Page 68 of Bitten Shifter

“Merrick, wake up!” I shake him. “There are guys with guns. Merrick!”

His belt is jammed. I pull and twist until it finally gives. He falls, and I lower his head gently, easing him from the wreck. My new shifter strength helps me drag him—just about. Shifters weigh a tonne, all dense bone and muscle.

We roll down a shallow, dry ditch at the roadside. I lay him on his side, slip off my hoodie, and cushion his head.Clear his airway, Lark.My hands shake as I wipe blood from his nose and mouth.

I’ve never felt so helpless—or so terrified.

I pat his pockets and find his phone, unlocking it with his thumb. My fingers quiver as I dial Riker.

“Ello—”

“Riker, we have been run off the road—a lorry—” I blurt the plate number. “Four men. Merrick’s unconscious.”

“Run,” Riker demands. “Leave him and run.”

“No, I’m not leaving him.” I position Merrick carefully, heart hammering. “Can you track his phone?”

“Lark, he’d want you to be safe.”

“Well, I’m not doing it. Can you track his phone?”

“Yes. Now get out of there!”

I have no time to argue. Another car and a van screech to a halt, disgorging more men who fan out, advancing on us.

I place the phone by Merrick’s head, tug the necklace from my throat, and crack the vial. As the magic liquid seeps into his limp hand, I step back, and the ward springs to life, shimmering faintly before becoming invisible.

He should be hidden now, safe from detection.

Shit. They are closing in, their figures silhouetted against the wreckage. I inch toward the trees, but one of them spots me.

I expected that.

“Mrs Emerson,” he calls, mocking. “Where’s your guard dog?”

“He ran,” I lie, willing my voice to stay calm.

He laughs, motioning for the others. They are human—and armed. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

He points his gun at me, and I hold my trembling hands up.

He seizes my wrists and yanks them behind my back, cinching them with a zip tie. His fingers brush my scars, and his face tightens.

“Damn. That’s ugly. Can’t believe you survived.”

“I can’t believe you are kidnapping me,” I shoot back.

He tuts. “Ah, that’s Human First for you. You call it kidnapping; we call it justice. Your husband put out the word. The shifters had no right to turn you. By our laws, you’re still human—and breaking them. So we’re taking you in.”

“You are taking me back to the Human Sector for a trial?”

“Humans who break our laws,” he says, smiling coldly, “don’t get trials.”

I glare, refusing to show fear. “So what are you going to do, kill me?”

“Oh, we will make it quick,” he answers, voice dripping with mock sympathy.

“Dignified, even. Think of it as a service—we’re happy to put you out of your misery.”

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