Page 22 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

At midnight a thunderstorm rolls in, and by one a.m., rain is bouncing off the pavement.

I sit in my car outside The Downbeat, waiting.

I know I’m early, but I’d rather be early than late.

Slipping out of the house required stealth.

Valdarr’s people may be watching, and I couldn’t risk being stopped.

In hindsight, perhaps I should have looked for them, asked for help, passed on a message.

Why didn’t I ask Valdarr for his number?

Even if I wanted to contact him, he’s already grappling with my daylight humanity; adding psychic visions of future accidents and murders is too much. Who would believe a baby vampire muttering about being a seer?

None of this makes sense. I need proof. I need to know—without a shadow of a doubt—that I’m right, undeniable proof. Before I try to convince the heir to the vampire world, I need to convince myself.

And besides, I don’t really know him. Yes, he was my hero today: he kept me safe, kissed my cheek. Almost charmed the pants off me. But that doesn’t mean I trust him. His father killed me.

He’s dangerous.

I’d be a fool to forget that.

I glance at the dashboard clock: thirty minutes to go.

I tug my collar wide and spray the scent-masking magic across my throat and shoulders. It smells as though ash and tomcat wee produced an unfortunate offspring in a compost heap. No wonder it renders me almost invisible—everyone’s simply trying to escape the stench.

Raincoat on, spell satchel slung across my body, I step into the downpour. I move quickly, purposefully, knees knocking. If I were still human my heart would be pounding, but now it is silent. Vampire calm, one small perk.

The air reeks of urine, cheap perfume, and the sour stench of alcohol. After I check the alley, I wedge myself between the brickwork and a recessed doorway. Perfect: narrow enough to hide, angled enough to see. Rain smears the alley into greys and shadows. I watch. Time ticks on…

And then it happens.

Right on cue, the fire door bangs open. The vision unfolds, step by step. The girl staggers out, heels wobbling. The vampire follows, smiling a mouthful of teeth.

I grip the blue glass vial in my palm.

Wait—wait until he is distracted, until he feeds.

He sinks his fangs into her neck.

Now .

Dirty water splashes my calves as I sprint forward. I hurl the spell, and it strikes his head—more luck than aim, but it works. The glass shatters and the magic detonates like a second thunderclap.

He turns, jerks towards me, lips slick, hissing. Yet the spell acts fast: his eyes roll back and he collapses.

The girl stares at him, mouth agape, breathing in shuddering bursts.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say, hands raised. “He was trying to drain you, and I had to stop it.”

She sways. Blood snakes down her neck, soaking her blouse.

I hold my breath, then realise vampires still need air to speak. “Here.” I press a packet of tissues into her hand. “Keep pressure on that.”

Too dazed to argue, she obeys.

“We need to get you home. Were you out with friends?” Rule number one: if you go out together, you go home together. I don’t mind playing taxi tonight.

She shakes her head. “Friends? No. I’ve just finished work.” She points numbly at the door, blinking against the rain.

“All right. Can you walk?”

She nods once, slow and unsteady.

“Okay, come on, let’s get you home.”

I lead the girl out of the alley and onto the street. Passing vampires lift their heads, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood. I glare back— Don’t even think about it —and bundle her into my car.

Inside, I crack a window to let the rain-washed air swirl through. Her blood lacks the chemical tang of bagged plasma, but it is hardly appealing. I drank extra before leaving the house, perhaps that is why hunger stays away.

She murmurs directions, voice thick and slurred, and fifteen minutes later we stop outside a tidy brick house—clipped hedges, warm porch light, picture-perfect vampire suburbia. I park and walk her to the door.

It opens before I can knock. A familiar face stares at us: the waitress from the vampire-themed restaurant, a member of Clan Nocturna.

“Crystal?” she gasps, catching the girl by the elbow. “Why are you home so late?”

“I caught a vampire feeding on her,” I explain. “She’s a little out of it.”

The waitress narrows her eyes. “Wait… do I know you? Weren’t you human?”

“Nope. You don’t know me. Never seen me. Just glad she’s safe. Bye.” I flash an over-bright smile and retreat as though I have a train to catch.

I reach the car and stretch for the handle?—

—only to be shoved from behind.

Pain detonates behind my eyes as my face smacks the side mirror. My skull rings; copper floods my mouth.

“You bit my thrall,” snarls a male voice, angry and frankly idiotic.

“I what ?” I gasp, ducking his next blow. More vampire speed than skill. “You absolute walnut. Smell her; I didn’t bite anyone.”

