Page 34 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Violence ripples from the back of the gallery, where agents, acting on the Grand Master’s orders, slaughter a smaller, insignificant clan.

Screams rise; fangs flash. The hall descends into chaos.

The scent of spilt blood thickens the air, mingling with snarls and the clash of blades.

Vampires, driven by bloodlust, seize the moment to settle old grudges.

Those who try to hold back are dragged into the fray when they are attacked.

I slam into Valdarr’s chest, knocking him clear of a throwing knife that whistles past my head.

“Simone—left, the lady in the red dress!”

Her head whips round. The woman charges, fangs bared. Simone flips her skirt aside and twin blades gleam in her hands. She twirls them, grinning. “You always were a sloppy fighter,” she spits as they clash .

Our companions form a defensive ring around Valdarr and me.

“How does she know all this? How does she know the accords better than I do?” James snarls. “My liege, she did a countdown! Winifred isn’t who she pretends to be. Last night she was shaking just talking to the clan, and now she faces the Vampirical Council without flinching?”

“I told you she was a worthy mate,” Valdarr replies, grinning. “Fred, you are incredible.”

“A mate who, not even twenty-four hours after your declaration, has tipped our clan into outright war. She publicly accused your father.”

Tony intercepts a blood-soaked vampire mid-rampage; they grapple violently before vanishing from sight as a second attacker charges.

Harrison steps forward. The foolish vampire laughs and tries to bat him aside, but Harrison is armed to the teeth.

The creature lunges—it’s a fatal mistake.

In one fluid motion Harrison slices the tendons at the man’s elbows.

His arms drop uselessly, blood pouring freely.

He stares in stunned silence, unable to raise a hand.

Then Harrison reverses the blade and strikes him in the temple, knocking him unconscious—a blow that would kill a human. He grins as he drags the body clear so no one trips over it.

Movement in the gallery catches my eye.

“Clan Nocturna incoming,” I warn.

James emits a squeak, rummages frantically through his pockets, and clutches his tablet to his chest as though it were a shield.

The vampire, Ian, whom I stunned with a spell—and his furious brute of a friend—appear at the balcony rail. They ignore the stairs, leaping instead.

One rolls smoothly; the other lands fist-first, rising with a growl.

“You’re dead, baby rogue.”

Been there. Done that.

Valdarr shifts me behind him. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he says softly. “You came at us with humans in daylight, you broke every rule, upset and attacked my fated mate. Then you squealed to the Council.”

I did not realise until that moment how much of his incredible power he normally keeps contained. Everything that makes him a vampire—everything ancient and terrifying—has been held in check.

But now it radiates from him.

He is more than a thousand years old, ancient in every sense. The air crackles, and I feel it, the heat, the power—the sheer weight of him in the room. It rolls off him like a storm about to break. His eyes glow violet.

The Nocturna brute’s eyes widen at the weight of Valdarr’s power.

A sword slides from its sheath so fast it seems like magic.

He swings—futilely. Valdarr blurs, and the blade whistles over his head.

A single pivot, a single blow to the face, and the brute sails across the room, slamming into the gallery steps.

Stone cracks into shards and dust, and the sword clatters across the floor.

The second attacker—Crystal’s vampire, Ian—barrels towards me, claws extended, fangs bared.

James tenses beside me, but Ralph materialises behind Ian, silent as a ghost. He twists, bones crack, and the body drops .

I flinch.

“It’s all right,” Ralph says. “He won’t die, just sleep for a few days.”

Harrison, now wielding the brute’s sword, plunges into the fight, felling two more warriors with a single sweeping strike that sends them crashing through a row of chairs.

Away from the chaos, I spot the Grand Master slipping through a concealed door behind the dais.

Valdarr sees him too.

“He’s leaving,” he growls, stepping forward. “Ralph, James—keep Fred safe. I need a quiet word with my father.”

Harrison appears beside him, a blood-slick sword in hand.

The others nod their agreement.

I am still holding Valdarr’s wrist, but my grip slips, and fear spikes. If he disappears through that door, the Council will kill him, and I will never see him alive again.

“Valdarr,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I pull him closer. “No. You?—”

Those violet-grey eyes—moments ago ablaze with fury—soften. He brushes a kiss across my forehead. “The clan will keep you safe. I won’t let you down.”

