Page 82 of Bitten Shifter

“It can go anywhere in the world,” he says. “Anywhere it wants to be. Some say they move where they are needed. But I will admit, I’m glad it’s the last wizard’s house in my territory. You think it helped you, but houses like that can hinder just as easily.”

“I know,” I mumble, swallowing the lump in my throat. “But itdidhelp me. It saved me from the vampire and gave me somewhere safe to heal.”

A strange ache settles in my chest. It’s ridiculous, really, to mourn a house. But it wasn’t just brick and mortar—it felt alive, like it had been waiting for me for decades, holding space for someone who needed it most. Silly thoughts, I know, and ones I’m not brave enough to share. Still, I close my eyes and whisper a silent thank you to the house and the wizard’s soul within it.Wherever you have gone, I hope you are safe too.

Forty minutes later, the van rolls through the border checkpoint and the tunnel of doom. I brace myself instinctively, waiting for the familiar gut-wrenching slap of the border’s magic.

But… nothing happens.

I blink in surprise. Riker catches my expression and bursts into laughter, smugness radiating off him.

“The magic won’t bother you now you’re a shifter,” he says, grinning.

“What?” I gape at him. “All that time, I thought you and the driver were total badarses. Turns out you were just… unaffected?”

He leans back, still smirking.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do we need a hankie to mop up all the smugness dripping off your face?”

His laughter booms, echoing through the van.

It takes another hour and twenty minutes to reach the location. The human representative greets Merrick with a curt nod and firm handshake before stepping aside to observe, his presence stiff and silent.

At Merrick’s signal, I send out a pulse of magic, severing all communications in the office building. “Communications are down,” I report, pulling on the heavy jacket as the teams split off.

Merrick’s lips curl into a sharp, predatory smile as his eyes flick my way. The look is brief, but I catch it—a silent reassurance, tinged with pride. I nod back, though my stomach twists into knots. His soft words cut through the tension. “Hold on to my belt and do exactly as I do.”

Meeting his steady gaze, I step closer, my fingers brushing the thick fabric of his jacket before gripping his sturdy leather belt. I hold it tight, careful not to restrict his movements.

For a brief moment, the air hangs heavy and still. Then, with a subtle motion of Merrick’s hand, we move. I mirror his crouched steps, heart pounding, as Riker stays close behind me.

We reach the front entrance. The other teams are already in position, silently preparing to converge or intercept anyone trying to flee. The lead shifter kicks in the glass doors with a thunderous crash that reverberates through the empty hallway. Weapons are drawn as we step inside.

My stomach lurches at the metallic tang of blood. I step over a thick, dark pool, the scent cutting through even my sensory band. It’s worse than I imagined, blood, meat, and the acrid stench of bowels emptied. I clench my jaw, fighting the gag rising in my throat.

The air is thick with human fear. I can taste it—feel it clawing at my senses like an invisible predator.

Something terrible happened here.

We follow a grisly trail of blood into the central office. The furniture has been shoved to the edges of the room, creating an open space dominated by a massive TV screen and a single, misplaced sofa. The screen flickers red, displaying grim words in jagged, looping text:Game over. You’re dead.Game over. You’re dead.

“They were playing some kind of shooter game,” I say, my words catching in my throat.

“Are you okay?” Merrick asks, bumping his shoulder gently against mine.

“I’m fine,” I say, though my voice cracks. I let go of Merrick’s belt and cough, trying to clear the lump in my throat. My legs itch to bolt from the suffocating horror of this place, but I can’t. I won’t. Instead, I pretend it’s all fake—just a set, just makeup.

But no amount of pretending can erase the reality.

The Camera Guy is missing his head.

They are all dead.

Something—or someone—has ripped them apart.

“This wasn’t a shifter,” says the big guy who breached the doors. He sniffs the air, grimacing at the sight.

Once the building is cleared, the human observer is brought in. He surveys the scene, jaw tight. “Try not to touch anything,” he warns, composure fraying despite his professional façade.

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