Page 12 of Bitten Shifter

As soon as I touch the paper, my fingertips tingle faintly. A prickle of nervous energy skates up my arms, and I can’t stop myself from licking my lips.

The contract is saturated with magic—so much so that I can feel it zapping through my bones.Magical paper. Of course it is.

The spell woven into it is likely analysing me already, its tendrils poking around in my head, peeling back my thoughts and intentions.

My secrets.

Not freaky at all.

This kind of thing tends to make people squirm. The paper mages behind this type of parchment have a reputation, and it isn’t a friendly one. If you have got skeletons in your cupboard, you don’t want to touch their paper.

I take a slow breath, reassuring myself. It shouldn’t be a problem. The magic isn’t strong enough to pick up on my magical abilities.

At least, I hope not.

I turn the first page, and a sharp sting shoots through my fingertips. “Ouch! Stop that,” I hiss, shaking the paper vigorously as though it will teach it a lesson. Bloody thing.

Mr First Class makes a slight muffled noise. When I glance up, his lips are pressed tightly together. His gaze is fixed on the doors outside, his face a perfect mask of polite indifference.

Oh no. He is going to think I’m not right in the head—who in their right mind talks to paperwork?

I spy red, embarrassed blotches blooming on my chest. Grimacing, I hunch over the document.

Apart from the creepy, finger-burning paper magic, everything seems in order. The role, however, is more military-adjacent than I’d expected, with a security focus that differs significantly from my usual work. A heaviness settles in my stomach as I reread the description.

Shifter Defence Digital

Defence Digital is part of Strategic Command and has a vital role within the Shifter Ministry in the age of information warfare.

This is important—high-stakes important. No wonder Mr First Class showed up instead of a regular courier. I blow out my cheeks, trying to shove down a sudden surge of doubt.

What am I getting myself into?

I skim the terms and conditions again, forcing myself to go slower this time. The eighteen-month timeframe is reasonable, the compensation is impressive, and the included apartment… well, the apartment is something else entirely.

I pause on the page detailing the accommodations and study the pictures. The Greenholm Ironworks is a beautifully restored historic site, originally built in 1790. The warm, golden brickwork and grand windows radiate charm. The complex includes detached and semi-detached homes, terraced houses, and luxurious apartments. There’s even an indoor community pool, gym, and spa.

A pool! The idea of lounging by the water sparks a smile, then I think about my hairy legs. Paul would have laughed and said I’d need a hedge trimmer to shave before daring to wear a swimming costume in public.

My smile dies as fast as it comes, a sharp pang striking my chest. The page crinkles under my grip, and I take a few steadying breaths.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

I smooth out the paper and force myself to focus on the apartment details. It looks… perfect. I double-check everything for hidden pitfalls but find nothing to make me hesitate.

Without giving myself time to overthink, I reach into my bag and pull out a faithful old Biro. The end is so chewed it’s a wonder it has not fallen apart, but it gets the job done. I sign my name with a decisive flourish.

Setting my copies aside, I tuck the signed documents back into the envelope and press it closed. Clearing my throat, I catch Mr First Class’s attention. His piercing blue eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, I feel as though he is weighing me on an unseen scale.

I push the envelope toward him and force a confident smile. “You will find everything’s in order,” I say, keeping my tone calm and professional. “Thank you for waiting. I appreciate your time.”

He takes the envelope with a single nod, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. Then, just like that, he is back to his perfectly composed, slightly intimidating self.

“What did you do? Are you cheating on me?”

A woman’s voice echoes across the lobby, raw with disbelief. I glance up, startled, and spot the source immediately.

Her auburn hair gleams like a signal fire, and her pale face is a portrait of shock and fury. “With her? You did this with her? I can’t believe you!”

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