10. Morgan #2
“So you are... shifters ?” I whisper the word when my voice catches.
“Yes.”
Fucking hell.
I stare at him , my eyes probably as wide as saucers right now.
I’m not sure why it hits me as hard as it does. I was already ninety-nine percent sure I was right, but hearing him say it... I guess I’d been expecting a denial, and now I have to face the fact that shifters exist and I’m living with them.
My gaze dips to his mouth, then his hands. Specifically the ends of his fingers. Try as I might, I can’t picture claws and fangs. I guess there’s still that tiny part of me that needs proof. Needs to see it again for me to believe it one hundred percent.
He raises a dark, surprisingly elegant eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”
“I—” It’s ridiculous, but, “No. Not really.” Even though I was the one to accuse him, now that he’s admitted it, I’m struggling to accept his answer. Maybe I am still concussed because I’m making no sense right now.
He sighs and sits back in his chair. Faded denim clings to defined thighs as he spreads his legs, and it’s easy to see the raw strength in every part of him. “Would you like me to show you?”
“What?” I snap my eyes up to meet his, and my breath catches. They’re so blue, framed by thick black lashes, and if he wasn’t the monster from my nightmares, he’d be hot as fuck.
Oh, who am I kidding, he’s still hot like burning.
Just terrifying too.
“Would you like me to show you,” he repeats slowly, studying my face. “Because clearly my word isn’t good enough.” There’s an edge to his voice, not irritation exactly, but something that skitters down my spine and raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
I thought we’d already had our pivotal moment, but this right here might be it instead. It’s the middle of the day, my head is clear. If he shows me proof of what he is, there’ll be nothing to do but accept it as truth. “Yes,” I murmur, nerves making me shiver. “Show me.”
He closes his eyes and inhales.
I hold my breath, not daring to even blink in case I miss something.
When he opens them again, they’re still blue but brighter than before. Intense in a way I can’t put my finger on. But the effect they have on me hasn’t changed, and I feel that stare in the pit of my belly.
Without looking away, he opens his mouth, and I watch, mesmerised, as his jaw cracks and his teeth lengthen into fangs.
Sharp-looking, huge, and strangely hot, fangs .
They’re real.
Shifters are fucking real.
I can’t tear my eyes away. He must realise, because he holds his hands up, forcing me to look at them instead. I gasp, sucking in a great lungful of air, because the tips of his fingers now end in claws. Long and as lethal looking as his teeth.
“Believe me now?” The words are slurred as he talks around those giant fangs, and all I can do is nod. The evidence is staring me in the face, and unless I’m hallucinating, or dreaming, Lynx Harper is a fucking shifter.
He slowly runs his tongue over the end of one of his fangs. I don’t know if he meant it to be erotic or intimidating, but a flare of heat curls low in my stomach even as my mind tells me to run far, far away. Clearly that concussion dislodged a few brain cells.
I blink and he’s back to normal.
“Are you scared, Morgan?” It’s just as soft as the first time he asked, but there’s a wariness to his gaze that wasn’t there before.
Despite the heat still warming my lower half, I am.
I’m terrified.
Of him.
Of his club. His pack .
Of what happens now.
But I tilt my chin up and meet his eyes, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Yes.”
His gaze darkens, but I can’t read whatever’s hiding there, and then he stands, towering over me and whispers, “You should be.”
There’s the sound of footsteps out in the corridor. Lynx turns to leave, but fuck that, I have so many questions. “Wait?”
He stops and looks back over his shoulder.
“What happens now?”
The sigh he lets out is a mix of resigned and frustrated, but he turns to face me fully as the footsteps get closer. Whoever it is, they’re almost here. “Now I have to explain myself to the rest of my—” He hesitates for a split second before adding, “pack.”
“What about me?”
His gaze sweeps over me. “What about you?”
“What happens now that I know? Do I just leave as planned?”
His grin is feral as he shakes his head. “No.”
