Page 36 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

I know the clan is hurting, and because Valdarr refuses to tell them anything about me—about what I can do—they treat me like some sort of super spy and give me the cold shoulder.

I understand; it’s fine.

If I hadn’t knocked Simone out, it would have been much worse. She is — was —incredibly strong and talented.

Harrison has taken it hard. He has locked himself in the apartment’s study, analysing every scrap of data and trying to work out how she managed to outmanoeuvre him.

Valdarr is a tangle of emotions: delighted that I am willing to try a relationship, yet wounded that someone he trusted so completely has proved a traitor.

Daylight arrives quickly, and the vampires retreat to their rooms. The penthouse is open-plan, with kitchen, dining, and living areas, each opening onto a slim glass balcony.

Fortunately, the apartment is large enough for everyone to have space.

Valdarr invites me to his room, but I decline; I’m not ready to watch him die for the day.

I shower, change, and after toast and tea, curl up on the brown leather sofa to try to reach House.

I know I ought to have someone beside me in case anything goes wrong, yet I also need to manage this on my own.

I’m sure I will be all right. I tap the faint threads of my magic, searching for any trace of her, but all I gain is a splitting headache and a nosebleed.

Perhaps daytime and being human dulls the link; perhaps she is too other to be found. Perhaps I am simply tapped out. It is maddening.

Around midday Valdarr reappears.

I have not seen his hair loose since we first met; it falls in glossy waves around his shoulders.

He is wearing grey tracksuit bottoms that sit low on his hips and a plain white T-shirt that clings to every muscle.

Coherent thought deserts me. It is such a simple outfit, yet he wears it like sin.

He gives me a lazy smile, then strolls to the kitchen and begins pulling things from the fridge.

“You have not eaten lunch yet, have you?” he asks.

“No, I have not,” I admit.

“Great,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased.

He starts assembling a salad—a huge one. I watch as he whisks together a dressing from vinegar, oil, mustard and some lemon juice.

He slides a glass of orange juice across the table just as I’m rubbing my temples, trying to ward off the growing headache.

“Hydration,” he says, placing a glass of water beside it.

I don’t have the heart to tell him I was trying to search for House—that I have probably pushed my power too far and need a break.

Then the salad appears in front of me, and he sits opposite, watching with a soft smile, as though he genuinely enjoys taking care of me.

We sit at the dining table and talk nonsense. I tell him about my podcast obsession and how, two years ago, I fell deep into a rabbit hole of flight-simulation crash analysis. An internet pundit dissects every cockpit procedure; I now know all the jargon.

Valdarr grins, amused.

I try to eat delicately, but when I cut into a cherry tomato, it bursts beneath my knife, splattering seeds across his white T-shirt. Mortified, I leap for a cloth. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, smiling. “I like abstract art.”

I slip my fingers under the fabric to dab the stain. “I didn’t mean to get you.”

“It’s all right,” he murmurs, gripping my thighs and pulling me close before kissing me. The kiss is soft, slow, lingering. Somehow I end up perched on his lap, my fingers tangled in his silk-smooth hair.

Eventually I rest my head on his shoulder. We need this, laughter and tenderness, if only for a moment, to feel alive.

“Lander is coming tonight,” he murmurs.

I groan .

“The Vampirical Council appointed him and his team to handle your tests. We need someone we trust; a stranger might be working for my father.”

Ministry of Magic tests. A blood test must be simple, but I have no idea what the memory one involves. Everything is cloaked in secrecy. House’s magic is bound to interfere with everything. Lander will be overjoyed about getting evidence of that.

I don’t even know how she managed to turn me into a vampire, and she isn’t here for me to ask. I’ve gambled with a losing hand to buy us time we never had, and I’ve no idea how it will play out.

Perhaps the Grand Master will get his wish, and I will lose my head.

“He’s doing multiple samples, yes? Back-ups, in case something vanishes?”

He nods. “Exactly.”

“And we are meeting the shifters?”

“Yes. They will help track my father.”

“Perhaps, once it’s dark, I could try to find him,” I suggest, tapping my temple. “It would be easier.”

“No,” he says, hugging me. “You said yourself you don’t know what those visions do to you. We will hunt him the old-fashioned way. The shifters owe me a favour; they’ll come through.”

I lean into him and nod. “All right.”

Baylor nudges me and grumbles. He does his I-need-a-wee shuffle; he wants to go for a walk. We are in a apartment, so I can’t simply let him out into a garden.

