Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
The guest room is at the back of Merrick’s building, next door to his apartment—close enough to feel connected yet still private. It’s breathtaking, vast and luxurious. The space must span at least twenty feet, dominated by a massive sleigh bed piled high with pillows and cushions in various shades of pink.
“He remembered my favourite colour!” I grin and hug one of the pillows.
An outfit waits neatly on the duvet, with sturdy boots on the floor beneath. I run my fingers over the fabric—black, strong, magical. I’m not sure what spells are woven into it, but there’s power here—protection, perhaps—to stop a knife or slow down a magic blast like the ones at the hotel. Now that I think about it, it feels similar to Merrick’s suits. No wonder he always looks so pristine; the magic probably self-cleans.
At least it’s not some awkward jumpsuit, either—thank God.
I have my very own fancy, badarse military outfit: combat trousers with enough pockets to stash half the war room, a form-fitting top, a lightweight jacket, thick socks, and handmade military boots. Everything is comfortable, practical, and ready for anything—even fingerless gloves are included.
I finish getting dressed, and there’s a knock at the door. It’s Hannah. “How are you settling in? Need anything?” she asks, already eyeing the mess I’ve made of my hair.
“Honestly, I need a miracle,” I admit.
“Here, let me.” She sits me down and begins French-plaiting the strands, weaving them close to the scalp into two neat plaits—sleek, practical, and impossible to grab. Fancy combat-ready pigtails.
“You are a hero,” I tell her when she’s done. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’d better get going.”
“I’m so sorry for keeping you so late.”
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t usually work these hours. The Alpha Prime’s rarely here—he spends most of his time in the Capital. I manage things in the Enterprise Zone, so having him here for three months has been… unusual.”
“I bet it’s been a long three months.”
She shakes her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “No. It’s been good. I’m glad he met you. You have softened him—and made him stronger.”
Her words catch me off guard, but I smile and give her a quick side hug.
After slapping on some moisturiser, I leave the apartment and follow the distant hum of voices and movement. It leads me to a door that’s slightly ajar—beyond it lies a weapons storage room. An armoury.
The men and women joining us are gearing up. The air hums with preparation—boots thudding, weapons clicking, quiet orders exchanged. Riker, ever casual in the chaos, slings a spare jacket over his arm.
“Ah, there you are,” he says with a grin. “Look at you, all military chic.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, a real shifter fashionista. Shifter Lara Croft is the look of the season.”
He wiggles the jacket at me. “Unfortunately, you will hate this addition. It’s going to be hot as hell, so don’t put it on just yet. When it’s go-time—busting down doors, kicking arse—you will need this.”
I take the jacket from him and nearly drop it. “Bloody hell, what’s this made of? Concrete?”
“Bulletproof. Spellproof. Top-tier shifter military tech,” Riker says smugly. “Merrick would wrap you head-to-toe in this stuff for the rest of your life if he thought he could get away with it. I’d check your wardrobe after this—bet it’s already been replaced with magic-proof everything.”
I dig my elbow into his ribs, and he laughs, unfazed.
Merrick strides in, prowling toward us with that lethal mix of authority and warmth. His eyes flick between me and Riker, and without a word, he bumps his shoulder against mine.
I frown and try to step away, only to be spun back into his hold, his arm snug around my waist. Bloody touchy-feely shifter.
“Let’s get you outfitted,” he says, guiding me toward the walls of weapons. “Can you fire a gun?”
“No. But I discovered I’m pretty good with a dart gun.”
Merrick arches a brow, amused, and hands me a solid dart gun—sleek, familiar. “This one’s loaded with tranquilliser darts strong enough to drop any derivatives.”
He starts filling my pockets like I’m a walking arsenal—knives, extra darts, torches, little gadgets I don’t even question. I take it all because, honestly, it makes me feel better to have something—anything—on me.
Then Merrick pulls something delicate from his pocket: a new necklace, its blue vial shimmering faintly in the light. It’s identical to the one I used a few days ago. He steps behind me and fastens it around my neck with careful hands, taking extra care not to disturb my newly-plaited hair.
