Page 27 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The suite is beautiful, clearly designed for human guests. Floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass door overlook a walled courtyard paved with broad slabs and dotted with oversized planters. If I can beg some mulch from the gardener, I could create a discreet loo for Baylor.

Alongside a tiny kitchen that boasts a fully stocked fridge, there’s a dining table with four chairs, and a bedroom with a king-size mattress that felt like a cloud when I tested it.

Valdarr has even arranged a wardrobe of designer clothes, each piece tailored to fit as though made for me.

In one corner, a book-nook cradles a deep-seated chair and footstool.

I select a book with a worn leather binding and settle into the chair. I dare not risk my phone in case scrolling triggers another vision, especially when I’m in no position to help anyone. If it happens, I need someone beside me to stop me doing something dangerous or simply stupid.

I miss House. I miss my home.

As dawn breaks, my heart gives its first sleepy thud.

Baylor, however, still refuses to use the courtyard—the flagstones clearly fail his Husky standards—so he resorts to the frantic I-need-a-pee shuffle, whining for emphasis.

Reluctantly, I clip on his lead. I’m supposed to stay indoors during daylight, but his needs must take precedence. Breaking rule number nine.

I’m coming with you, Beryl announces.

“All right.” I slide her into a back pocket. “Can you see from there?”

I don’t have eyes, she grumbles. I sense things.

We sneak through silent corridors—Baylor knows the way—and reach the front door, where two guards stand post.

Oh. No.

Why didn’t I think of this? Of course there would be daytime security, not just the ward. Now I’ve broken the promise I made at the wedding. Valdarr asked me to keep my daytime humanity secret, and by flouncing out the front door I’ve ruined everything.

Perhaps they will think I’m a blood donor or a thrall?

“Ms Crowsdale,” one says, nodding. I grimace. “I’m Lee, and this is Oscar. We’re part of the day team. I understand you know the rules, but?—”

“I do,” I interrupt. “Baylor needs the loo. Promise we will be quick.”

Lee smiles at Baylor’s increasingly frantic dancing. “ Today should be fine. I’ll clear it with the Heir tonight. I’m sure he’ll allow you anything.”

Odd remark. I thank him and slip outside. Once clear of the guards, I unclip Baylor. He sniffs everything, circling me a dozen times before disappearing entirely.

“Baylor!”

Ten frantic minutes later I find him head-first in a burrow, soil flying.

“What would you do if you caught a rabbit?” I mutter, clipping his lead. “Naughty boy.”

We wander further, marvelling at the sheer size of the estate, until a couple of figures lurking ahead stop me cold. Wrong clothes—matte black swirled with grey , black-and-grey tactical gear , exactly like the vampire assassins from the night before.

Not Valdarr’s people.

Human assassins.

Beryl snaps out of my pocket. We have a problem.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I whisper, backing away as Baylor growls.

I hurry away.

Where are you going ? she demands. You are a member of this clan. Stop them!

I glance behind me, and Beryl hovers like an impatient wasp.

“Me?” I whisper back, pointing at my chest. “What do you think I can do? Security is here for that. We can warn them, walk to the gate and use the radio?—”

If those humans are here, then the security people at the gate are already dead. I will take the heavy lifting; you just stay with me. I’m not leaving you on your own. You will get into trouble , she mutters.

“I thought you were a vampire hunter. Why would you protect vampires from humans?”

I hunt the bad ones. Those men work for even worse vampires. Attacking during the day isn’t a fair fight. It is wrong. And what if they kill your vampire, strike when he can’t defend himself? How tragic would that be?

A protective spark flares hot in my chest. They will not hurt my vampire. My stomach churns. I’m no fighter, yet Beryl seems confident enough for both of us.

Baylor pads silently at my side, shoulder brushing my leg, tense and alert.

We creep along a hedgerow. I try to tread lightly, but every step crackles. Even Baylor seems to side-eye me. The louder I try not to be, the more I sound like a baby elephant.

“Not helpful,” I hiss when another twig snaps.

We round a corner and spot the same two men.

Beryl slaps into my palm. There are cameras. I’m sorry about this, kid. Follow my lead.

Before I can ask what she means—or even protest—she yanks my arm, and I stumble forward. “What?” Heat lances down my spine. My fingers go numb. Something ancient slips in behind my eyes and clicks into place. The strength that floods me is not my own.

Oh no. No, no, no. I did not sign up for this?—

Baylor freezes in the bushes with a soft whine; only his eyes track us warily. Bloody hell, is she controlling my dog, too ?

The two human assassins—hardened killers, armed to the teeth—advance. One hefts a serrated black knife.

Beryl does not care.

She’s doing this because of the estate’s CCTV, desperate to keep her secret, and the assassins’ body-cams leave no room for subtlety.

Every movement is sure and brutal. My body flips, reacting before I can think.

I feel possessed. With my body moving like a marionette, I surge forward as she taps my dormant vampire magic. Every movement is sure and brutal.

Strike, pivot, drive. I feel the wood punch armour, hear ribs crack, taste copper spray. I try to resist, to yank the control back, but fighting her while she fights them will get me killed. With sheer horror ringing in my mind, I let go and ride it out.

Her magic is brutal. They never stand a chance.

When it is over, I’m shaking, sticky with blood. She does not release me, instead, she yanks us toward the next pair… and the next.

My mind screams; my body obeys.

I cling to a mental corner and count breaths.

At last I pin the final intruder. Beryl, lodged beneath his chin, bites into his neck.

“Who sent you?” she demands through my mouth.

“Clan Nocturna,” he rasps. “The clan and the Grand Master are coming for you. Your lover can’t save you. He can’t protect you.”

He mutters some random words; a tattoo on his collarbone flares. His mouth contorts, and then he starts to choke.

A suicide spell, Beryl murmurs, finally letting me go.

I roll away and, still on the ground, scramble backwards on my bottom, watching as he disintegrates into ash.

“Horrible,” I breathe.

They ensure no one can be captured, Beryl replies.

“That’s not the only horrible thing, Beryl. What were you thinking? Why did you do that? Override me?” My voice cracks; I’m trembling.

People had died, and no matter their allegiance, the weight of it presses on me. I have killed, whether Beryl guided my hand or not. To keep her secret, she used me without asking. I’m complicit.

“Have you ever been used without your consent? I promised to keep your secret, but using me like that… that was wrong, Beryl.”

Tears blur my vision; nausea churns. My fingers tug at the grass, restless and sore, and my palm throbs from gripping the wood too tightly.

“I thought we were friends.”

We are friends. But it was the only way to save your life. Now quit your moaning, get up, and dust yourself off. We need to clear the rest of the estate.

Shock settles in like ice.

Together we scour the grounds—Beryl sensing, steering; me stumbling—until she’s certain no assassins remain.

I move in a daze.

For the first time, I wonder if misery with Jay might have been safer than all this magic.