Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chatty’s grip on the rifle shifts. He twists it as if wielding a club, and the stock slams into the Magic Hunter’s face with brutal efficiency—once, then twice. Horrified, I watch as blood sprays, and the Hunter crumples to the ground, unconscious, crimson streaming from his nose.
He didn’t see that coming. I hope he will be all right.
Chatty barks a harsh laugh. “What a fool. Finish the girl, and let’s get out of here.”
Silence. No one moves.
His confidence falters as Balaclava shifts uneasily, his knife hanging slack at his side. Shaking his head, he steps back. “No way, buddy. I’m out. I love my mum.”
“You can’t be out!” Chatty snaps, frustration spilling over. “Get back here and do your damn job!”
But Balaclava does not look back. He keeps walking, footsteps echoing in the cavernous warehouse. One by one, the others exchange uneasy glances and follow. Their loyalty—or perhaps their courage—vanishes as quickly as the Hunter hit the floor.
Two of them pause long enough to drag the groaning, bleeding man away.
Left alone, Chatty groans, exasperated. “If you want something done right…” He pulls a red Swiss Army Knife from his pocket, a small, almost harmless-looking tool that suddenly appears menacing in his hands.
He flicks open the blade, the sharp sound loud in the oppressive stillness, and strides towards me.
Before I can react, his boot connects with the chair, sending it skidding. The chains strain, and it topples over.
I fall backwards, slamming onto the cold, unforgiving concrete. Pain explodes across my spine and the back of my head. My vision blurs with starbursts, and part of me almost wishes I could lose consciousness.
But I can’t.
Chatty leans in, his breath hot and foul against my cheek as the knife’s cold edge presses to my throat. “I’m not going to kill you,” he whispers, voice low and venomous.
The blade skims along my skin, scraping the delicate flesh of my cheek. “If I had a few more minutes, I’d peel the nose right off your face. You wouldn’t be so pretty then.”
The knife lingers, threatening, before sliding lower.
“But I’ll do the next best thing.” The blade snags my clothes, plucking at the fabric as it traces a deliberate line down my chest, between my breasts, and halts at my stomach.
His eyes gleam with cruel anticipation.
If he had the time, I’m certain he’d do worse.
The blade pivots and he shifts his focus to my forearm, the tip of the blade gliding over soft skin. For a second, I brace for him to slash my wrist. Instead, with a swift, practised flick, he severs something far worse—the black sensory band circling my arm.
The moment it drops, the floodgates burst open. A groan escapes before I can stop it as every suppressed shifter sense crashes into me like a tidal wave. The world rushes in— overwhelming, unrelenting and deafening. Scents, sounds and vision, all sharpen and stab. My skull feels ready to split in two.
Instinctively, I try to lift my cuffed hands to shield my ears, desperate for relief.
His hand slams them back down onto the concrete with brutal force. “No,” he snarls, his voice booming in my shattered world, the single word reverberating like a megaphone in my ears.
From his pocket, he takes out a small, innocuous-looking pouch. He rustles it, the faint crackle of dried leaves setting my teeth on edge. “Wolfsbane,” he says with a cruel smile. “Poison to shifters.”
He grips my face, his fingers crushing my jaw, and slips the blade between my lips, cold steel clinking against my teeth, prying them apart. Pain blooms as it nicks my tongue and cheek, flooding my mouth with the metallic tang of blood.
I groan, defying him, as he pours the gritty, pungent contents into my mouth.
The blade is gone, but before I can spit the wolfsbane out, he clamps his hand over my mouth and I can’t breathe as he pinches my nose shut. “Swallow, bitch,” he hisses.
I jerk my head violently, refusing to give in, but my lungs scream for air. The world tilts, darkness creeping in at the edges. Panic bubbles up as my body’s need for oxygen takes over. I gasp, desperate for relief, and wolfsbane scorches its way down my throat.
Its toxic burn seeps through me, setting my insides ablaze.
I choke and splutter, agony gripping my throat.
Chatty steps back with a triumphant sneer. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re done for. Nature’s fixing the mistake.” His laughter echoes in the warehouse as he turns to leave, footsteps fading.
Pain rips through me in waves.
The thing inside me is no longer quiet.
She is awake—angry, raw, fighting back. I feel her clawing, tearing at my insides, determined to protect us both.
My ribs crack. The sharp snap of bone is drowned by my ragged breathing. A broken whine rises from my throat, raw and agonised. Control slips through my fingers. My senses overflow, my body convulsing in a brutal, unstoppable rhythm.
Whenever I imagined my first shift, I assumed Merrick or Riker would guide me. I thought I’d be safe. Instead, I’m chained, alone, in agony.
My body spasms. Each snapped bone reforms, reshaping beneath my skin. It’s excruciating, torture, but the thing’s voice murmurs in my mind. We’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let go. She is calm, reassuring, and I trust her.
So I surrender, letting her—another side of me, not some murderous alien thing—take over. She is me.
Fur erupts along my skin, twisting and stretching me into something new. Something wild.
The cuffs strain and groan. Broken bones in my wrists narrow just enough for my paw to slip through. The other follows, the handcuffs and chains clattering to the floor.
I slump forward, trembling. My breath is ragged, and my chest heaves. This new form feels alien yet familiar, powerful yet fragile. My paws—brown fur streaked with white—quiver as I try, and fail, to stand.
A deep, feral roar cuts through the pounding of my heart.
My ears swivel toward the sound, and I lift my head weakly.
The warehouse door is torn from its hinges, crashing to the floor. A towering figure in half-shifted warrior form charges in, snarling, his glowing eyes focusing on me.
Merrick.
He came for me.
His gaze meets mine, and his snarl eases into a soft whine. The beast shrinks away as his fur recedes and human skin returns. He falls to his knees beside me.
“Lark.” His hands find me straightaway, stroking my damp fur, his touch steady and comforting. “You are a beautiful wolf,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.
A wolf. Wow. Fantastic. I was secretly hoping for a dragon—or a unicorn.
“Why—why, Lark,” he says, voice unsteady, “didn’t you use the ward on yourself? Why protect me?”
Tears prick my eyes, hot and unexpected, as I grasp the reality of what I am—what we are. My tongue lolls out, and I weakly lick his wrist to reassure him I’m still here.
Still his mate.
“Fuck, they gave her wolfsbane,” Riker growls from behind him.
“I’m so sorry, little mate. I will find whoever did this to you and rip them apart,” Merrick murmurs, his hands trembling as he cradles my head. He lowers his forehead to mine. “The one person who is truly mine, and I failed you. I should have protected you better. Forgive me.”
My tongue sneaks out, and I lick him again, more gently.
At last, I feel safe. Even as the wolfsbane’s poison threatens to drown me, I know I’m not alone.
If I live, I will never be alone again.
I see it now.
The sound of boots rushing into the warehouse fades, growing distant as the world dims. Merrick’s heartbeat echoes in my ears, the final sound I notice before darkness takes me.