Page 26 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“My liege, there’s a lot to get through,” he says, eyes fixed on a tablet. The stylus hovers, ready. “Meeting with the shifters at?—”

“James,” Valdarr interrupts, “I’d like you to meet Winifred.”

Black eyes snap to mine.

“Hi, James,” I say, forcing a friendly smile.

He clips the stylus to the tablet, tucks the device under one arm, and offers his hand. “Ah, you’re the woman I’ve heard so much about. The newest member of our clan. A pleasure.”

“Pleased to meet you.” I barely graze his fingers before he pulls away.

Valdarr steps inside, missing the moment when James whips out a bottle of hand sanitiser and douses himself. He scrubs like I’ve infected him. Perhaps it’s germs—or dogs. I give him the benefit of the doubt.

Still rubbing his hands, James follows Valdarr. His voice drops just low enough for only my vampire ears. “You won’t be here long.” The look he throws over his shoulder drips contempt.

Ah, so not OCD. Pure dislike.

Fine. I respond with a pleasant, vapid smile, leaning into the dizzy-blonde persona people expect. I’ve lived under that stare before. I give him nothing to use against me. I won’t be broken or manipulated this time.

We enter a sleek, modern office: charcoal walls, low bookcases, a single steel desk with a matte surface and no clutter save for a slim laptop. A muted abstract painting hangs opposite the windows, and recessed lighting casts a soft glow.

Valdarr gestures to a chrome and leather chair opposite the desk. I dutifully sit, noting all the exits, while James remains standing, tablet poised.

Baylor sniffs, turns in a tight circle—about a hundred times—and finally flops down with a dramatic sigh, eyeing James’s skinny ankles like chew toys.

I’ve created a monster.

“Do you need anything?” James asks, all sugary charm. “O-negative? B-positive? Warm? Chilled? Dog treats? ”

“We are fine, thank you.”

“James, is Fred’s suite ready?” Valdarr asks.

“Yes, my liege.”

“Excellent. All right, Fred. Let’s go over the clan rules.”

Rules?

James clears his throat. “Clan Blóevakt: Primary Laws of Conduct. One. Loyalty to the Grand Master . Every member shall offer unwavering allegiance to the Grand Master and his appointed heirs. Defiance constitutes treason and will be punished accordingly.”

I nod slowly. Unwavering allegiance to the vampire who killed me. Don’t commit treason . Got it.

“Two. Obedience to the liege.” James flicks a glance at Valdarr. “That would be your host. His orders are binding. No exceptions.”

Valdarr looks bored; James looks smug like he lives for this shit.

“Three. Secrecy above all. Clan affairs must remain hidden from the other derivatives. Breaches, accidental or otherwise, carry… consequences.”

No need to spell them out.

“Four. Blood control and consent. Feeding must be consensual and discreet. No rogue turnings, no public spectacles, no draining humans.”

I keep my face blank.

“Five. Territorial respect. Do not cross into other clans’ lands without explicit permission.”

That sounds relevant. Note to self: no wandering. No knocking on Clan Nocturna’s door with a bleeding thrall. No wonder they were so mad.

“Six. No magic without authority. All magical artefacts, abilities, or anomalies must be registered with the Council. Unsanctioned use may result in exile.”

My stomach tightens. Beryl. And I’m a walking, talking anomaly. At this point, what I haven’t done seems more relevant. Perhaps I should have received a Do’s and Don’ts brochure the day he branded me. Unaware of these rules, I have been breaking them as though it were a sport.

“Seven. Conflict resolution. Duels require authorisation; grievances must be filed formally. Street fights and assassination attempts are frowned upon.” James glares.

Baylor gives a soft growl, which I mask with a cough.

“Eight. Allies and beasts . Human servants, thralls, pets, enchanted objects, all are the legal responsibility of their keeper. Misbehaviour will be punished accordingly.”

I nod at Baylor. “He’s very well behaved,” I say sweetly.

“Nine. Curfew and conduct. All members must remain within assigned quarters during daylight. Surveillance ensures safety and compliance.”

I glance at Valdarr; he avoids my eye.

“Ten. Final death protocol. Any member who breaks the law will be summoned to the Hall of Silence for trial. If found guilty, ritual execution follows. Formal blade, open and public ceremony.”

I nod. “Cheery.”

James snaps the tablet shut. “We are quite civilised when rules are followed.”

Valdarr leans forward, softening the mood. “It’s a lot, I know. But don’t worry. I’ll walk you through the important bits. Just don’t burn anything down and don’t kill anyone.”

“ Again, ” James mutters under his breath.

Baylor stands and stretches, positioning himself between James and me. He doesn’t growl this time, but he stares with unwavering focus. A silent warning.

I reach down and ruffle his ears, never breaking James’s gaze. “I’ll remember the rules.”

And I’m sure they will trip me up sooner or later.

Especially with James, after his oh-so-friendly welcome, watching for the smallest infraction to see my head lobbed off.

But panicking now won’t help. I nod, smile like a dutiful little vampire, and follow Valdarr down the hallway to my suite.

We pass striking pieces of modern art, abstract shapes in blood-red or void-black. Baylor’s claws click across polished parquet, then tap-tap on marble.

Valdarr stops before a heavy oak door. “This is you.”

He enters first, setting my bag on the dressing table. The suite could be in a luxury hotel with its polished mahogany, deep blue velvet upholstery, warm lamplight. I unclasp Baylor’s lead; he circles, sniffs, then flops beside me with a huff.

“I’ll let you settle in.” He smiles—almost shy—and leaves, closing the door behind him. The suite has a vault door, like the one in the townhouse. It must be a safety feature in all his properties.

Ah, young love, Beryl sings as she zips out of the bag. He likes you.

I scowl. “He does not, he only pities me.” Huge difference.