Page 73 of Bitten Vampire

She rolls her eyes, steps behind me, adjusts my stance—wider—then nudges my elbow. “Plant your feet. Feel that? Now pivot your hip. There. Better.”

I punch again; a satisfying thud echoes. My knuckles don’t even twinge. I grin.

“Better,” she concedes. “Now: jab, cross, knee, shin.”

“All of that?” I splutter.

She grins. “You’ll thank me later.”

We drill the sequence—jab, cross, knee, shin—again and again. At first I’m all elbows and hesitation, but a rhythm emerges. I’m not fast or smooth, yet at least I’m no longer mortifying.

At last she steps back, looking thoughtful rather than impressed.

Perhaps she expected the stake-wielding whirlwind puppeteered by Beryl and instead found… me.

I excuse myself to prepare for the meeting. When I leave, I notice Simone on her phone, her voice low and her expression unreadable. I file the moment away, no point in borrowing trouble.

Choosing clothes for the clan meeting takes forever, but in the end, I pull on jeans and a soft jumper—casual, comfortable, nothing that screams I’m trying too hard.

Baylor stays in the bedroom; I lock the door, pocket the key, and follow the voices down the hall.

Six vampires wait in the drawing room: Valdarr, Simone, James, and three I haven’t met. No human security, no blood donors.

The drawing room is a study in clean lines and sharp edges, with slate-grey walls, dark carpet, and a deep, angular charcoal sofa encircling a minimalist glass table. A bookcasespans one wall. Above the fireplace hangs the original Blóðvakt crest; I recognise it at once from the safe house floor.

Beside Simone stands a mountain of a man—easily six foot six and just as broad—with thick auburn sideburns, a ruddy complexion and a rolling laugh that makes everyone smile—even my tense shoulders drop.

If I weren’t half-terrified, I’d probably laugh with him.

By the hearth leans a pale blond man in jeans and a T-shirt, green eyes sweeping the room with quiet intensity.

The last newcomer—tall, spare, wary—keeps to the shadows near the bookcase.

My foot scrapes the door frame and every head swivels towards me.

“Ah, here she is,” James snarls.

It takes everything not to run away. I hate confrontation.

“Do you have to be so horrible, James?” Simone says. Did I catch a faint sneer on James’s name? I store the thought for later. She smiles and offers a friendly wave; the others nod polite greetings.

I step in.Fred walks into a room full of vampires—it sounds like the start of a bad joke.

“It’s been centuries since we’ve met a day-walker,” rumbles the red-haired giant. “Not one who doesn’t use magic, anyway. I’m Ralph.” He takes my hand—firm yet gentle—and gives it a single respectful shake.

“Hi, Ralph.”

The blond man follows suit. “Tony. Thank you for keeping our liege safe today.”

“Hi, Tony.”

Bookcase Guy remains silent.

Valdarr studies his people with controlled intensity. I suspect he’ll intervene if anything escalates, yet for now—his expression carefully blank—he seems willing to let me speak and stand up for myself.

Simone winks at Valdarr. “I can’t believe you bagged the clan a day-walker. Not all of us are lucky enough to own magic jewellery. When I rise, I spend the remaining hours trapped behind wards unless I fancy bursting into flames.”

She must think I’m confused, because she answers the question I haven’t asked. “The older a vampire is, the less we need to sleep during the day. Many of us rest until early afternoon and can sometimes be woken, though we’re a little groggy. Younger vampires—under a couple of hundred years—sleep right through daylight. Valdarr, being over a thousand, can rise just before noon. I’m more of a four-in-the-afternoon type myself, even in winter. The Grand Master doesn’t need to sleep at all. However, we’re all still deathly allergic to sunlight. Unlike you.”