Page 71 of Bitten Vampire

“What’s a bit of snot between clan mates?” he teases with a soft smile. “Ready?”

“Yes. Please.”

He lifts my chin. “Look into my eyes.” His power flows over me—warm, safe—like sinking into sun-lit water. “Tell me what happened today, from the start.”

I do: talking to Lee, the rabbit, Beryl taking over, the stabbing, the tattooed assassin and his suicide spell. Every detail. As I speak, the memories soften—still vivid, but no longer raw. The edges blur, leaving only a distant ache.

When the compulsion lifts, I’m staring into his violet eyes.

“I hope I never have to ask you to do that again,” I say, throat raw, eyes burning. I must look a mess. I have never been a pretty crier, but Valdarr gazes at me as though I’m precious. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before. It’s an unsettling but lovely feeling.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “I hope I never have to, either. But you will be okay. I know you will.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now, where’s your Beryl?” he asks.

I don’t want to leave his arms—I could stay there forever—but I slip from his hold and fetch her from the bathroom.

She lies inert in my hands, and I am worried. The moment Valdarr opened the front door, she shut down, and her wood is now unnervingly cool. I may still be angry, still hurt, yet I will not let him touch her. Instead, while I outline her history—Victorian slayer, soul-bound stake, the armoury, recent escapades—I settle her on a cushion in the sun so she is comfortable. A hardwood stake hardly needs comfort, but I cannot help myself; House would have approved.

Valdarr listens. When I finish, fury flickers—not with me, but for me.

“Do you think she will retaliate? Do you feel safe?”

“Beryl is bloodthirsty, but she has strong morals. Her first instinct was to protect you from our attackers; she wouldn’t hurt us. Even after I dobbed her in.”

We are both quiet while I return to the table, eat and wrestle with my guilt.

I had to tell him.

“What I want to know,” I say, “is how the assassins bypassed the wards and the guards.”

“Someone let them in,” he murmurs. “I will discover who betrayed us. I have called a clan meeting for tonight—you will meet everyone.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “All right.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

This eveningI’ll meet the entire clan of vampires. Doesentiremean only the vampires, or everyone—blood donors, thralls, fledglings? How many souls does Valdarr command? And will they hate me as much as James does?

I’m old—and wise—enough to know I don’t need to be liked; life seldom works that way. I’m also not foolish enough to feel calm about stepping into a room full of vampires.

I brew lemon tea with honey, settle in the book nook, and listen to a podcast on healing—sadly, it offers no advice on being used by a sentient, vampire-hunting stake to kill humans.

My stomach flips when I glance up and catch Baylor staring at the wall, confusion on his furry face. He is waiting for a treat that will never come. He doesn’t understandthat House is gone—that normal buildings don’t brush his fur and cuddle him. They don’t conjure doggy treats and swimming pools just because it’s a warm day.

Oh, how I miss you. So much. I wish I could find you.

I go and raid the fridge for a treat and find some thin slices of ham and almost lose the tips of my fingers as Baylor gobbles them down.

Beryl lies inert on the sofa.

The day crawls until the sun finally dips, and about thirty minutes after nightfall, a knock sounds at my door.

A statuesque woman stands on the threshold, dark skin, liquid-brown eyes, and the kind of unhurried poise most people reserve for red carpets. She wears simple workout gear but carries it as though it were haute couture.

For one foolish moment I wonder if she might be Valdarr’s girlfriend, then scold myself for caring.