Page 28 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I sink onto the front steps, soaked in blood. I don’t dare go inside. I will track gore everywhere, and I don’t want to leave in case we have missed someone. I know they were the bad people, but…

I can’t stop trembling.

Time passes. The blood dries on my skin and flakes away. Shock pins me to the step. Near midday, Beryl clamps to my palm and goes still.

The front door opens.

“Fred?” Valdarr says gently.

I lift my eyes. He stands just inside the threshold, careful to stay away from the light. He isn’t wearing his protective ring.

“Hey,” I croak.

“Are you all right?”

No. “I broke Rule Nine, curfew and conduct, and probably Rule Seven, conflict resolution. Baylor hates the courtyard stones; he needed the toilet. We went out; Lee cleared it. We stumbled on intruders. They overwhelmed your day security.” I point—hand shaking—at the fallen forms beyond the hedges.

“Lee and—” I flap my hands helplessly. “Oh gosh. I can’t remember his name. ”

“Oscar,” Valdarr supplies quietly.

“Oscar. They are gone. All of them. I checked. They fought hard, took some attackers with them, but in the end…” I swallow. “They wore the same gear as the clan hit squad from the other night. You must recognise it.”

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I stare into the garden. “What if they come back?”

“They won’t. When the time check was missed, extra security was dispatched. A full squadron is on the grounds now; they will take care of the fallen. Come inside.”

“But I’m so dirty,” I whisper.

“Come on.” He adds the magic words: “Baylor looks hungry and thirsty. Come on, sunshine.”

I rise, walking up the steps on leaden legs. My bones ache. He takes my hand, pulls me into his arms, and gives me the biggest hug.

“You are safe now.”

“I was so frightened that they would hurt you.” I cling to him. “At least I didn’t burn anything down. I’m so sorry I broke all your rules.”

He lifts me and carries me through the house into my suite.

“The windows!” I gasp.

“All the glass is safe within my properties; the sun can’t hurt me.” He sets me on the bathroom mat, grabs a towel, and turns on the shower. “Get clean. I’ll leave clothes outside the door and feed Baylor. It’s the stuff from your bag, right?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“No bother.” Valdarr kisses me on the top of the head and closes the door.

Under the hot water, I sob until the water runs clear and my fingers prune.

Squeaky-clean and dressed, I emerge to find he’s made pancakes, cut fresh strawberries, and on the table is syrup. He nudges a glass of orange juice towards me.

“I presume you eat during the day?”

“Yes, thanks,” I say, though I’m not sure I can eat—I simply don’t want to be rude.

For him this is an ordinary day: fighting for his life, killing assassins—just another routine.

None of it feels real. I sit, pick up a fork, and my hand trembles.

“But nothing within four hours of sunset—otherwise I feel a bit sick when I… die for the night. Did you make these yourself?”

“Of course. Is this all right? I can make you something else.”

I just stare at the plate.

“What? Did you think a vampire couldn’t cook? I have human friends,” he says, leaning against the counter, arms and ankles crossed, studying me.

“No, of course not. I’d never question your culinary skills.” I take a small bite. The pancake is perfectly fluffy, but it clings to the roof of my mouth. “This is lovely. Thank you,” I rasp. The pancake is now stuck at the back of my throat. I take a big gulp of orange juice .

“I reviewed the security footage while you showered.”

Talk about multitasking.

Worried I will break the glass, I set it down carefully and try a little bit of fruit.

“Nothing I say can truly express how much I regret what happened today. Not having adequate daytime security put you at risk, but you dealt with the problem and saved my life.”

The piece of strawberry lodges in my throat as fear clamps around it.

I cough and lay my fork aside. “Your room must have one of those vault doors. I bet you were perfectly safe.” My leg bounces; my knee knocks the underside of the table, and the plates jump.

The orange juice splashes. “They wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for me. The fighting… I did nothing. It was?—”

The orange juice spreads like blood.

I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I can’t lie. I cannot pretend I’m all right. I’m not.” I stand, searching for a cloth. “I need to wipe the table.”

Valdarr is suddenly there, standing in front of me.

“I’m so sorry, Fred. You are in shock. I didn’t think… I’ve been a vampire so long I forget what it’s like to be human and vulnerable.”

“They all died,” I hiccup, the words splintering out of me. “Not just your people, but the assassins. They all died, and there was blood, and Ber—” I choke on her name.