“No—listen, you can’t?—”

“I can.” His thumb strokes my cheek while the ache of all those visions echoes inside me. “I’ll see you soon, sunshine.” Before I can utter another word, he turns and strides away, cutting a path through the melee.

“Valdarr, no!” I cry. I do the only thing guaranteed to stop a vampire mid-hunt. Using vampire speed, I launch myself at him. He has a choice: catch me or let me fall. Of course, my mate scoops me up, holding me tight against his chest.

“Fred, what is it? What’s wrong?” He sounds confused. “He is getting away.”

“You can’t go.”

Summoning all my courage and fear, all the emotions I have kept inside, I slam my lips to his.

His body tenses around me; his warm lips remain unyielding.

I kiss him again, more deliberately, drawing his lower lip, lip-ring and all, into my mouth and nibbling lightly. My tongue flicks forward to taste him.

He growls, threads his hands through my hair, and kisses me back.

Amid the battle, with vampires clashing around us and blood spattering the floor, this is the only way I know to save him. To give him something else to stay for.

Me.

My senses ignite. Valdarr cups my jaw, tilts my head, and deepens the kiss. Fire races through me; my fingers knot in his coat. He spins us aside, and a green spell slashes the space we had occupied.

Tony steps in, fells the caster, and vanishes again. The world could burn to ash while Valdarr and I remain locked together.

Nothing beyond this man matters. It doesn’t feel like a first kiss; it feels as though our souls have practised this for years.

It’s as if time stands still. We exist in a bubble of intimacy that excludes the outside world.

His mouth moulds to mine with aching perfection, soft yet unyielding, warm and demanding. All-consuming. My whole body tingles .

This…

This I could never have prepared for.

We break apart, gasping. His lips are swollen; his eyes, stunned.

Well, Fred, that was one way to claim his attention.

“I know you want to speak to him.” ‘Speak’ is the polite way of saying Valdarr wants to rip his father’s heart out with his bare hands. I’ve seen how that would end: there is no mercy for anyone who deliberately attacks the Grand Master.

I lower my voice. “But you can’t go after him, not yet. Yes, he threatened me in public, and you can’t let that stand, but now isn’t the time. Soon. Trust me.”

“Very well,” he answers gruffly.

The Vampirical Council’s guards surge in, and I slide down Valdarr’s rock-hard body just as a spell crackles overhead. Silence drops like a curtain as every vampire freezes, magic pinning us to the marble floor.

Harrison growls, furious at being immobilised.

I am exactly where I want to be, safe in Valdarr’s arms. I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his distracting musk, metal and power scent. For one brief moment, all is well. We have survived the trial and the fight.

I. Kissed. Him.

Grinning like an idiot, I make sure no one notices. Worth every ounce of fear and stress: I saved the prince with a kiss—this time, fairy-tale nonsense of my own making.

The Herald, robes askew, sweeps the hall with a withering glare.

“You are a disgrace. Have you lost your minds and all common sense? You have made a mockery of this court. We will review the security footage, investigate how the wards failed and who spilt the first blood. All clans should expect repercussions. We may even close the public gallery for good—animals do not deserve public trials.”

A ripple of hushed murmurs spreads through the chamber.

“Winifred Crowsdale, before this disgraceful interruption, the Court granted your petition.

Under Accord Codes 101.4 and 212.3, the Council orders a full ethereal-memory and provenance assay.

The Ministry of Magic will conduct the testing under Council ward and seal.

The Court will reconvene three nights hence at first bell.

“Until that time you remain under interdiction: you will not quit the protection of Clan Blóevakt, you will not conceal, alter, or destroy any evidence, and you will submit to summons on pain of contempt. So entered. Let the blood speak; judgement will wait until it does.”

He makes no mention of the absent Grand Master.

A commotion erupts to one side as guards haul the Nocturna delegation forward.

“Clan Nocturna,” the Herald intones, “by breaching Accord Code 301.2, Sanctity of Council Proceedings, 512.6, Armed Hostility Under Ward, and 12.1, Protection of a Petitioning Clan, you have placed yourselves outside the law. You exploited this hearing, ignored my explicit warning, and attacked Clan Blóevakt while it stood beneath the Court’s aegis.

We are not human; our law is not a suggestion. Judgment is final.

