Page 33 of Bitten Vampire

“Promise me.”

His body goes rigid as he stares down at me. “On my honour. Now can we please go?”

I do as I’m told and slide over the leather seat. Panicnips at me as we pull away. “What’s your clan called? What is your name?”

He raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“No. I’m not part of your world. I’ve been calling you ‘yellow-door guy’ in my head.”

He gives a short laugh. “Clan Blóðvakt,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue. “My name is Valdarr. Valdarr Blóðvakt, Raven of the North.”

Valdarr. The name is vaguely familiar, but I shake my head; I’m hardly fluent in vampire politics.

“Nothing? The Grand Master of the Vampires—does that mean anything?”

I swallow. “Youare the Grand Master?”

“No,” he says softly. “That would be the vampire who turned you. My father. I’m the heir.”

“Heir? Heir to the Grand Master? So… the vampire who killed me is the Grand Master? Your father?”

He winces. “Yes.”

This just keeps getting better and better. Why couldn’t it have been some low-level vampire? Oh no, that would be far too easy.

“So are we, like… brother and sister now? Does this make us siblings?”

He looks as horrified as I feel. “No.We arenotlike brother and sister. Turning isn’t… familial. You are simply a member of my clan.”

“Your father’s clan.”

“No.Mine. I’m the master of my own clan. You wear my mark, and you will keep far away from my father. If the Grand Master learns about you, that you survived, he will kill you.”

“He already tried. It didn’t stick.”

“Next time it will.”

A silence stretches as we weave through the city.

“We will need to discuss what happened, how you survived. Have you ever given blood to a vampire, or taken vampire blood?”

“Not that I remember. Unless someone used that nasty mind trick on me. According to my recollection, I’ve neither given nor taken vampire blood.”

I say nothing about House or her magic. Or what I am in the daylight. That is mine to protect, my sanctuary, my friend. Safeguarding House means safeguarding Baylor too, and I will never let anything happen to them. I promised. They both need me, and this overbearing vampire won’t turn me into a liar, nor let me break my word to my family.

We reach the safe house.

The townhouse occupies a quiet street. Three storeys rise above a short flight of stone steps that lead to a glossy black front door fitted with a lion-headed brass knocker. Tall ground-floor windows, framed in white-painted wood, sit on sills dressed with window boxes overflowing with greenery.

Polished parquet floors glow honey-gold. The walls are wallpapered in silk, a hue of rich colours, like something from a luxury-design show. Every surface gleams; every piece of furniture is elegant, heavy, expensive. It’s how I imagine a billionaire might live—if that billionaire were also a vampire.

Valdarr watches me take it all in. He doesn’t rush. He seems to be waiting, perhaps for me to keel over and die for the day right in the middle of the floor. Thenagain, I’ve seen him awake during the day. I wonder whether his condition, like mine, springs from wizard magic, or something else, something older.

In the centre of the room, inlaid into the floor, lies a sigil: the original Clan Blóðvakt crest, I assume. It’s more elaborate than the mark on my wrist. A silver bird perches on a Viking shield, bright red blood dripping from its beak. A ring of runes and carved words encircles it:Blóðvakt – Ære fremfor alt.

“The bird,” I ask, “is it a raven or a crow?” I really should know, considering it’s etched into my skin.

“A raven.”