Page 85 of Bitten Shifter

I don’t know, and I don’t want to try to understand the mind of a serial killer.

“Do we know who he is? The vampire?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite my frayed nerves.

Riker looks at me carefully, jaw tightening. “Not yet. But we will. We have got pictures, and I’ve got his scent. He won’t stay hidden for long.”

I nod, locking away the chaos swirling inside me. I’m not sure how to feel. Paul is no longer my responsibility; he gave up that right when he betrayed me with Dove and sold me out to Human First.

What he has done is unforgivable. Is he even worth saving?

No, he’s not.

Yet guilt cuts through me like a blade. I don’t know if I can live with myself if I let him suffer and die. Unlike Paul, I can’t lie, cheat, or switch off my emotions at will. Even though I hate him for what he did, a tiny, broken, and battered part of me will always care.

“What will Merrick do?”

Riker exhales through his nose, shoulders lowering slightly. “This is tied to you, so Merrick will go after the vampire. Not to save your ex,” he adds, meeting my gaze. “Merrick couldn’t care less about him. But he will do it for you—to keep you safe. He knows that if anything happens to Paul, it will hurt you. And hurting you? That’s not something Merrick will allow.”

He knows Merrick so well.

I pull the heavy coat tighter around me, trying to quell the trembling in my hands. “Why is this so hard?” I whisper.

Riker’s demeanour shifts, sympathy crossing his face. “Because you’re a good person, Lark. You care, even when you don’t want to.”

I bite my bottom lip, holding back a surge of emotion.

“We will figure this out,” he continues. “We will find out who this vampire is, where he’s hiding. And then we will sort it—if you give us the chance.”

I nod, my throat too tight for words. “Thank you,” I manage after a moment, my voice hoarse.

Leaning my head against the cool window, I close my eyes and let myself shut down, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the muted thrum of my heartbeat.

Chapter Thirty-Six

I burrow deeperunder the covers, my nose barely peeking out from beneath the pillow. A stretch pulls through my limbs, and my nails clack against the sheets.

Wait—nails?

My heart skips a beat. I stare at my hand.

It’s not a hand.

It’s a paw.

Afreakingpaw.

I yelp, jerking upright, only to tumble off the bed in a flurry of fur and limbs. The floor greets me in an undignified heap.

I’m furry.

I’m furry!

What the actual heck is going on? Why am I furry?

This must be a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to wake up, but when I open them, the fur is still there. I bang my head lightly against the bed frame. Nope—definitely not a dream. Shouldn’t the sensory band have stopped this? The damn thing is still on my furry wrist. Wasn’t it supposed to control my shifts?

I slump back onto the floor and bury my face behind my paws.

My paws.

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