“Under Accord Code 903.11, Forfeiture and Dissolution, your name is struck from the roll. Your titles, assets, and territories are seized by the Council treasury to remediate the damage to this Hall and compensate the injured. The penalty is death.”

He does not need a dramatic gesture to summon the vampire I have seen many times before.

One might expect an executioner to dress in black leather. Instead, he wears a tailored suit. Calm and precise, he glides across the chamber like a shadow—face expressionless, eyes lifeless. A sword rests loosely in his grip.

I have watched my own execution in visions delivered by that very blade.

The clan struggles, yet the many guards keep everyone contained. I do not look away when a sword claims them. One by one, beginning with their still-unconscious leader, their heads come off. Blood sluices across the marble, seeping into the grout.

Eight lives, wasted.

I no longer flinch at the sight of blood, no longer feel sickened by the violence. Perhaps it is my vampire nature, or perhaps I have seen too much, too quickly, to react.

Crystal flashes through my mind, and the tired waitress at One Bite Won’t Hurt. “What about their humans?” I rasp.

“They fall to the Council under the accord,” Valdarr says quietly. “They will be protected.”

The upper-tier clans depart first, and the spell anchoring us releases. Our feet peel free of the stone.

Outside, Harrison produces a canvas bag.

“All phones and electronics—now. We’re compromised. War status.”

I drop my mobile in. Ralph, Tony, Valdarr follow. Simone shrugs and tosses hers. James clutches his tablet in horror.

“But my schedules—our entire life?—”

“Tablet. In.” Harrison’s growl brooks no argument.

James appeals to Valdarr.

“Do as Harrison asks.”

With a pained hiss, James drops the tablet and his phone into the bag. Harrison grins and throws in a swirling purple spell, incinerating the contents into a bubbling, molten lump.

A matte black minibus pulls up at the kerb, pulsing with layered wards.

“Oh, no,” Tony mutters. “The war machine. Embarrassing. Quick—inside before anyone sees.”

“It’s magic-proof, bullet-proof, and seats all of us,” Harrison says proudly.

I wish we had the ‘war machine’ for our journey here.

“It weighs a ton and drinks petrol,” Tony grumbles.

“Feels like a school trip,” Simone says with a grin. A cut on her cheek is already healing, and the skirt of her suit is torn at the seam.

“Get in,” Harrison snaps.

Valdarr fastens my seat belt. “We are going to a new safe house. Baylor is waiting.”

I watch as the lights and glow of the city slowly turn to dark roads and dilapidated buildings.

The house sits at the end of a row of other homes in disrepair.

It’s unremarkable, rundown—peeling paint, grass in the leaking gutters, a patch of moss creeping up the far wall.

It looks like it hasn’t been lived in for thirty years.

Inside, the hallway smells of damp. Harrison slides a crooked wedding photo aside, keys a code, and an inner door hisses open.

Beyond lies a sleek, modern hideout.

Baylor hurtles around the corner, howling with joy. He slams into my legs, then bounces between Valdarr and me.

“Hey, buddy.” I scratch his ears. He pants happily; I kiss his nose.

“So this is Baylor. What a beautiful dog,” Ralph says, dropping to his knees. “I love dogs.”

My Husky, delighted to meet someone with great shovel-like hands, flops onto the floor. All four legs splay out as he presents his belly for tickles, and Ralph laughs with delight.

“Drinks?” Valdarr offers.

“I’ll pour.” I brush his arm, head to the kitchen, wash my hands, and prepare the blood. My hands tremble slightly at the thought of what is about to happen next.

Glasses distributed, Simone—cool as ever—leans against the wall and sips her drink. “So, next steps?”

“Meetings with the Ministry of Magic and the shifters,” Valdarr replies. “Sooner than ideal, but Father is up to something. No one in the clan is harmed, so today counts as a win.” He squeezes my hand.

“About that,” James says, taking a swig of blood. His eyes narrow. “How did you know everything today? Who is your contact?”

A thud. We turn: Simone has crumpled, her glass shattering, blood pooling.

“Simone—” Tony lunges.

“She’s fine,” I say. “ Sleeping spell.”

James splutters. “You—my liege, she’s knocking out clan members!”

“Yesterday, you wondered who leaked our location to Clan Nocturna, who arranged for the wards to fail, who allowed the human assassins inside, and who aided your father.”

I meet Valdarr’s gaze. “It was Simone.”