Down below, there’s a small park .

“I haven’t got my ring,” Valdarr says, glancing from me to the grumbling dog. “It can’t be worn constantly—it needs to recharge.”

“Oh, I wonder if that’s the same as Beryl?”

“Perhaps. I have books on the subject, but you could ask Lander tonight. He’s very knowledgeable.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Our security will take you across the road. Please don’t be long, straight there and back.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “I worry.”

“Okay.”

I grin, clip on Baylor’s lead and head out.

The guards nod in silent acknowledgement: one walks beside us while the others fan out in plain clothes that draw no attention. We are, after all, in the Human Sector. An odd place for a vampire safe-house.

The park is quiet. A winding path curves through clusters of trees and neatly kept grass, flanked by evenly spaced wooden benches. At the far end, a children’s play area—with a bright red slide—adds a splash of colour against the surrounding greenery.

I stand awkwardly, pockets full of ‘poo bags,’ while Baylor does his business. He sniffs everything.

A Jack Russell spots him and erupts, barking and snarling as if defending sacred ground. “Pickle, stop it,” the embarrassed owner pleads, tugging the lead while the dog shakes it like prey.

Once Baylor has finished, we cross back towards the apartment building’s glass doors.

“Oh, look who it is.” Theresa—hands full of bright-red sale bags—marches towards us .

When did Theresa ever shop at a discount, and what are the odds of running into her here? Fate really does enjoy playing games with me.

“Still wanted, are you?” she sneers.

I look skyward for patience. The nearest guard shifts, tense.

“Excuse me,” I say, clearly.

“Still wanted?” she repeats, louder. Juggling her bags, she pulls out her phone.

“I’m ringing the police. I told everyone you were trouble, and then you turned up at the wedding with that cosmetically altered face.

You do realise that shoddy magic won’t win Jay back, don’t you?

Do you know how many awkward questions I had to field?

I had to explain why a thief was at our wedding, and then you pop up on the news in a kill-on-sight segment. ”

I fold my arms. Baylor merely tilts his head. The guards drift closer; one subtly adjusts his coat.

After facing down the Vampirical Council, confronting a human woman in her late sixties feels like nothing. Experience does change perspective and it’s freeing. I no longer care what she thinks. Of course, I don’t want her calling the police, but my security would stop her long before that.

I don’t care what she says or what she thinks. It’s liberating.

Her face reddens, and I catch the familiar, nasty gleam in her eye. She assumes she has won. I feel sad for her. Theresa is flawed, and she doesn’t see it. Her life revolves around a spoiled son who will never appreciate her.

In her head, she is the self-sacrificing mother defending her family from a wicked woman. To everyone else, she is the villain. The truth? She is neither—just a woman with no real power. She steals power by hurting others. Ultimately she only hurts herself.

“I spent hours trying to give a statement. They said you were a vampire— a vampire .” She gives a squeaky huff and glares at the overcast sky. “I’ll get them here and prove you are as human as I am.”

“Yes, I’m still wanted,” I reply. “The Vampirical Council is furious with me.”

“Pardon?” She lowers her mobile and rapidly blinks at me.

“Oh, yes. I’m terribly violent. This is my gang.” I gesture to the guards she has only just noticed.

She turns in a slow circle, her confidence crumbling.

“It’s hard,” I continue, “deciding whether to murder people who annoy me or let them live. Still, you never know, Theresa. Someone starts shouting accusations or more lies… Jeff here”—I point to the nearest guard, who is definitely not called Jeff—“might shoot you.”

He eases his coat open, revealing a holstered gun.

Theresa pales, takes a step back, her heel catches on a pavement slab, and she wobbles.

“What you need to learn,” I say sweetly, “is when to keep that big mouth shut.” I don’t give her time to retort. “And for the record, I wouldn’t take Jay back if you paid me. Bog off, Theresa. Go and ruin someone else’s life.”

“You… you?—”

“Yeah, yeah. You have a new daughter-in-law to torture. Why are you bothering me? Next time we see each other, let’s pretend we are strangers.”

We walk away and circle the block before returning; no sense letting her see the safe house .

Fake Jeff chuckles. “You certainly told her.”

“Ex’s mother,” I sigh. “Give me five minutes, and the guilt will set in. Ten years of that woman.” I shake my head. We reach the apartment building without further trouble. “Thanks for backing me up.”