Page 14 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Fourteen

I gape at him as he towers over me. His body heat rolls across my skin, and a clean scent—musk, metal, and something darker, which my vampire senses now recognise as power—fills my lungs.

“You were human, and now you’re not. So I’ll ask again. Who did this to you?”

I can’t believe he remembers who I am; his earlier blank expression fooled me completely.

His rage over my turning is palpable.

Yellow-door vampire releases my chin, grasps the back of the chair, and effortlessly spins it so that my shoulders thump against the table. Bracing his hands on either side of me, he leans in, caging me.

Oh my God. If my heart were beating, it would be racing.

Standing beside him, I feel tiny; nearly a foot and a half separates us. Seated, I might as well be curled on the floor.

“The spell gives us privacy,” he says, his voice low yet vibrating with fury. “Winifred Crowsdale, answer my question. Who. Did. This. To. You?”

What the heck? “How do you know my name?”

I suppose that’s the least of my problems. I’m trapped in a sealed room with an angry vampire. I won’t mention my daylight escapades, but I can at least tell him how I was bitten. I lick my lips and—like a starving man—he tracks the motion.

His eyes darken to storm-grey. “Please answer my question.”

“A man ordered a takeaway to your house,” I rasp.

“When?”

“The day after you gave me your hoodie.”

“That’s impossible.”

“ Impossible? ” Bitter heat rises in my voice. He did not just call me a liar.

“I’m not calling you a liar,” he says, his eyes narrowing as though he can read my thoughts, “but no one should have been at that house.”

“He answered the door in broad daylight. Like you , he was awake during the day.”

A warning voice in my head whispers: don’t say too much. This is dangerous ground, angry vampire, heavy magic, locked door—provoking him is a very bad idea.

“I’m telling you the truth. It was Sunday, the day after you lent me the hoodie.

Someone placed a delivery at your address.

I assumed it was you. I collected the food, returned your hoodie, and one of your friends decided I would make a good snack.

He dragged me inside by my hair and tore out my throat.

Shock and blood loss made me pass out or die, I’m not sure which. ” I awkwardly shrug.

“I woke up like this, in your body bin.” My voice cracks. “You really are a bunch of sick bastards with no self-control. I’m surprised the human government hasn’t wiped you out.”

His expression darkens; a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Wipe us out? Are you forgetting you are a vampire?”

“Indeed. Your pal murdered me. Thanks for that.”

“We’re getting off track,” he says tightly. “What did he look like?”

I describe everything I remember: his chalk-pale skin, crimson mouth, dark grey eyes, the way he caught sunlight and burned. His clothes, his stance, the tone of his voice and what happened next.

As I speak, a muscle jumps in his cheek. He knows something.

“How did you turn?”

“I have no idea.”

He moves away from me and paces, rubbing the back of his neck. I use the lull to draw a deep breath.

“You are still so new,” he says, glancing at me. “Still breathing. You have been an unregistered vampire with no clan for more than a month. How many bodies?”

“Bodies?” I echo, incredulous. “As in people? None. Do you think I’m out here murdering humans? I’m nothing like you or your friends.” We lock eyes. I’m doing a dreadful job of reining in my temper. This isn’t like me—I’m usually the one people walk over, not the one who fights back.

This beautiful man makes me feisty.

“It’s less than an hour to dawn. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

“I just want to pretend today never happened and go home.”

“Where’s home?”

“That is none of your business. I don’t know you.”

“I’m the only help you have got.”

I grimace, ashamed of how I’m reacting. It’s not his fault I was turned. I soften my tone. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just… frightened. It’s been a lot.”

A knock interrupts. He opens the door a crack, speaks to someone, then closes it again, something small in his hand.

“Winifred, vampires aren’t clanless. To survive, you must belong. There’s no hiding and no running. You have managed so far, but time’s up. Let me help. Let me take over now.”

“Take over how?”

His phone rings. His shoulders tense, yet he ignores the call.

The weight of his undivided attention is on me. It’s disconcerting—like I am standing in the presence of a god.

“I wish I could give you more time, but you have run out.” He steps forward and looms over me. “Please forgive me. I won’t let anything happen to you, and I will not let you fall into another clan’s hands.”

