Shifter Forbidden Mate

Eira 's POV “Eira ?” I push myself off the wall where I’ve been pretending not to listen to every sound beyond the door. Stone scrapes softly against my shoulder blades as I straighten, my boots whispering against the concrete floor. “Yeah,” I answered. The man standing guard gives me a long, assessing look, like he’s already decided how this will end for me. Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “You can come in now.” I follow him through the doorway and into the room beyond, my senses sharpening with every step. The air feels heavier here, thick with old violence and fresh tension. This place wasn’t built for meetings it was built for judgment. Maybe executions. The door shuts behind me with a solid, final sound. There are five of them seated at the table, arranged like a tribunal. For a brief, disorienting moment, I can’t tell where the true power in the room lies and that uncertainty is the most dangerous thing of all. On paper, I should be the threat. I’m fae-blooded. Not pure, not weak, not human in any way that truly matters. If they knew what I really was, if they saw past the glamour and the careful restraint I keep wrapped around myself like a second skin, they wouldn’t have invited me into their inner sanctum. They wouldn’t be testing my skills. They’d be trying to kill me. Instead, they think I’m just another wolf shifter. Another stray looking for work. Another body they can point at their enemies and unleash when things get ugly. That misunderstanding is the only reason I’m still breathing. The signs are subtle, but they’re there my ears, just a fraction too sharp; my eyes, carrying a faint, unnatural shimmer that never fully fades, no matter how long it’s been since I last tasted blood. Both are easy enough to hide with a glamour so old it feels instinctive. Unfortunately, that concealment puts all the leverage in their hands. Because if I’m “just” a wolf, then I’m badly outmatched here. I can’t draw deeply on my magic without exposing myself, and without it, these men these monsters are far stronger than I am. My stomach tightens as my gaze flicks over them. I’ve seen creatures like this before in their true forms: massive, green-skinned brutes with glowing red eyes and muscles that look more grown than trained. I’ve smelled the rot of their violence, and heard the screams they leave behind. I don’t need to see it again. Even in human skin, they’re unsettling. Thick-necked, broad-shouldered, scarred. Their hair hangs tangled and greasy, like grooming is a luxury they’ve long since abandoned. When one of them grins, I catch the uneven line of his teeth some broken, some missing altogether. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Maybe coming here was a mistake. “Eira ,” says the man seated in the center. His voice is calm, almost conversational, which somehow makes it worse. “My name is Titus.” He’s shirtless, arms crossed over a chest that looks carved from stone. His biceps are enormous easily the size of my head and my traitorous mind supplies a vivid image of him tucking my skull under one arm and crushing it like a nut. “Why don’t you tell us what brings you here today.” “I heard there was work,” I say. I force my voice to stay steady, even. I can’t afford to sound nervous. I need them to believe I’ve stood in rooms like this before, that I’ve looked death in the eye and bored it into backing down. If they smell fear on me, this ends here. And I really, really need this job. They exSorenge glances. “You look young,” Titus says. “Where’d you hear about us?” “Over drinks.” “At a bar?” I nod once. Titus studies me for a moment longer, then leans back in his chair. “What we need is a tracker,” he says. “Someone who can follow a scent when it matters. Can you do that?” “Of course I can.” I let a hint of irritation edge into my tone. “I’m a wolf.” Again, the glances. Measuring. Calculating. “Let her try,” one of them says. “Worst case, she wastes a minute of our time.” Titus shrugs. “Fine. We’ll test you.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stopwatch, setting it on the table with a soft click. “There’s a scrap of cloth hidden somewhere in this room,” he says. “The scent you’re looking for is gunpowder.” He lifts the watch. “Go.” The task is almost insultingly easy. With my fae magic held tight and low, my wolf surges closer to the surface, restless and eager. Shifting comes more smoothly than it has in weeks. The only hesitation I have is when I reach for the hem of my dress. I hate this part. I don’t love stripping in front of a room full of men like these, but I need the job. Pride won’t feed me. Pride won’t keep me alive. So I pull the dress over my head and let it fall. The shift ripples through me bones reshaping, senses exploding outward. The world sharpens into something louder, brighter, more alive. I can hear the faint buzz of an insect trapped somewhere in the walls, the distant drip of water far underground. The room is dim, lit only by a high, narrow window, but I see it perfectly. And the smells Gods. The monster dominates everything. Their scent is thick and oily, like sweat and blood left to rot. It makes my nose itch, my instincts scream. I force myself to breathe through it, to sort and separate. Gunpowder. There. Sharp, bitter, unmistakable. I pad across the floor, following it to a section of wall where one brick sits just a hair looser than the others. Shifting back, I pry it free with my fingers and pull out the cloth. I straighten and turn, holding it up. “Damn,” someone mutters. “That’s faster than anyone else.” I toss the scrap onto the table and grab my dress, yanking it back on with as much dignity as I can manage. Titus watches me closely not leering, not dismissive. Assessing. “All right,” he says. “You’re hired.” Relief floods me, hot and dizzying, but I keep my face neutral. “Thank you,” I say. “I won’t let you down.” “You’d better not,” Titus replies. “We’re trusting you with something important. Screw this up, and there’ll be consequences.” “I won’t screw it up.” “We’ve been fighting a rival gang for months,” he continues. “If they find out we’ve brought in shifters, they’ll come for revenge. And you’ll pay for that in blood.” Posturing. Intimidation. I’ve heard worse. “Get the guys,” Titus says. The door opens again. Three men enter. The first is dark-haired and thickset, shorter than the others but still towering over me. He looks solid like he’s built to absorb punishment and keep moving. Behind him comes a lean, sandy-blond man with runner’s muscles and restless eyes, his hair tied back with a leather cord. The last is tall and broad, red hair spiked in every direction, his posture coiled and aggressive. The dark-haired one looks at Titus. “Is this her?” “Yes,” Titus says. “Introduce yourselves.” “I’m Art,” he says. “These are my brothers. Soren ” The blond lifts a hand. “ and Draven.” The redhead inclines his head once. “I’m Eira ,” I say, acutely aware of every inch of space between us. My instincts hum. They’re shifters. Strong ones. I tell myself to stay focused. This isn’t about attraction. This is about survival. “The job starts tomorrow,” Titus says. “Seven a.m. Be early.” “We’ll be here,” Art says. “So will I.” This job could Sorenge everything. I just have to survive it. And keep my secrets.