Page 40 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Valdarr stands on a kerb in an unfamiliar street, perfectly composed. He wears a different suit, his hair plaited intricately over one shoulder, tattoos gleaming under the streetlights. He looks as if he is going to an important meeting.

A car pulls up. He remains loose-limbed.

“If you are here,” he says softly, “do not worry. I have a meeting with my father. I know what I’m doing.”

He’s talking to me . Relief floods me. I did the right thing, and I didn’t overstep by using a vision to find him. He knew I would look for him. I go with my gut, reach out and brush his hand; his fingers twitch, and Valdarr smiles.

He felt me. Wow. That shouldn’t be possible. But I have no idea what is possible between fated mates.

Four men step from the car. Three vampires and a mage. “Master Blóevakt,” the spokesperson says, bowing. “We are here at the Grand Master’s request. To collect you for a meeting.”

“We need to scan you, sir. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” Valdarr replies, his voice calm. He lifts his arms and spreads his legs as a nervous mage runs his wand over him.

Though shaking, the mage is admirably thorough. “He’s clear,” he mutters, stepping back. He pockets the wand and stares at the floor.

“If you wouldn’t mind…” the spokesperson says. His hands also tremble as he raises a black hood. “You can’t know where you’re going. It’s for security reasons.”

Valdarr elegantly bends so the hood can be slipped over his head, then slides into the car and fastens his seat belt.

The men exchange uneasy glances: his serenity disconcerts them, as they are accustomed to fear. He radiates the message You are nothing to me.

The car pulls away.

I fold the vision, using the magic to trace where the car will end up because that’s where the Grand Master and danger is.

I arrive outside an apartment block—fourteen storeys—on the edge of the Vampire Sector. If I have to come here in the flesh, I mentally note the street name and building number.

Now I must choose: do I snap back and tell the others or stay and watch this through? My power is limited; if I leave, I might not return. And what seems like hours here will be minutes in the waking world. Valdarr may not even have been taken yet .

I have time, so I decide to stay and study the building, counting guards, mapping exits. I trust my magic will let me know the moment Valdarr arrives—there will be a faint ping, almost subliminal.

The Grand Master owns the entire place, and security is tight.

On the ground floor I start with the security office, a control centre behind a reinforced door. I note the camera angles and their coverage, anything useful. I skim the paperwork left out, but find nothing helpful.

Next I move through the armoury and the break room. It apears some staff even live on-site, packed into bunks like an army barracks. For all the Grand Master’s wealth, he treats his people poorly.

Each floor serves a different function. One is devoted entirely to PR and marketing. For a murderer of his calibre, he is meticulous, and that thoroughness has kept him in power for so long.

Floor by floor, I work my way up. Just before the top storey—an hour and fifteen minutes later, far longer than necessary—my magic pings to let me know the car is pulling in.

They must have driven in circles to confuse him.

Without having to think too much about it, I’m back at street level. No matter, he knows I’m watching.

They lead him inside. A lift whisks them straight to the top floor.

The doors open onto a suite of velvet, gold and ostentatious luxury. Heavy drapes. Polished stone.

They remove the hood. Valdarr neither blinks nor flinches. He simply surveys the room.

They make him wait. It’s a power play. The kind men use when they fear they have already lost. Guards stand at parade rest. Silence lengthens until it creaks.

Then a guy appears and flicks two fingers.

Valdarr strolls forward as if he has all the time in the world, obliging his father to wait those extra, deliberate seconds.

He enters the inner office. Closes the distance. Each step is measured, deliberate, until they are close enough.

“Son.” The smile is all fang.

“You wanted to speak to me?”

“Still playing at rebellion? How quaint.”

Valdarr’s eyes are half-lidded, as if bored. “You fed without consent. You killed her. Dumped her like rubbish. When she rose, you sent knives and assassins—humans, even—to fix your mistake.”

“A mistake?” The Grand Master’s eyes glitter, cold, delighted. “Do you know how many mistakes I have buried, boy? Empires. Wars. Lovers. You think I remember every throat I drain? If she lived, some other power meddled, not my hand.”

“You know who she is to me.”

“I know what you want her to be.”

“Winifred Crowsdale is my fated mate.” He drifts closer.

“And the instant you called her mate, you made yourself weak enough to break. Do you remember what I taught you about weaknesses?”

“I remember you taught me to hide mine.” Valdarr’s mouth flattens. “I’m done hiding.”

A low chuckle. “You think that Court will save you? You tossed a torch into tinder. The Twelve won’t kneel to a boy who drags his pet human into their chamber and names her miracle.”

“She’s not just a miracle,” Valdarr says softly. “She’s proof.”

The Grand Master’s smile holds; his eyes harden. “Proof of what, exactly?”

“That you’re not a god,” Valdarr replies. “That you can make mistakes. That the Accord still binds you, whether you believe it or not.”

“Then I will break the Accord,” the Grand Master murmurs, voice like silk. “I wrote half of it. I can unwrite it.”

“You won’t get the time.” Valdarr lets anger show. “I will drag you into Court by your throat. Call a formal challenge. Let the world watch you lose.”

