Page 12 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twelve

One Month Later

It takes me a while to get used to my new undead life. During the day, I’m human and vulnerable. At night, I pretend my life has not changed.

Some activities are off the table: I cannot venture out at night, and no one can see me like this. To House’s amusement, I still conduct odd little experiments at home. And at least I can still eat during the day.

Through awkward trial and error, we discovered I can eat normal food during daylight, but if I eat too close to sundown, say after six o’clock, I fall ill.

My body needs time to digest before I ‘die’ for the night.

I tried drinking tea—purely to see—and vomited it up at once.

Food and drink are clearly out while I am vamped.

Summer makes this routine manageable; winter’s truncated days will be a nightmare.

The only thing I have not sampled is the red stuff. If I drink it, I truly am a vampire. I know it is so, yet convincing myself is another matter entirely. But of course, life doesn’t work like that, and we have come to an impasse.

After the initial transformation, we hadn’t expected my body to change. Vampires, at a genetic level, are immutable, but my human, daytime side is not, so the clashing magics throw a spanner in the works. I’ve lost a lot of weight.

Now we believe the vampire magic demands blood in my diet. Iron tablets don’t help, so House—resourceful as ever—has procured some.

Tonight is Blood Test One.

I sit at the dining table and glower at a cup of blood. House makes it wobble, and the liquid swirls in sluggish circles.

“I don’t want to drink it,” I say, nose wrinkling. My fangs have dropped, giving me a faint lisp, which is irritating.

You have to, House says . It’ll keep you healthy, unless you would prefer to disappear into nothing or go on a wild rampage?

“I don’t want to rampage, but I don’t want to drink that either.”

Just drink it. Like a shot. Surely you have done shots before.

“How do you know about shots? Were you not born in the Victorian era?”

I might have been born in the late 1800s, but I am not completely dense, House huffs.

“I don’t shoot anything that smells this vile. It’s gross,” I whine.

Doesn’t matter, gross or not, if it keeps you alive.

I let my forehead thunk onto the table.

“The worst thing is the smell. It stinks of chemicals and slightly off, as though it’s started to rot. Not exactly appetising.” I shudder. I still reach home before dark, so I’ve no idea what people smell like to monster me. I do not want to know; it feels cannibalistic.

“Where did you get it?”

Silence.

“House. Where did you get the blood?”

My magic has tendrils I can extend a short distance, she replies, allowing me to acquire small items unobtrusively. Most things I simply order and have delivered, but blood is different. The vampire courts keep a warehouse—I borrowed a couple of bags.

“Borrowed? Righty-o. That’s just great.” House is stealing from the vampires now.

It’s clean, O-negative, if that helps.

“No, it doesn’t. So how do you order things?” I may be stalling, but I am curious.

My magic. I was a paper mage.

“A paper mage? Wow,” I murmur. That explains the advertisement in the newspaper and the rental agreement. House was a scary badarse mage.

Now stop stalling and drink the blood.

Resigned, I lift the cup. Cold or warm, it will be thick and metallic. Eyes shut, I pretend it’s tequila and throw it back. Copper sludge coats my throat; I gag but force it down. I can’t even chase it with water—night body won’t tolerate it.

No surge of energy follows. I sit, mildly nauseous, working my throat, trying not to vomit. After a few breaths the feeling subsides. I nod. “All right. That was… fine. I’m going to brush my teeth.”

The cup vanishes.

“Thanks,” I sigh, heading upstairs.

Soon I’ll log on to the overnight customer-service job I picked up. One benefit of not needing sleep. My human self rests while the vampire works ; between forms I’m effectively awake twenty-four hours a day.

Yet, astonishingly, boredom creeps in.

None of my motivational podcasts have ever covered how to become a vampire . Not one. There’s no ‘Five Steps to Reclaiming Your Power After Undeath.’ No Vampire for Dummies, I checked.

After working for a few more hours, I log out of the system at two in the morning and stretch. I settle on the sofa, laptop balanced on my knees, and stare down the hallway towards the front door. Baylor snores at my feet, content and oblivious.

I need to move about. The thought has been looping in my head all night.

I need to move. I am going stir-crazy.

During the day I still do delivery runs, but at night, I am trapped, and where I once found comfort in the house’s safety, the darkness now calls to me. I want to test my vampire abilities. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, it seems the perfect opportunity… but should I?

I know going outside at night is stupid. Dangerous. But the blood I consumed sings in my veins, and the feeling is making me itchy and anxious.

I have got to move.

I spring up, grab a coat and shove on my trainers. “I’m going to stretch my legs.” Then I slip outside and hurry down the garden path.

It’s not safe, House murmurs behind me.

I ignore her.

I stand at the gate, hands on hips, scanning the silent road. Far off, traffic hums at the border. Otherwise, nothing. Stillness.

I walk this road with Baylor in daylight all the time, yet the darkness transforms it. The night feels alive. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been outside in the dark. The newness is intoxicating.

I roll my shoulders and start to jog. I’ve never been much for exercise, just enough to keep myself strong. I haven’t gone for a proper run since school PE. But tonight feels different. Tonight, I feel strong.

Though I no longer need to breathe, I fall into the rhythm out of habit. My muscles don’t burn or tire; they are powered by magic, not oxygen. Where once I would have been puffing after a minute, now the motion is effortless.

For an experiment, I hold my breath. My feet strike the road, steady and fast. I’m not even winded. My stride stays smooth, my lungs untroubled, but I inhale anyway—no point testing how long a human brain endures without oxygen.

I loop back towards the house, then halt, drawn by the scrubland beyond. In the distance, the Vampire Sector glows: buildings, towers, windows shining. When I was human, those lights were invisible. Now my night vision is crisp, as though binoculars are strapped to my face.

I glance at House, so close, then make a reckless choice.

Instead of going inside, I veer into the grass.

Cross-country. The ground is rocky, tufted with spiky weeds.

Normally I would fear twisting an ankle, but tonight I am agile, my feet barely touching the ground.

Wind whips my hair. It is exhilarating. This is?—

This is fun .

I’m still grinning when I realise how far I have run. I have crossed the boundary, right to the very edge of the Vampire Sector.

A shout cracks the air. Guards. They must have seen me running.

Shit.