Page 21 of Bitten Shifter

He gestures towards the lift. “You will need this.” He waves a metallic-grey card, handing it to me. “It functions like a hotel key card and will grant access to the building, the lift, and your apartment. If you require assistance, simply press zero on your apartment phone or use the intercom to reach security. We are staffed around the clock to ensure your safety.”

I nod, feeling like I’ve just received a safety briefing forJurassic Park. “Thank you, um…”

“Matthew,” he offers, flashing another friendly smile. “Roger’s on this evening, and Ray takes the early-morning shift.”

“Thank you, Matthew. That’s really helpful.”

“Of course, Mrs Emerson.” He escorts me to the lift and scans the card. As the doors slide open with a soft hiss, he hands it back to me. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

“I will. You too.” I step into the lift, giving him a small wave as the doors close.

The executive floor feels like another world. Its plush carpet muffles my steps, each footfall leaving a faint imprint. I count the doors until I reach 307. Juggling my bags and the key card, I fumble with the lock, dropping the bags in my haste. With a sigh, I nudge them across the threshold with my foot before stepping inside.

The heavy door swings shut behind me with a solid click. I set down the last bag and place the keys and card in a sleek bowl on a nearby console table.

The apartment is beautiful.

To my left is the kitchen, sleek black cabinets and a granite worktop with silvery veins running through it. Overhead, a lantern-style skylight floods the area with natural light.

I kick off my trainers, wiggling my toes inside my panda-print socks. The warm wooden floor is an unexpected delight. Exposed beams stretch overhead—an homage to the building’s industrial roots. I wander through the space, past the kitchen and bedroom, into the living room.

Floor-to-ceiling black-framed windows make the space feel vast. Sunlight pours in, illuminating modern furnishings. A pair of double doors leads to the wraparound balcony overlooking the river.

This is far more luxurious than I ever anticipated. I trail my fingers over the leather sofa, marvelling at its softness. Mygaze drifts to the coffee table, where the dreaded rule book lies, perfectly centred. I will deal with that later.

The bedroom continues the sophisticated theme, though here the wooden floors are replaced by plush, dark-grey carpet. Another set of glass doors opens onto the balcony.

The bed—a massive king-size—remains swathed in plastic, with fresh bedding and towels folded neatly beside it.

Everything is pristine, unused.

A walk-in wardrobe—or dressing room—awaits, and the bathroom is equally indulgent with massive grey tiles, a separate shower, and a freestanding copper bath.

I carry a chair out onto the balcony, sink into it with a weary sigh, and close my eyes. The breeze tousles my hair, tugging at my clothes, its chill biting through my socks. Somewhere beneath me, the river gurgles by, and in the distance I hear children laughing.

Now that I’m here, I expected to feel relief. Instead, I’m oddly out of sorts.

I thought putting distance—and a massive shifter border—between myself and my old life would bring closure. Instead, I’m left with the hollow realisation. I wasn’t running from the wreck of my marriage.

I was running from myself.

Chapter Eight

“You aren’t lost, you’re just in an uncomfortable stage of your life where your old self is gone, but your new self isn’t fully born yet. You’re in the midst of transformation.”

- Marcos Alvarado

When I tryto turn on the television for some background noise, the screen flashes:no internet connection.

I chuckle under my breath. “Well played, border official. Well played.”

A familiar hum of magic sparks inside me, and with a subtle mental nudge, I bypass the network block, reactivating the disconnected Wi-Fi. “But you will have to do better than that.” The TV flickers to life, a cheerful talk show filling the silence.

That’s the thing—I’m a mage. A technomancer.

It must have come from my absent father’s side of the family. Dove and I have different dads, and while she inherited perfect hair and charm, I got… this.

My technomancy surfaced when I was fifteen, likely triggered by the stress of the government-mandated sterilisation. Magiccoursing through a body deemed ‘imperfect’ must have been fate’s idea of a joke. It never felt funny to me.

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