Page 91 of Bitten Shifter

“Lark?” Merrick steadies me, his arm firm around my waist as he shoots a dark look at the magic users who’ve come to meet us. They clearly chose this runway on purpose. I try to pull myself together, determined not to make a scene.

“I’m okay.”

“Alpha Prime, Mrs Winters,” one of them says, bowing slightly, their tone polished and diplomatic. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence. We have your transport waiting. This way, please.”

The official-looking cars, decorated with diplomatic flags, hum with arcane energy. I slide in between Riker and Merrick, my heart pounding, my technomancer magic pressing againstthe edges of my control. The enchanted vehicles glide silently, so I distract myself by looking out the window.

We head into the city’s heart, a vibrant sprawl of modern technology fused with ancient magic. Sleek skyscrapers gleam in the sunlight, their glass and steel façades adorned with faintly glowing runes powered by invisible currents of magic that flow through the city like electricity. Ivy-covered cottages nestle beside futuristic towers, their chimneys emitting enchanted smoke. The sheer saturation of power is overwhelming. I struggle to breathe, as though trying to draw air through a straw.

For the hundredth time today, I wonder if sneaking back home would really be so bad.

There’s no mistaking the Ministry of Magic’s main building. All roads converge at its base. It’s clad in a strange black stone that seems to devour light, creating a void against the city’s magical glow. Silver runes coil across its surface, shifting like serpents whispering secrets I’m too human—or too untrained—to comprehend.

Our car glides into an underground entrance, plunging us into the fortress-like bowels of the structure. The atmosphere is dense and oppressive. I stare at the walls as Merrick helps me out of the car, thinking how dramatic his border crossing had seemed—until now.

As planned, we remain silent as we’re led inside, guards from both sides taking up a brisk, echoing formation. The interior is a cavernous space that seems to stretch on forever, with ceilings so high they vanish into darkness. The same light-absorbing black stone lines the walls, shot through with glowing silver veins that pulse with magic, casting an eerie light on the chequered floor. Enchanted sconces flare along the corridors, which twist and turn in a disorienting labyrinth.

Eventually, we’re shown into the council chambers—a grand room dominated by a massive circular stone table, black andalive with the same shifting silver runes. As more people file in, the table expands seamlessly, creating extra chairs in perfect symmetry. Sleek black seats match the eerie elegance of the space.

Unease prickles at my skin. Before Merrick can sit, I rest my fingertips on his seat, scanning for malicious magic. Nothing. I sense only layered spells, none of which seem harmful. I nod, and we both take our places.

My eyes widen as the chair shifts beneath me—an odd sensation, as though I’m suspended in mid-air. It’s as if I’m floating, cradled by an invisible magical current. The feeling is creepy. Is all this classed as normal in the Magic Sector?

Riker stands behind me, flanked by the rest of our security team.

My hands rest in my lap, fingers nervously twitching against the spell-resistant fabric of my clothing. Merrick notices. Without a word, he places his hand over mine, warmth radiating through me. He gently squeezes, anchoring me, and bumps his thigh against mine, a silent reminder:I’ve got you.

I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding magic users, hiding the secret of my technomancy. After meeting Merrick and being bitten, my entire world has flipped upside down.

Now, here I am, in their most powerful stronghold, surrounded by the people I once feared. My pulse pounds, but I hold my head high. I can do this. With Merrick and Riker by my side, I can be brave enough to take on any challenge—one small step at a time.

The door swings open, and another group begins to file in.

“The Ministry of Magic’s Council,” Merrick says, leaning towards me. Some of them acknowledge him with polite nods; others sweep past in lively conversation. As they take their seats, their voices mingle with the faint scrape of chairs.

The room grows crowded quickly, and I focus on breathing evenly, trying not to fidget under their scrutiny.

Then I see her.

My breath hitches, and I have to force my gaze back to the table to stop myself from staring. It’s the redhead from the hotel—the one who found her husband cheating. Dayna.Or was it Dana? She looks almost unrecognisable: thinner, more severe, as though she’s been through hell. My chest tightens. I hope she and her three children are all right.

Another face draws my attention—a man with white-blond hair. He laughs loudly, scanning the room, and a jolt of recognition shoots through me. I murmur out of the side of my mouth, “Blond hair, third chair on the left—that’s the Magic Hunter.”

Merrick’s chin dips, his gaze following the man. His silent intensity is both comforting and terrifying. The man notices and offers a sly smile as he sits.

“Good afternoon,” he says, his voice warm yet underpinned by something sharper. The table’s magic reacts, creating an illusion of intimacy—shrinking the distance between us as though we’re mere inches apart, even though neither of us has moved.

It’s as though the Magic Hunter is right beside me.

His pale eyes settle on me. “Mrs Winters, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I’m glad you’re recovering after your ordeal.”

My throat tightens, but I manage to keep my voice level. “What is going on?” I demand quietly. “Why are you here?”

His smile widens. “Ah, how rude of me. You know me as the Magic Hunter. After our little encounter, my cover with Human First was compromised. So here I am, back on official council duties. Allow me to introduce myself properly—I’m Lander Kane.”

He leans back, utterly at ease, as though revealing his dual identity is no big deal.

Lander Kane. A council member who spent who-knows-how-long infiltrating terrorist groups. My mind reels, struggling to reconcile his roles.

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