team player. I step up when necessary, yet I’ve always been content working independently. That has not changed; if anything, I feel more withdrawn—more wary.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement. At first, I assume it’s a guard. Then I hear my name, sung in a mocking tone.

“Laaaarrrrk.”

I falter, slowing to a stop. The fence’s floodlights wash everything in stark brightness, ruining my night vision. Stepping off the track, I scan the darkness, trainers crunching on the grass. My instincts scream caution.

“Hello, Lark,” a voice purrs.

A figure materialises from the shadows.

The vampire. The one from the wizard’s house.

How does he know my name?

His red eyes glow like embers, locked onto me. My breath catches, and I almost stumble, but my sharpened reflexes keep me steady. I avoid meeting his gaze, fearful he will try to trap me with it. My heart pounds, more from shock than fear.

How did he know I was here?

He inclines his head. “I would have loved to turn you, Lark. Shame the shifters got to you first. Once human, no longer human—look at you.” His slow, glacial gaze sweeps over me, lingering with deranged intensity. “What a makeover, if we ignore the black eyes and puffy nose. Still making friends, I see.”

Every hair on my body stands on end. The night is too quiet. It’s just him, me, and a thin fence humming with magic between us.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he continues, his grin stretching unnervingly wide, fangs catching the light. “Hunting you. Craving a proper taste.”

I resist the urge to step back. “Sorry,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I’m off the menu.”

He chuckles, a low, sinister sound that makes my skin crawl. “Ah, an exclusive delicacy, then.” His tongue darts over his teeth as he steps closer to the fence.

Slowly, he raises one hand, black claws glinting in the harsh lights. As they scrape the metal, sparks erupt where the protective ward flares. Energy crackles over his pale skin, buthe doesn’t so much as flinch. “The shifters do love their little protective borders, don’t they? Does it not feel like a cage, Lark? My pretty little birdie, trapped with nothing but mangy animals for company.”

The grating sound of his claws against the ward sets my teeth on edge. A distant shout slices through the silence—a triggered alarm, no doubt.

He bares his fangs in a gleaming smile. “I will be seeing you soon, little birdie.”

In an instant, he vanishes into the darkness, leaving me cold and shaken.

I barely have time to process what has happened before a pounding of feet announces the arrival of two guards and Riker. He takes one look at me, frustration and concern in his eyes.

“What are you doing out here? Did you touch the fence?” he barks.

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