Page 29 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

This evening I’ll meet the entire clan of vampires. Does entire mean only the vampires, or everyone—blood donors, thralls, fledglings? How many souls does Valdarr command? And will they hate me as much as James does?

I’m old—and wise—enough to know I don’t need to be liked; life seldom works that way. I’m also not foolish enough to feel calm about stepping into a room full of vampires.

I brew lemon tea with honey, settle in the book nook, and listen to a podcast on healing—sadly, it offers no advice on being used by a sentient, vampire-hunting stake to kill humans.

My stomach flips when I glance up and catch Baylor staring at the wall, confusion on his furry face.

He is waiting for a treat that will never come.

He doesn’t understand that House is gone—that normal buildings don’t brush his fur and cuddle him.

They don’t conjure doggy treats and swimming pools just because it’s a warm day.

Oh, how I miss you. So much. I wish I could find you.

I go and raid the fridge for a treat and find some thin slices of ham and almost lose the tips of my fingers as Baylor gobbles them down.

Beryl lies inert on the sofa.

The day crawls until the sun finally dips, and about thirty minutes after nightfall, a knock sounds at my door.

A statuesque woman stands on the threshold, dark skin, liquid-brown eyes, and the kind of unhurried poise most people reserve for red carpets. She wears simple workout gear but carries it as though it were haute couture.

For one foolish moment I wonder if she might be Valdarr’s girlfriend, then scold myself for caring.

“Simone,” she says, offering her hand.

“Fred.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Fred.”

Baylor sniffs her cautiously. She presents the back of her hand.

“I don’t really like dogs,” she says matter-of-factly, giving him a perfunctory pat. “Where I come from, dogs hunt or guard; you don’t keep them as pets.”

Baylor’s ears tilt, unsure what to make of her, but he behaves. I scratch behind them. “Good boy.”

Simone’s smile is feline. “The security cameras caught how you dispatched those assassins. Brave work. You fight remarkably well, so I thought I’d introduce myself before tonight’s meeting and while our liege is busy.”

If only she knew it wasn’t exactly me .

She tilts her head. “Fancy a workout? I know you’re newly turned, but you’re a day-walker! I’ve never met anyone with your gift before, so you must be special. Dispatching the humans today must have been dull; they break so easily. Have you had a proper play with your powers yet?”

“Er… no, not really. And I haven’t met many vampires.” Unless running from them counts.

“Wonderful—exciting!” She claps once and strides to my wardrobe as though we are lifelong friends. Workout clothes fly my way. “Go and change. The others will be hours yet; we’ve plenty of time.”

“Oh. All right.” I hesitate. “Are we allowed?”

She shrugs. “Who’s stopping us?”

Moments later, I follow her through the house to a moonlit room with floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a patio. Beyond them, a sleek glass annexe houses an illuminated indoor pool. Vampires, it seems, live well.

Weights and strange matte-black machines are arranged with military neatness. The air smells of cedar and lemon polish. In the centre lies a sparring circle: dark wood inlaid with runes. No soft blue mats here. I wonder whether a vampire body even bruises.

We stretch. Simone moves like water; I mimic her easily—this body feels engineered for efficiency—even if my brain hasn’t caught up.

“Right,” she says, shaking out her hands, the faintest smirk on her lips. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“I thought we were just working out.” I glance at the equipment. “I’ve never really?—”

“Never?” She raises a brow. “In the security footage you handled that stake like an expert. Don’t tell me that was beginner’s luck.”

“It might have been.” I grimace.

“Only one way to find out.” She gives the universal fight me gesture.

I have no idea what she wants me to do. I reach for her wrist, but she slips away, frowning. “Again.”

I lunge—clumsily—and this time she doesn’t merely dodge, she hooks her hip and sweeps my leg out from under me. The world tilts. Floorboards connect with my face. My nose blazes.

“Ow! Bloody hell?—”

Simone hauls me up, one hand on my elbow, the other patting my shoulder. “Sorry. My bad. Let’s try it slower.” She places my hand on her wrist. “See this grip? Thumb here, fingers here. Now hold, don’t just… flap at me.”

