Page 86 of Bitten Vampire

I clench my fist.

The wards collapse. All hell breaks loose.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Violence ripplesfrom the back of the gallery, where agents, acting on the Grand Master’s orders, slaughter a smaller, insignificant clan. Screams rise; fangs flash. The hall descends into chaos. The scent of spilt blood thickens the air, mingling with snarls and the clash of blades. Vampires, driven by bloodlust, seize the moment to settle old grudges. Those who try to hold back are dragged into the fray when they are attacked.

I slam into Valdarr’s chest, knocking him clear of a throwing knife that whistles past my head.

“Simone—left, the lady in the red dress!”

Her head whips round. The woman charges, fangs bared. Simone flips her skirt aside and twin blades gleam in her hands. She twirls them, grinning. “You always were a sloppy fighter,” she spits as they clash.

Our companions form a defensive ring around Valdarr and me.

“How does she know all this? How does she know the accords better than I do?” James snarls. “My liege, she did a countdown! Winifred isn’t who she pretends to be. Last night she was shaking just talking to the clan, and now she faces the Vampirical Council without flinching?”

“I told you she was a worthy mate,” Valdarr replies, grinning. “Fred, you are incredible.”

“A mate who, not even twenty-four hours after your declaration, has tipped our clan into outright war. She publicly accused your father.”

Tony intercepts a blood-soaked vampire mid-rampage; they grapple violently before vanishing from sight as a second attacker charges.

Harrison steps forward. The foolish vampire laughs and tries to bat him aside, but Harrison is armed to the teeth. The creature lunges—it’s a fatal mistake. In one fluid motion Harrison slices the tendons at the man’s elbows. His arms drop uselessly, blood pouring freely. He stares in stunned silence, unable to raise a hand.

Then Harrison reverses the blade and strikes him in the temple, knocking him unconscious—a blow that would kill a human. He grins as he drags the body clear so no one trips over it.

Movement in the gallery catches my eye.

“Clan Nocturna incoming,” I warn.

James emits a squeak, rummages frantically through his pockets, and clutches his tablet to his chest as though it were a shield.

The vampire, Ian, whom I stunned with a spell—andhis furious brute of a friend—appear at the balcony rail. They ignore the stairs, leaping instead.

One rolls smoothly; the other lands fist-first, rising with a growl.

“You’re dead, baby rogue.”

Been there. Done that.

Valdarr shifts me behind him. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he says softly. “You came at us with humans in daylight, you broke every rule, upset and attacked my fated mate. Then you squealed to the Council.”

I did not realise until that moment how much of his incredible power he normally keeps contained. Everything that makes him a vampire—everything ancient and terrifying—has been held in check.

But now it radiates from him.

He is more than a thousand years old, ancient in every sense. The air crackles, and I feel it, the heat, the power—the sheer weight of him in the room. It rolls off him like a storm about to break. His eyes glow violet.

The Nocturna brute’s eyes widen at the weight of Valdarr’s power. A sword slides from its sheath so fast it seems like magic. He swings—futilely. Valdarr blurs, and the blade whistles over his head. A single pivot, a single blow to the face, and the brute sails across the room, slamming into the gallery steps. Stone cracks into shards and dust, and the sword clatters across the floor.

The second attacker—Crystal’s vampire, Ian—barrels towards me, claws extended, fangs bared.

James tenses beside me, but Ralph materialises behind Ian, silent as a ghost. He twists, bones crack, and the body drops.

I flinch.

“It’s all right,” Ralph says. “He won’t die, just sleep for a few days.”