Page 84 of Bitten Shifter

It’s a message. A warning.

I feel hollow and cold, as though all the blood in my body has drained away. My mouth is dry, and my heart pounds so hard it feels as though it might crack my ribs. Exhaustion drags at me, but it’s the smell that pushes me over the edge.

The scent of raw, mutilated human flesh is suffocating. My head spins. The shifters might be able to tolerate it, but I’m not built for this. It’s too much.

It’s way too much.

“What did he leave?” someone asks, breaking the tension.

Riker steps carefully through the carnage, his boots squelching on the blood-slick floor. He tilts his head, examining the object on the sofa’s arm. When his green eyes flick back to me, his expression is troubled.

“What is it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Riker glances at Merrick. Without a word, they have an entire silent conversation—raised eyebrows, subtle nods.

Whatever it is, it’s bad.

“Two squads, take Lark back to the van,” Merrick growls.

It feels like I’m being dismissed, a child sent to bed while the adults deal with something unspeakable. Frustration flares in my chest.

“What is going on? What did he leave?” My gut churns with the certainty that this ‘gift’ is meant for me—and I’m not going to like it.

“You don’t need to see this, Lark,” Merrick says. “You are swaying on your feet. We will talk about it later.”

I frown, shaking my head, unwilling to leave.

“Trust me,” he says, locking his gaze onto mine.

Trust him. I force myself to nod. I don’t want to undermine him in front of his people. “Okay. Later,” I say, my voice hollow.

With a final glance at Merrick, I follow the four shifters assigned to escort me out, another four trailing close behind. Riker catches up quickly, falling into step beside me as we headback to the van. Human authorities arrive just as we round the corner, their vehicles flooding the street. I’m relieved to be leaving the chaos behind.

Inside the van, my thoughts spiral as I shrug off the heavy jacket and place it across my lap like a weighted blanket.

“What did you see, Riker?” I ask quietly.

He does not answer immediately, his jaw tight as he stares out the window.

“Riker, please. What did you see?”

He glances at me, lips pressing into a thin line. “We will talk about it later,” he says, tone evasive.

“Tell me now,” I insist, my voice trembling. “Please.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “There was a driving licence.”

“A driving licence?” My brow furrows. “Whose?”

He hesitates, shoulders stiffening. When he finally looks at me, his expression is resigned. “Lark,” he says softly, “it was Paul’s.”

“Oh.” The word escapes me in a whisper. “Do you think the vampire got him?”

Riker shrugs. “Probably.”

The vampire wouldn’t have Paul’s driving licence if he hadn’t taken him. “So that’s where he went. He didn’t just run off. He was taken, or he is already dead.” Bloody Paul.

I stare at the van’s ceiling, my mind spinning. The vampire went after Human First because they abducted me, messed with his hunt, and ruined his fun. He went after Paul because he gave them my name. Is this vampire clearing my slate of enemies, or is he simply enjoying the carnage?

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