His touch lingers. “There,” he murmurs.
“Thank you,” I whisper, tucking the vial safely under my top.
He cups the back of my neck gently, his thumb brushing my jaw as he leans closer. “Promise me you will use that for yourself this time. Not anyone else.”
“I can’t promise that,” I reply, honesty winning out.
Merrick sighs, his frustration visible as he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, his gaze grows gentle. “I know. It’s not in you. And that’s why I love you—not just because we’re fated mates, but because of who you are. I’ve never met anyone so selfless.”
The air evaporates from my lungs. “Selfless? I wouldn’t say that,” I stammer, my heart thundering as his confession sinks in. “You… love me?”
“Yes,” he says simply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I love you. You are very easy to love. Don’t worry—you don’t have to say it back. I just didn’t want us to walk into danger without you knowing.”
“Oh,” I say faintly, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. My mind is a blank slate. Merrick loves me. Me. How is that even possible?
He kisses my forehead—soft, reassuring—and pulls away. “Come on. While everyone finishes prepping, we need to talk about who you are. Your place in the pack.”
“What I am, you mean? A sigma?” The word feels heavy on my tongue, and I swallow nervously.
“Yes.” He leads me from the armoury, down the corridor, and into his private office. The quiet is a stark contrast to the hum of preparation outside. My nerves jitter in my stomach. I don’t know what being a sigma really means, but I pray it isn’t something bad.
Before I can slump into one of his visitor’s chairs, Merrick scoops me up effortlessly and sits me on his desk. He nudges my thighs open and steps between them, his presence a mix of warmth and dominance that steals my breath.
“Sigmas are very rare,” he says, his voice low and measured, as if sharing a secret. “They exist outside the traditional pack hierarchy. Not alphas, not betas, but something entirely their own. Successful, respected, but rebellious. Lone wolves who are untouchable. They bring balance, Lark, and because of that, we protect them. We cherish them.”
I stare up at him, my pulse quickening. “So… what does this mean for us?”
His gaze softens, though his expression remains intense. “It means,” he says, brushing a kiss on my nose, “I’m the luckiest man alive. The last known sigma died over two hundred years ago. You are something my kind has only whispered about. You can’t be commanded by an alpha. Your healing, your shifting—it will all be faster, stronger. And your gifts…” His lips quirk into a small smile. “We will discover them together. I will be with you every step of the way.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice catching on the sudden emotion rising in my chest.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s an honour to help my mate.” His thumb brushes my cheek, lingering near my lips. “Can I kiss you?”
The question steals the air from my lungs. I swallow hard, my eyes wide as they meet his.
“Courage, mate,” he murmurs, his breath feathering over my lips, warm and teasing. I nod, unable to form words, and then he leans in.
The moment his mouth meets mine, it’s like a bolt of lightning hits me—fire and electricity racing through my veins. His scent surrounds me, intoxicating. My entire body shudders, and I lose all sense of reason. My hands reach up instinctively, threading through his hair and pulling him closer as my body arches into him.
He tips me back over the desk, and I don’t care when he follows me down. I don’t think. Thought is obliterated, replaced by sensation—his lips firm and sure, the sweep of his tongue making me tremble, burning heat surging through every inch of me.
I’m gone.
Nothing exists except this kiss, this man, and the fire he has lit inside me. I’ve never known a kiss like this. It’s… everything .
A loud fist pounds on the door, rattling the frame. “Come on, you two! We’re loading up!” Riker’s voice booms, equal parts exasperated and amused.
Reluctantly, Merrick and I pull apart. My lips tingle, still buzzing with sensation. I can’t help but touch them, breathless.
“He has impeccable timing,” I rasp, trying to collect myself.
“The absolute worst.” Merrick’s voice is low, rough, and edged with frustration. “If he were not so damn useful, I’d kill him—just so I could keep kissing you.”
He helps me down from the desk with infuriating care, his touch lingering. Then he takes my hand, weaving his fingers through mine as though he refuses to let go, and together, we head outside to join the others.