Page 107 of Bitten Shifter

He whines, then rolls onto his back, offering his belly in complete submission.

“Don’t do that,” I say, folding my arms. “You are making me feel bad, and this is your fault. You’re the one who used me as bait to trap a psychotic vampire.”

He rolls over and whines again, quieter this time.

I sigh, feeling my resolve begin to crack. “Would you like to set a time to talk?” I ask tentatively.

He nods at once, his tail giving a small wag.

“All right,” I say. “We can talk. Maybe have breakfast?—”

He shifts in an instant, so seamless and smooth it’s as if magic itself holds its breath. Suddenly, he is standing there—gloriously, infuriatingly naked. All sculpted muscle, golden skin, and blatant confidence.

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean now,” I huff, keeping my gaze firmly above his neck.

He is so impossibly handsome. I once thought clean-shaven Merrick was the pinnacle of masculine beauty, but now, seeing him with stubble, I realise I was wrong. The roughness of his facial hair gives him a raw, primal quality that somehow makes him even more breathtaking.

And his eyes.

Bloody hell, his eyes. They are achingly sad, and the sight of them sends a keen ache straight to my chest.

My heart hurts.

I want to launch myself into his arms, to lose myself in his warmth and strength—but I can’t.

I can’t…

Can I?

Sometimes you have to stand your ground, be true to yourself.

Sometimes you have to admit you were wrong.

If he had hurt me deliberately, there would be no question—he could spend ten years following me, and my resolve wouldn’t budge. But he didn’t hurt me on purpose. He trusted the wrong person, yet did he truly have a choice?

What would I have done if our roles were reversed?

I’d want him to forgive me.

He messed up.

He did it out of love. And he will make mistakes again—maybe even big ones, just as I will. Can I be cruel enough to deny us both a chance at happiness?

His eyes search mine, soft and brimming with something that steals my breath. They move over my face, slow and deliberate, as though he is studying something precious, he can’t bear to lose.

He is looking at me as if I’m precious.

When I look at him, I see forever. My happiness is right there, within reach—all I have to do is take a leap.

My vision blurs as tears well in my eyes. I sniff, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, desperate to hold them at bay. But my whole body trembles, struggling to stay composed. When I finally exhale, it’s a shaky breath that escapes as a small, wounded sound. I sense him stir.

A tear slides down the side of my nose. I swipe it away with the heel of my hand.

Then suddenly, he is there.

His hand cups my face, warm and steady, his thumb gently clearing the tear’s path. Another tear falls, but he catches that too, his touch unwavering and patient. A low, soft rumble resonates in his chest—something I’ve never heard before. It takes me a moment to realise he’s purring.

Wolf shifters can purr?

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