“Lose?” He laughs. “To you ?”

“Yes.”

Something flickers—admiration curdling into hate. “You have grown teeth, little raven.”

“I had them the day you made me watch you burn cities,” Valdarr says. “I just chose not to use them on my own blood.”

“And now?”

“Now, I choose differently. I choose her .”

Crimson magic curls over the Grand Master’s fingers, an ancient kill-spell purring to life—a warning not to come closer. I fight the urge to throw myself in front of Valdarr to shield him from the deadly power.

“You are not ready.”

“Try me.”

The Grand Master studies him, pride souring to contempt. “Careful, my son. Thrones cut deeper than swords.”

“I will bleed,” Valdarr says. “But I won’t feed on the innocent to stay seated.”

The Grand Master leans back, almost idly. “Innocent? I’ve been killing innocents for centuries. There was a human couple, very much in love.”

The whole conversation feels like the performance of a man who delights in horrifying his son.

“The woman had dark curls and big blue eyes.” His tongue wets a lip. “I drained them both outside Nocturna’s ghastly bistro and left their bodies at my favourite disposal site.”

I gasp— Amy and Max.

The vision stutters; I clutch the thread and force it still.

The Grand Master casually admits to murdering my friends, yet he is not finished; a still more horrific point must lurk in this macabre tale. I think I know what’s coming.

“Then a middle-aged human began to poke around,” he goes on, amused.

“My people followed her to your safe house. You, ever the gentleman, gave her a jumper. A delivery driver. Unusual. So I kept watching. When you moved, I ordered a takeaway to your address. She arrived and was so disappointed it wasn’t you at the door.

” He taps a claw against the desk. “I drained her and binned the corpse.”

His smile strips the room of warmth.

I shiver.

“But then came the surprise. The waitress who’d reported her nosing—the one who set that couple up—told my people the little problem was still alive. Not only alive. Turned .”

I don’t even know the waitress’s name—the one who handed fellow humans to monsters without a qualm. Amy and Max. Me. I try to recall our conversation in that themed bistro so long ago, but I cannot.

I thought she was frightened.

The moment I left, she was dobbing me in to the vampires, and I had no idea. Then I drove Crystal home and made sure she was safe. The bloody waitress answered the door.

“I don’t make mistakes. I don’t turn. Yet this creature rose.

It didn’t take much to nudge Nocturna into a rage after the thrall incident.

We sent assassins; she survived. The little bitch.

Then my agent informs me she is human by day, vampire by night, and that you are protecting her.

” He thumps his chest. “I won’t have that abomination tied to me. ”

Simone. He does not say her name. He doesn’t need to. My stomach drops.

“Another trap—humans, mages, then the Council,” he purrs. “She wriggled through those, too. Made me look incompetent. Stood there in the Hall of Silence and pointed at me. Cost me Nocturna, a human spy and an agent I’d placed for centuries.”

Valdarr tilts his head. Gentle. Murderous. “Yes, Father, tell me about that agent. Tell me about Simone.”

“Beautiful toy. Loyal. No compulsion needed—love makes fools of women.” A small, pleased exhale. “Didn’t expect you to throw her away.”

Valdarr doesn’t bite .

“See that your mate keeps her mouth shut,” the Grand Master continues, as if swapping one topic for another costs him nothing. “Publicly, she’s a day-walker. You will keep the rest quiet. She is my gift to you— if you accept your responsibilities and take what is yours.

“I’m old,” he says, satisfied with Valdarr’s silence. “This avoidance of your birthright is over. You will take the throne, dismantle that pathetic Council, and I will retire somewhere far away.”

Valdarr’s expression doesn’t change. “You will stop sending assassins? Leave my clan and my mate untouched if I accept your title?

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“Unity with the shifters and the magic-users is our downfall. End it. Do this, and I will let you enjoy your eternal love story.”

“I will need to speak to her first.”

The Grand Master barks a laugh. “You will ask permission to seize a throne? Her opinion matters?”

“Yes,” Valdarr says simply. “I put her first.”

“What a fool. I thought I raised you better.”

“I raised myself.”

“And that is your first mistake.” His voice goes soft. “I have always been in the background. You would do well to remember that. Every word from the agent’s mouth was mine.”

Silence settles.

“Fine.” He flicks two fingers, magnanimous and cruel. “Be modern. Ask your little mate. While you play at ruling this country, I will take the world—one bloody corner at a time.”

“I thought you were tired,” Valdarr says. “Ready to step down.”

“Oh, I am.” The smile widens. “And I am bored.”

“Anything else you’d like to discuss?” Valdarr asks, voice level.

“No. You may go. Enlightening, as this conversation has been, I have things to do.”

Valdarr stands. Bows his head without lowering his eyes. The smallest, unreadable smile tilts his mouth.

Guards step in; he accepts the hood without complaint, a prince allowing ritual to pretend to be power, and lets them steer him back to the lift.

I remain until Valdarr has safely left the building. I follow them to a drop-off point, and only then do I release the vision.