I duck again as he swings. “I dragged her away from a vampire behind The Downbeat, your clan’s nightclub. I drove her home, that’s all.” Of course, no good deed goes unpunished .

He isn’t listening. He lunges; I dodge, his hand snatching at me.

The spell bag slung across my body thumps my hip. With another burst of speed that surprises even me, I grab a vial, hurl it, and it smashes against his chest.

He stares at the spreading wet patch on his shirt, baffled.

“That’s how I dealt with the vampire—the one who actually bit Crystal.”

He sways, then drops to his knees.

“You are welcome,” I add as he face-plants onto the tarmac. “Huh, I’m a badarse.”

The stake slaps into my palm.

What the heck…

Reinforcements inbound, kid. Ditch the car and run.

The voice is not House’s; it’s sharp, female, unfamiliar, and coming from the stake.

One downed vampire becomes four more, gliding from porches and rooflines. They circle, fangs bared.

“You killed Ian,” one of them snarls.

I can see why they would think that, what with him not breathing and all. But the vampire is asleep.

“Beryl?” I whisper.

Yes. Welcome to the party. Now move your undead arse!

I run. Rain lashes my face; my coat snaps behind me. The street blurs.

This is bad, very bad. I am running from vampires. Again. The border police caught me quickly last time, but perhaps—just perhaps—I can outrun this lot.

A spell slams between my shoulder blades, pitching me into a bin. Glass bottles clatter and smash; the plastic shell bounces across the pavement. My legs turn heavy, useless.

Not again.

I’m a pathetic excuse for a vampire.

The man who accused me of killing Ian steps towards me. He smiles—all teeth and promises of pain.

Yeah, it’s not a nice smile.

A door swings open to my left. A woman steps out, with dark hair and eyes of liquid silver that glow in the gloom.

Beast shine.

She’s a shapeshifter.

A cricket bat dangles loosely from her hand; she twirls it like a sabre.

“What’s going on here?” Her tone is flat, unimpressed.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” my accuser replies. “It’s a vampire matter. Go back inside.”

The shifter huffs, raising the bat. Her silver gaze narrows. “What I see,” she says, pointing the bat at him, “is five male blood derivatives circling one woman.”

“Five?” I mumble.

She flicks the bat upward. I follow the gesture and spot a vampire perched on the roof above me. If she hadn’t appeared, he’d have pounced.

“Go back inside,” the vampire repeats.

She bares her teeth in something that isn’t quite a smile.

“Those aren’t the words,” she murmurs. “‘Go back inside, Alpha’s mate’— that’s what you’re looking for.

” Mockery drips from every syllable as she settles into a batting stance.

“Nope. Don’t think I will. I rather fancy using your heads as cricket balls. ”

I gulp. “Thank you, but you can’t take on all these vampires for me. No one else needs to be hurt.”

She ignores me. The vampires do something odd: they retreat from her.

What am I missing?

It’s not just the bat, Beryl murmurs. She moves like a fighter, and look, she has company.

I sense them, the heavy, predatory aura of shifters sliding from the shadows, dozens strong, watching and waiting.

Oh.

That would do it.

The vampire thug meets my eyes. “We’ll see you soon, baby rogue.” Then the lot of them melt into the night.

My knees give way and I flop onto the pavement—straight into a puddle. I don’t care.

“What are you doing?” A deep male voice booms from the doorway. Bright light spills out, masking his features. “Where did you get that cricket bat? Tell me you didn’t. Lark, that was in the glass case. It’s signed !”

Lark’s silver eyes widen. She mouths oops , tucks the bat beneath one arm, and crouches beside me.

“That hex is nasty. Want help stripping it?”

A shifter removing a spell? Suspicion coils, but my instincts say trust her. I nod.

Lark extends her hand, fingers waggling. Something tugs inside me, behind my shoulder blades, as though a layer of skin peels away. It doesn’t hurt, just unsettling, like peeling off a face mask in one smooth pull.

Moments later the weight vanishes and feeling floods back into my legs.

“Thank you,” I croak.

“Glad to help.” Lark rocks back on her heels, studying me. “Are you all right? Need anything?”

“I’m fine. Just a misunderstanding.”

Her gaze drops to Beryl.

Panic flickers. I tighten my grip on the stake and scramble upright on shaky legs. I don’t wait.

I run.

“Let her go,” Lark says softly behind me.

I don’t look back. Guilt churns, but I push it aside. Too many shifters. Too many unknowns.

What am I going to do now? I have never been in trouble before, and now I’m stuck in the Vampire Sector. I just want to go home. I can’t cross the scrubland because of the magic, and the border guards would spot me in seconds, and I cannot go through the checkpoint without my car.