“What do you mean, no?” If I’m honest, I expected as much, but hearing him say it is still jarring.
“You know a secret that you have no business knowing. We have the Beasts to thank for that, but unfortunately, you’re my problem now.”
I instantly bristle. Fuck him. “And what does that mean?” I snap, anger overriding any fear.
His eyes widen, but his grin only gets bigger. “It means you stay here until we decide what to do with you.” He’s out the door before I get chance to tell him what I think of that idea.
“You can’t keep me here,” I yell after him.
I get as far as throwing the sheet back before a voice says, “Oh, I think you’ll find we can.”
Flint Harrison fills the doorway, gaze dropping to where I’m just about to lower a leg onto the floor.
He waves a finger at me. “I’d get back in if I were you.”
My heart pounds, my brain screaming at me not to provoke the big scary shifter, because they all must be one, right? Everyone in this compound is probably the same as Lynx. But my mouth has a mind of its own apparently. “Or what?”
He snorts like I’m hilarious. “Or I’ll make you, and neither of us wants that.” He snaps his teeth, and I’m sure it’s not my imagination making them look sharper and longer than normal.
I get back in bed.
“Good boy.”
“Fuck off.” It’s halfhearted at best, but my mouth is probably going to get me killed one of these days.
Flint just laughs. He drops into the chair Lynx was sat in and leans back, phone in hand, the picture of relaxation.
That reminds me. “Where’s my phone?” It’s not in my pockets, I checked. And I can’t see it on the table next to me.
“You dropped it in the stairwell.”
“Can I have it back?”
“Nope.”
“Why?” Frustration fills my whole body when Flint just shrugs, a good dose of fear hot on its heels. It takes me a second to voice the words banging around in my head. “Am I a prisoner?”
He scrunches his nose. “Don’t be fucking stupid. We’re a motorcycle club, not the police.”
“So I’m free to go whenever I want, then.”
His hand comes up and he tilts it back and forth.
“Helpful.”
His expression sobers as he sits forward. Light grey eyes pin me in place. “You’re our guest while we work out what to do with you.”
That doesn’t sound terrifying at all.
I debate asking anything else, not sure I want to know the answers, but curiosity is a fucker. And at least Flint seems in the mood to talk. “What are my options?”
“You really want to know?”
Nope. Probably not.
“Yes?” I hate how uncertain I sound, but I’m fucking clueless here.
He snorts at my lack of conviction, then shuffles the chair forward so his arms are resting on the bed next to me.
Far too close.
“You’re a liability, Morgan. We don’t have any humans in this club for a reason. This isn’t a secret we share with anyone who isn’t either club, pack, or another shifter.”
So no humans at all.
Fuck.
I mean I’d guessed as much, but I’m not sure I like where this is headed.
“And now we have you.”
Flint splays his fingers out, and ever so slowly, a claw slides out from his index finger.
I wince because, jeez, that looks like it hurts, but his expression doesn’t so much as flicker.
He taps the sheet, and I can’t tear my gaze away from that one solitary claw.
It feels more menacing than if he had all five out.
It takes me three attempts to find my voice. “I won’t tell anyone.” I mean it. Not even Ash. If he wasn’t in danger before, he definitely would be if I tell him about this.
“I believe you,” Flint says. Then he sighs and my stomach sinks. “But I’m not the only one who needs convincing.”
“Lynx, right?” That sinking feeling gets stronger by the second.
Flint hums. “Maybe not even him. You see, in a matter like this, it’ll be put to a vote.”
“What will?”
He gives me a pointed look.
Oh god.
Me.
My life.
Should’ve kept my mouth shut or lied.
“Who votes?” I ask, not that it matters.
“The club’s inner circle. Lynx, Callum, Me, Jet, and Mal.”
Pretty sure at least three of those hate me.
I close my eyes and rest my head back against the pillows.
I’m fucked. Totally and utterly fucked.