We drill it, over and over. My grip is either too loose or too tight. Once, I nearly wrench her shoulder out of its socket; I’m still not great with this vampire strength. Patiently, she corrects me until my muscles remember before my brain does.

“Good,” she says, stepping back. “Now, punching.”

I tap the reinforced bag; it barely moves. She snorts.

“Honestly? It’s like you’ve never thrown a punch in your life. Lucky for you, I’m a brilliant teacher.” Her fist cracks into the bag like a gunshot. “Power comes from your hips. Twist through. Punch through the target, not at it. Again.”

I try.

She rolls her eyes, steps behind me, adjusts my stance— wider—then nudges my elbow. “Plant your feet. Feel that? Now pivot your hip. There. Better.”

I punch again; a satisfying thud echoes. My knuckles don’t even twinge. I grin.

“Better,” she concedes. “Now: jab, cross, knee, shin.”

“All of that?” I splutter.

She grins. “You’ll thank me later.”

We drill the sequence—jab, cross, knee, shin—again and again. At first I’m all elbows and hesitation, but a rhythm emerges. I’m not fast or smooth, yet at least I’m no longer mortifying.

At last she steps back, looking thoughtful rather than impressed.

Perhaps she expected the stake-wielding whirlwind puppeteered by Beryl and instead found… me.

I excuse myself to prepare for the meeting. When I leave, I notice Simone on her phone, her voice low and her expression unreadable. I file the moment away, no point in borrowing trouble.

Choosing clothes for the clan meeting takes forever, but in the end, I pull on jeans and a soft jumper—casual, comfortable, nothing that screams I’m trying too hard.

Baylor stays in the bedroom; I lock the door, pocket the key, and follow the voices down the hall.

Six vampires wait in the drawing room: Valdarr, Simone, James, and three I haven’t met. No human security, no blood donors.

The drawing room is a study in clean lines and sharp edges, with slate-grey walls, dark carpet, and a deep, angular charcoal sofa encircling a minimalist glass table. A bookcase spans one wall. Above the fireplace hangs the original Blóevakt crest; I recognise it at once from the safe house floor.

Beside Simone stands a mountain of a man—easily six foot six and just as broad—with thick auburn sideburns, a ruddy complexion and a rolling laugh that makes everyone smile—even my tense shoulders drop.

If I weren’t half-terrified, I’d probably laugh with him.

By the hearth leans a pale blond man in jeans and a T-shirt, green eyes sweeping the room with quiet intensity.

The last newcomer—tall, spare, wary—keeps to the shadows near the bookcase.

My foot scrapes the door frame and every head swivels towards me.

“Ah, here she is,” James snarls.

It takes everything not to run away. I hate confrontation.

“Do you have to be so horrible, James?” Simone says. Did I catch a faint sneer on James’s name? I store the thought for later. She smiles and offers a friendly wave; the others nod polite greetings.

I step in. Fred walks into a room full of vampires —it sounds like the start of a bad joke.

“It’s been centuries since we’ve met a day-walker,” rumbles the red-haired giant. “Not one who doesn’t use magic, anyway. I’m Ralph.” He takes my hand—firm yet gentle—and gives it a single respectful shake.

“Hi, Ralph.”

The blond man follows suit. “Tony. Thank you for keeping our liege safe today.”

“Hi, Tony.”

Bookcase Guy remains silent .

Valdarr studies his people with controlled intensity. I suspect he’ll intervene if anything escalates, yet for now—his expression carefully blank—he seems willing to let me speak and stand up for myself.

Simone winks at Valdarr. “I can’t believe you bagged the clan a day-walker. Not all of us are lucky enough to own magic jewellery. When I rise, I spend the remaining hours trapped behind wards unless I fancy bursting into flames.”

She must think I’m confused, because she answers the question I haven’t asked.

“The older a vampire is, the less we need to sleep during the day. Many of us rest until early afternoon and can sometimes be woken, though we’re a little groggy.

Younger vampires—under a couple of hundred years—sleep right through daylight.

