Page 71 of Bitten Shifter

Behind the duct tape, I smile.

“Someone find the Magic Hunter!” Chatty yells.

Magic Hunter? My heart falters. That can’t be good.

“Isn’t he on watch duty?” one man mumbles.

“Get him! We just need five minutes before this place is swarming with shifters—long enough to slit this bitch’s throat.”

The Magic Hunter strides in, kitted out in combat gear. White-blond hair stark against his sharp features. Pale eyes sweep the room, landing on me. “What now? You’re paying me to watch for shifters, not play babysitter,” he snaps.

“She’s messing with the camera equipment. Do something, Hunter!” Chatty retorts, nearly shoving him but stopping short at the last second.

The Hunter’s lips twist into a mocking smirk. “You’re filming this? Amateurs.” He snorts, then narrows his gaze at me.

“You’re being paid, so earn your keep and fix it,” Chatty snaps, waving a hand at the smoking camera. “Fix it. We need to execute her and send a message.”

The Hunter’s eyes narrow. “You think she’s a magic user?” He steps closer, his thigh brushing the chair.

I tense as he leans in, surveying me with cool interest. “A half-changed shifter and an untrained, baby technomancer, eh? I can taste the magic. Nicely done, love.” His fingers clamp my chin, tilting my face into the light. Then he raises his voice for the others, “I’ve seen the file. She’s far too young to be forty-seven. Turning shifter doesn’t change your face, so are you sure you have got the right woman?”

Chatty shrugs and hands over his phone. “Paul Emerson swore this was her.”

The Hunter holds the screen next to my face as though comparing antiques. “She looks nothing like that photo. I’m noexpert on shifters, but they don’t alter eye colour, hair—none of that changes.” His voice sharpens. “So I will ask again, are you certain this is Mrs Emerson?”

Chatty squirms. “Paul said her appearance changed.”

“Sure he did,” the Hunter scoffs. “You’re taking a part-time nobody’s word for it?”

“She said her bodyguard ran off,” Chatty mutters.

“Did you see him run?” The Hunter folds his arms. “No? Then how do you know the guard didn’t stay behind?”

“She told us,” Chatty says weakly.

The Hunter’s expression hardens. “For all you know, this is some random shifter covering for Mrs Emerson. You kill her, film it, and she’s done nothing wrong…” His voice drops into a venomous hiss. “That’s murder. And guess what happens next? Every faction in the land will want our heads. Is that your goal?”

Nervous silence settles over the men.

The Hunter rips the tape from my mouth, making me wince. I flinch as it tears at my skin. “What’s your name, love?”

My heart hammers. To hell with it. “Lark Winters.”

“She’s lying,” Chatty snaps.

“Emerson or Winters?” The Hunter studies me with a mix of curiosity and mild irritation. “Who’s your mate?”

I hesitate, then say quietly, “The Alpha Prime.”

The Hunter groans and drags a hand down his face. “You idiots kidnapped the Alpha Prime’s mate and tried to broadcast her murder? Are you insane?”

“Well, technically—” one of them starts.

“Shut it!” The Hunter swings around to glare at Chatty. “Do you have any clue what you have done? You fuckwits have signed our death warrants. Harm her, and the Prime won’t just kill you—he will wipe out your entire bloodline. Granny, aunties, cousins—anyone with your DNA is toast, every last one. And guess what? He will be justified.”

Chatty bristles, his hands twitching near his weapon. “Paul Emerson said she?—”

“I don’t care what Paul Emerson said!” The Hunter snaps. He faces me, bowing his head. “Mrs Winters, accept my apologies for this… misunderstanding. Let her go.”

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