Page 83 of Bitten Vampire

Valdarr has surrounded himself with capable people.

My eyes drift around the hall. In the Hall of Silence, vampires must represent themselves, and it rarely ends well for the accused. Sometimes, when a vision went wrong and I didn’t have the heart to watch the outcome, I wandered—eavesdropped, explored, learnt this building. I probably know it better than most here—better than the Council, the guards, perhaps even the Grand Master himself.

He enters exactly on time.

Everything stills.

Chapter Thirty-Two

HadI not seen him countless times before, I might have dropped to my knees. In earlier visions, I have been paralysed by terror.

It is not that he cannot hurt me—he can—but this is the Council’s arena, and even monsters have rules, rules he has broken whether he intended to or not.

I meet his gaze. The burgundy ring around his dark grey eyes has widened, the irises shading towards red, as though whatever he is has started forcing its way to the surface. He licks his crimson lips, tongue sharp, almost reptilian.

I can smell iron, ash, and rot drifting from his skin; the stench turns my stomach.

It takes everything not to sneer or scream. No one should have to lock eyes with their murderer. Rule numberone: do not antagonise. Rule number two: do not show fear.

I bow my head instead and as though rehearsed, Valdarr mirrors me.

“Father.”

The Grand Master’s mouth curls. “My son,” he replies, thick with disdain. “What abomination do we have here?”

Me, the woman you drained and killed, who lacked the decency to remain dead. Surprised we survived your many assassination attempts?I keep my mouth shut and my expression vague.

Standing together, they share an unmistakable family resemblance, yet I can also see how character etches itself onto a face. How sustained evil warps even a vampire’s features.

Before Valdarr’s father can spew more vitriol, the rest of the Council arrives: twelve clan-less elders—male and female—draped in royal-blue capes trimmed with fine gold thread bearing the Crest of the Vampirical Council.

The Grand Master strides away, his regal black robe sweeping the floor, and settles on a polished stone throne at the very centre of the council’s raised white marble platform. Scowling, eyes fixed on me, he waits as the court officiant steps forward with all the pomp you would expect from a man wielding a staff taller than himself.

The officiant moves to the centre of the chamber, red robes rustling, and bows—first to the Grand Master, then to the assembled Council, who have now taken their seats. Raising the ceremonial staff high, he slams it down.

The boom ricochets off marble and glass; magic whips across the hall, prickling my skin and lifting every tiny hair.So this is what always snaps vampires to attention. It is not pleasant.

A small grunt escapes me. Valdarr’s little finger brushes mine with a whisper-light reassurance. He is already watching me, trust and certainty blazing in his eyes. Humbled, I swallow, lift my chin and manage a confident smile.

“Order!” the officiant bellows. “The Court is in session.”

And the trial begins.

A ward seals the gallery in silence as the charges are read.

“I, the Herald of Silence, speak as the voice of the Council. Winifred Crowsdale of Clan Blóðvakt, you stand before this Hall charged with the following articles:

Unlicensed turning and failure to register, in breach of Accord Code 675.3 and the related registration provisions;

Unlawful feeding and assault upon a claimed human of Clan Nocturna, contrary to Accord Code 561.0;

Trespass into a sovereign clan’s warded territory without leave, in violation of Accord Code 421.9, as recognised under Accord Code 302.1;

Final death of Accord-recognised persons, absent protection under Accord Code 765.0.

How do you plead?”

Valdarr opens his mouth, but I step forward.