I’m trapped.

I need my car. I can’t believe this is happening.

“Thank you for helping me.” I slow to a fast walk and slide the stake into my coat pocket.

I did it for House; she would have been upset if you had died.

“Whatever the reason, thank you. When daylight comes,” I mutter, “I will have to go back for my car, if they haven’t chopped it into pieces. Have you any idea what I should do, Beryl?”

Oh, now you ask me? she snaps, all snippy indignation. I thought if I spoke while I was in your pocket, you would set me on fire.

I groan. “Did I say that? I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Beryl, but I need your help. Running from shifters and vampires is all new to me; a few months ago, I was an ordinary human.” I straighten instinctively while she grumbles—like a very cross grandmother—about rude people.

I hurry back to the nightclub alley, back to that same stupid doorway.

It’s the only place I think of that’s quiet.

I sit on the damp threshold, coat wrapped tight, and spray the stinky magic again in case any vampires or shifters come searching.

Pressed into the shadows, I close my eyes and try to relax.

Daylight takes forever.

At last the sky brightens. My heart begins to beat; my legs feel heavy as I leave my doorway and walk the now empty streets. I’m wet, cold, and miserable by the time I reach the car—but there it is, untouched.

“Beryl, can you check whether the car’s been tampered with?”

No. What do you think I am? A crime-scene investigator? I don’t do magic scans. I’m not House. I stab and kill; that’s the gig. She sniffs loudly, sulkily.

“Oh. Right. Thanks anyway.”

I climb in, peel off the soaked coat and pull on a warmer top, not caring if anyone sees my sports bra.

The traffic at the border is heavier than usual. Vehicles inch through the pre-approved lane ahead, just enough of a pause for my gaze to drift to the noticeboard beside the booth.

I freeze.

My photograph.

A photo of me taken from outside Crystal’s house.

My mouth goes dry; my hands tremble. “Oh no. Oh no, no, no. This is bad—really bad. Clan Nocturna reported me. Beryl, I’m on a wanted poster.”

Congratulations. How exciting.

“It’s not exciting. It’s lethal! What do I do, what do I do?

It’s not just border posters. I will have made the news as they publicly issue all the kill-on-sight warrants.

” I slap a hand over my mouth. “Theresa and Jay will see that. They will tell the vampires who I am.” My voice breaks as I mutter through my fingers.

“I’m doomed. So doomed. All that effort at the wedding to convince people I wasn’t a thief.

I think people finally believed I was decent.

Now I will never get my life back. How the heck am I going to pay rent? ”

It’s dreadful, Beryl agrees.

“Who am I kidding? Rent? I can’t pay rent if I’m dead.

I will never get past the border. The guards will drag me from the car and kill me.

” Panic slams into me, and I’m about to do something stupid, like jump out of the car, when Beryl zaps me.

Pain shoots up my arm like an electric shock, and I yelp.

Calm down, she says flatly. Stay relaxed.

The lane light turns green.

They are looking for a vampire, not a human delivery driver. They have not identified me yet, otherwise my delivery clearance would be cancelled.

All right, drive. Nice and steady. Beryl continues to coach me, half calm, half sarcastic. I breathe, keep exactly to the speed limit and make no sudden moves.

At last, our driveway.

The garage door rises, and I roll the car inside, safely out of sight from the street. When it thuds shut, I stay behind the wheel, clutching Beryl, then burst into tears.

House’s magic scoops me from the garage and tucks my weeping self into bed. I hardly use it for anything but lying down these days.

“I’m rubbish,” I mumble into Baylor’s soft fur as he snuggles into me. “No hero. Everything I touch just… just unravels.”

Did you save the girl?

“Yes, yes, I did. But then I needed saving. I’m nothing like Lark.”

Lark? You met Lark? Dark hair, silver eyes?

I nod. “Yes. She’s a shifter and really nice.”

I hear the smile in House’s voice. I’m glad she helped. Did she seem all right? Healthy, happy?

I lift my head. “You know her?”

Yes, she is my friend.

“She saved me, told the vampires she’s the Alpha’s mate. A bloke in the doorway—could not see his face and did not catch his name—was giving her grief about using a signed cricket bat. He sounded more amused than angry. She was so confident; all the shifters took her lead.”

Wonderful. I’m so happy she saved you. Good news at last. Her story is for another day, though. Sleep.

“I don’t sleep,” I mumble.

Yet with House stroking my hair as though I were a child, I sleep—no dreams, just a head-first plunge into exhaustion.