He blurs into motion. Gripping my left wrist, he flips it over and presses a small object against my skin.

A squeak escapes as burning pain shoots up my arm.

“Ow!”

Magic colours shimmer as a sigil sears crimson into my flesh. A bird… a crow or a raven sits on a shield, blood dripping from its beak.

He pricks his thumb on a fang, dark blood welling, and smears it over the mark. “You are now a member of my clan,” he says, calm and cold.

Ew, that’s nice and hygienic, bloody vampires.

“It hurts.”

“I know. It’s for your protection.”

I cradle my burning arm to my chest. “My protection? What about my consent?”

“There wasn’t time.” He extends a hand. “Come, I’ve arranged a safe house for you.”

I’m so angry, my fangs are pricking my lip, but my intuition is screaming at me to go with him. For now. Numbly and feeling completely overwhelmed, I put my hand in his.

Power flows from his touch, flooding my fingers—my whole body.

What on earth is that? It didn’t happen when the guards manhandled my wrist. It must be a vampire thing; he’s that powerful. I try to pull my hand free, but his grip only tightens. He draws me through the station to the underground car park, where a blackened car waits.

“You are not taking me back to that house, are you?” Meaning the house where I died.

“No.” That heat from his hand settles on my lower back. “Get in.”

“Promise me.”

His body goes rigid as he stares down at me. “On my honour. Now can we please go?”

I do as I’m told and slide over the leather seat. Panic nips at me as we pull away. “What’s your clan called? What is your name?”

He raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“No. I’m not part of your world. I’ve been calling you ‘yellow-door guy’ in my head.”

He gives a short laugh. “Clan Blóevakt,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue. “My name is Valdarr. Valdarr Blóevakt, Raven of the North.”

Valdarr. The name is vaguely familiar, but I shake my head; I’m hardly fluent in vampire politics.

“Nothing? The Grand Master of the Vampires—does that mean anything?”

I swallow. “ You are the Grand Master?”

“No,” he says softly. “That would be the vampire who turned you. My father. I’m the heir.”

“ Heir ? Heir to the Grand Master? So… the vampire who killed me is the Grand Master? Your father?”

He winces. “Yes.”

This just keeps getting better and better. Why couldn’t it have been some low-level vampire? Oh no, that would be far too easy.

“So are we, like… brother and sister now? Does this make us siblings?”

He looks as horrified as I feel. “No . We are not like brother and sister. Turning isn’t… familial. You are simply a member of my clan.”

“Your father’s clan.”

“No. Mine . I’m the master of my own clan. You wear my mark, and you will keep far away from my father. If the Grand Master learns about you, that you survived, he will kill you. ”

“He already tried. It didn’t stick.”

“Next time it will.”

A silence stretches as we weave through the city.

“We will need to discuss what happened, how you survived. Have you ever given blood to a vampire, or taken vampire blood?”

“Not that I remember. Unless someone used that nasty mind trick on me. According to my recollection, I’ve neither given nor taken vampire blood.”

I say nothing about House or her magic. Or what I am in the daylight.

That is mine to protect, my sanctuary, my friend.

Safeguarding House means safeguarding Baylor too, and I will never let anything happen to them.

I promised. They both need me, and this overbearing vampire won’t turn me into a liar, nor let me break my word to my family.

We reach the safe house.

The townhouse occupies a quiet street. Three storeys rise above a short flight of stone steps that lead to a glossy black front door fitted with a lion-headed brass knocker. Tall ground-floor windows, framed in white-painted wood, sit on sills dressed with window boxes overflowing with greenery.

Polished parquet floors glow honey-gold.

The walls are wallpapered in silk, a hue of rich colours, like something from a luxury-design show.

Every surface gleams; every piece of furniture is elegant, heavy, expensive.

It’s how I imagine a billionaire might live—if that billionaire were also a vampire.

Valdarr watches me take it all in. He doesn’t rush.

He seems to be waiting, perhaps for me to keel over and die for the day right in the middle of the floor.

Then again, I’ve seen him awake during the day.

I wonder whether his condition, like mine, springs from wizard magic, or something else, something older.

In the centre of the room, inlaid into the floor, lies a sigil: the original Clan Blóevakt crest, I assume.