Valdarr, being over a thousand, can rise just before noon.

I’m more of a four-in-the-afternoon type myself, even in winter.

The Grand Master doesn’t need to sleep at all.

However, we’re all still deathly allergic to sunlight. Unlike you.”

I shiver. The Grand Master does not need to sleep at all. Crikey.

“We’ve all seen the footage,” Tony says. “I’ve compiled every good angle—soundtrack optional—if anyone’s curious.”

“I watched the CCTV. She’s awkward,” James snaps. “She’s young, it was pure luck. How old were you when you were turned, Fred?”

“James, it doesn’t matter how old she was when she was turned; when she’s a talented day-walker,” Ralph muses.

Valdarr gestures to the sofa, and we sit. “Drinks, anyone?”

I half expect human donors to file in, throats bared, but Valdarr fetches bagged blood himself and pours it into crystal glasses.

Simone catches my puzzled look. “We don’t feed directly from humans,” she explains, hands folded on her knees. “James keeps volunteers at his estate up the road, but the rest of us prefer bagged blood; it’s simpler, safer. We are peaceful monsters.”

“We were peaceful,” Ralph adds, “until Clan Nocturna and our Grand Master interfered. I can’t believe they sent human assassins. Do they even realise Winifred is a rare, valuable day-walker?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? She’s not a day-walker,” James bites back. “During daylight Fred’s human.”

Tony’s mouth drops open.

“Human? I don’t understand. Did something go wrong with the turning?” Ralph asks.

I shrug. “I have no idea.”

I hardly understand House’s magic myself; how can I explain it to a room full of vampires?

A small part of me still hopes the Grand Master turned me—conventionally, however impossible—rather than leaving me a freak.

Then guilt bites: House saved my life. As I told Lander, without her interference I would be dead.

The excitement in the room fades, and they all watch me as though I’m some strange, new creature.

Six pairs of eyes swing to Valdarr.

He sighs, pain etched across his face. “The Grand Master killed her—he meant to drain her—and we believe magic was responsible for Fred’s turning.

The Ministry of Magic thinks the wizard’s house she lived in altered the process.

Fred died, he disposed of the body, yet the sentient house’s magic revived her and held her in suspension.

She rose as a vampire, drove home, and at dawn the house completed the spell.

Fred is human by day, vampire by night.”

“Fairy-tale stuff,” Simone breathes. “Serious magic. Can we see this wizard’s house?”

“It’s already moved,” Valdarr says. “The Ministry of Magic botched an attempt to contain it. Lander Kane tried to chain the house to the site, seize control, and Fred—by all accounts—knocked him flat and broke his wand.”

Simone shoots me a wicked grin.

Tony leans forward, his gaze sharpening. “About the humans you killed today—do you need to talk? Was it your first time?”

“Hardly,” James hisses. “She murdered a team of assassins and didn’t even let them crawl home; conveniently, the bodies vanished with the house.”

“If we are pointing fingers, James, I took out twenty of those same assassins,” Valdarr says.

“To protect her.” James jabs a trembling finger at me.

“Have you got a problem with our youngest, James?” Tony asks cautiously.

“Yes, I have.”

“James,” Valdarr growls, handing around glasses of blood. I take mine with a mumbled “thanks,” try not to grimace, and swirl the thick liquid, giving my restless fingers something to do.

“No! I will not be silenced. I have the right to speak my truth.”

“Oh, great. Here we go,” Simone mutters.

“After offering your blood, you lacked the decency to stay dead, thereby embarrassing our esteemed Grand Master. You seduced his heir, bit a claimed thrall, spelled a master vampire, murdered Clan Nocturna vampires when they retaliated, attacked a Ministry of Magic councillor—causing an incident—and your actions provoked today’s assault on our peaceful clan, killing honest security staff and endangering our liege.

” He scowls at Simone. “That was hardly brave work. My advice is to drag Winifred to the Hall of Silence, put her on trial, and be rid of the problem.”

Off with her head.

“When you put it like that, it does sound bad,” I mumble, then laugh, low and humourless. Who would have thought mousy Winifred would cause such a stink?