My instincts kick in, and I realise I must betray Beryl.

Valdarr must know I carry a sentient stake powerful enough to override my will. I don’t want any secrets between us. I am already pushing my luck with the rule- breaking and the trouble I have brought to his home, and I need to start being honest.

It is not my secret to give, but, noble intentions aside, Beryl frightens me. I cannot deal with her on my own.

“It was Beryl,” I say softly. “Beryl is… the stake—she’s sentient. She used me, took over. It wasn’t really me doing all that killing. I don’t know how to fight. I’m not… I’m not a murderer. I help people; I don’t kill them.”

Sobs rip through me; my chest burns as though scalded.

Valdarr sits, lifts me effortlessly into his lap and rocks me gently. His fingers comb through my wet hair, soothing.

“Today I missed my old life. Even the boring parts, the safety I once took for granted. I left because Jay was horrible, but look what’s happened since. Everything I touch goes wrong!” The words tumble out in a wail I can’t swallow. “You must think I’m the worst person alive.” The worst friend.

“You are incredible,” he whispers into my hair. “You have done nothing wrong. You are safe. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” I sob, tears and snot soaking his shirt.

Then I really throw Beryl more under the bus.

“It was Beryl’s idea. I meant to run, but she said they would strike while you were vulnerable.

Then she jumped into my hand and took over.

I tried to fight her, but… I thought it was safer to let her do her thing.

I messed up. She did it for the right reasons.

I know that sounds bad, yet she’s a good person.

She only possessed me to keep everyone safe, and because of the cameras.

Still, when I close my eyes, I see their faces… ”

All I see is blood .

“I can help,” he murmurs. “Something to ease the trauma. Do you understand compulsion?”

I nod against his chest. “I understand the concept.”

“Good,” he says, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m an elder—ancient—so I can use a delicate form of compulsion.

I won’t erase the memories; that ends badly.

But I can cushion them, make them feel old.

Instead of reliving them from hours ago, they will feel years distant.

You will still feel sorrow and anger, but the sharpness will fade. Will you let me?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”

“Okay, sunshine.”

He wipes my face with the hem of his shirt. I sniff and laugh weakly. “I’m making such a mess of you.”

“What’s a bit of snot between clan mates?” he teases with a soft smile. “Ready?”

“Yes. Please.”

He lifts my chin. “Look into my eyes.” His power flows over me—warm, safe—like sinking into sun-lit water. “Tell me what happened today, from the start.”

I do: talking to Lee, the rabbit, Beryl taking over, the stabbing, the tattooed assassin and his suicide spell. Every detail. As I speak, the memories soften—still vivid, but no longer raw. The edges blur, leaving only a distant ache.

When the compulsion lifts, I’m staring into his violet eyes.

“I hope I never have to ask you to do that again,” I say, throat raw, eyes burning. I must look a mess. I have never been a pretty crier, but Valdarr gazes at me as though I’m precious. Nobody’s ever looked at me like that before. It’s an unsettling but lovely feeling .

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “I hope I never have to, either. But you will be okay. I know you will.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now, where’s your Beryl?” he asks.

I don’t want to leave his arms—I could stay there forever—but I slip from his hold and fetch her from the bathroom.

She lies inert in my hands, and I am worried.

The moment Valdarr opened the front door, she shut down, and her wood is now unnervingly cool.

I may still be angry, still hurt, yet I will not let him touch her.

Instead, while I outline her history—Victorian slayer, soul-bound stake, the armoury, recent escapades—I settle her on a cushion in the sun so she is comfortable.

A hardwood stake hardly needs comfort, but I cannot help myself; House would have approved.

Valdarr listens. When I finish, fury flickers—not with me, but for me.

“Do you think she will retaliate? Do you feel safe?”

“Beryl is bloodthirsty, but she has strong morals. Her first instinct was to protect you from our attackers; she wouldn’t hurt us. Even after I dobbed her in.”

We are both quiet while I return to the table, eat and wrestle with my guilt.

I had to tell him.

“What I want to know,” I say, “is how the assassins bypassed the wards and the guards.”

“Someone let them in,” he murmurs. “I will discover who betrayed us. I have called a clan meeting for tonight—you will meet everyone.”

“Oh.” I swallow. “All right.”