It’s more elaborate than the mark on my wrist. A silver bird perches on a Viking shield, bright red blood dripping from its beak.

A ring of runes and carved words encircles it: Blóevakt – AEre fremfor alt .

“The bird,” I ask, “is it a raven or a crow?” I really should know, considering it’s etched into my skin.

“A raven.”

Right, he mentioned in the car that he is the Raven of the North.

“The writing is Elder Futhark,” he continues, a hint of weariness ghosting his voice, “the oldest runic alphabet. Blóevakt – AEre fremfor alt translates to Blood Watch – Honour Above All . But it’s more than a motto; it’s a soul-oath.

” He points to each rune in turn. “ Ansuz —divine truth. Ehwaz —loyalty. Othala —ancestral duty. Tiwaz —sacred sacrifice.”

“Oh.” That’s… a lot. I’ll never remember it, let alone pronounce it.

He reaches for my hand again. “Dawn is close; I want you to feel safe while you sleep. Come.” When our skin meets, power zips between us once more.

He leads me, not to a crypt, not to a basement, but upstairs.

“You will be perfectly secure. A ward strong enough to keep out enemies and the sun.”

The room is beautiful. No windows, yet not claustrophobic. Warm lights, soft grey walls and creamy bedding, and the air smells faintly of cedar and old paper. A reading nook is tucked into the far corner. For something so secure, it feels comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I have nothing for you to change into, but I’ll make sure you have fresh clothes when you rise.”

“It’s all right.” I try for casual. “I will be daytime dead in a few minutes.”

He frowns.

Perhaps that’s not the politically correct phrasing. I don’t care. He practically kidnapped me.

“I’ll see you at sunset.” He moves to the door.

“Valdarr?” My voice is soft, almost sad; I will miss him when I escape. “I didn’t like you stamping me with your clan mark, but I do appreciate your help. Thank you for rescuing me.”

“Rest well, Winifred.” He nods once, then steps back and shuts the door.

The lock engages with a deep metallic clunk. Bars slide into place top and bottom, turning the bedroom into a vault.

Safe or a cage. I’m not sure which.

I sit on the bed and scan the ceiling and walls—no cameras, no blinking lights. I don’t have my phone, so I can’t download an app to run a sweep for hidden tech. But I can’t imagine Valdarr spying on me.

I wait.

The moment the sun rises, my heart stutters—a single, pathetic beat—then nothing .

I suck in a gasp, eyes fluttering shut. It doesn’t hurt; it’s merely strange. I roll my shoulders, then whump . The sleeping organ kicks in thudding sluggishly, then settles into something steady. Breath floods in and warmth chases through my limbs.

I wait for what feels like another thirty minutes. I listen. Silence.

Is Valdarr still awake like me, or does he sleep? Die for the day?

I creep from the bed, unlatching the reinforced door as quietly as possible and then tiptoe along the corridor, down the stairs.

The front door is locked tight, but in the main living room, a large bay window slides open soundlessly.

My heart pounds as I slip through. No alarms flare; the ward built to keep threats out and let occupants go doesn’t fight me. After wrestling past the window boxes and their spiky greenery, I land gracelessly outside, my feet finally finding purchase on solid ground.

I run.

Except I’m human now, and running as a human?

Nought out of ten, would not recommend.

I huff, puff, and stumble. Within three minutes I’m wheezing and clutching a lamppost, desperate not to vomit. My legs are jelly; my face, beet-red. Eventually I recover and start walking. It’s roughly six miles the long way round to avoid main roads and border cams.

Two hours later I’m home.

Baylor is delighted to see me.

House is not happy. Where have you been? she yells.

The gate swings open. Hot and sweaty, I shuffle through. I take a single step toward the front door before it swings back and smacks me on the bum.

“Did you just… spank me?” I scowl, rubbing the spot.

She magics up a glass of water before I have even shut the door. I chug it; she replaces it with another. I drop onto the sofa, knee bouncing, and pour out the whole story.

She groans, swears, and scolds me six ways from Sunday, then asks what my Clan Master looked like in that suit.

I roll my eyes, smile and describe him in vivid detail.

We agree: no more nights out as a vampire. They’d find me. But no one is looking for the human delivery driver. Even if Valdarr knows my name, I should still be in the clear.