Page 46 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Forty-Five

My whole body trembles. Is this what my life will be now? He will kill Valdarr and then—then the world ends. My world ends with a sword strike. The thought is unthinkable.

I have to protect him.

I can’t. Two vampires pin my arms; the bones in my shoulders creak. The executioner stands ready, sword loose in his grip. He gives it a lazy practice swing, as though gauging the weight before the killing blow.

“It’s either you or her, son. Give up,” the Grand Master snarls.

Valdarr stops struggling. His eyes blaze—violet lit from within—brighter than I have ever seen. Despair burns in that light. If not for his own clan restraining him, I think he’d tear the room apart .

Forcing them to hold him is a cruelty beyond comprehension.

Valdarr could hurl them aside, kill them, but the ring of enthralled guards along the tiers stands waiting, mouths slack, eyes glazed, blades half-drawn. He might stop a handful. He cannot stop them all.

“You or your miracle?” the Grand Master taunts, chin jerking toward the executioner.

“Her,” Valdarr says. “Always her.”

“Good choice.” A flick of fingers. “Proceed.”

Tony’s grip tightens on my arm. I can only watch as Ralph and Harrison force Valdarr to his knees. He bows his head and bares his neck, and still he doesn’t take his gaze off me.

The sword rises in a perfect arc.

And just as the world narrows to a single downward stroke?—

—my jacket stirs.

If you want something done right, Beryl drawls, you have got to do it yourself.

She rockets from my pocket like a fired bolt, wood humming, carves a corkscrew through the air and hits the Grand Master square in the chest.

A dull thud. A wet, awful squelch.

He looks down, astonished, at the stake buried to the hilt. His hands lift—hesitate—as if reality needs a moment to catch up. Beryl keeps boring, the magic vibration rattling my teeth from across the hall, shredding his heart.

He coughs. Thick, tar black blood sluices over his lips and chin, creosote and rot hitting the air. He staggers and drops to his knees .

Beryl bursts from his back in a spray of gore, a victorious, vicious little spear. He makes one final strangled sound and pitches face-first onto the platform.

The compulsion breaks like glass.

It rushes out of the room in a pressure wave; every glazed eye clears. Vampires on the tiers flinch as though waking from a nightmare. A dozen blades clatter to the marble. The hall inhales in one collective, horrified breath.

The Herald, still clutching his throat, half-sits. Healing already knits the skin; his eyes jump from the corpse to Valdarr to me. Councillors scramble at their dais, slapping down sigils, tripping wards, panic splashing across ancient faces.

“This… this is unprecedented,” an elder rasps. “He compelled the court!”

Tony’s hold on me loosens as though he’s been scalded. “Winifred, I—” The apology dies; I’m already gone.

I sprint. Valdarr catches me, folding me into him, twisting us clear of the executioner’s blade. He smells of musk, metal, and the copper-sweet tang of battle.

“Are you hurt?” He frames my face in his hands, searching my eyes while his thumbs sweep my cheekbones, then he peppers me with light kisses.

“I’m all right,” I whisper.

He lets out a deep, body-shuddering sigh and holds me tight.

“Do your duty,” Valdarr says, voice flat. He points at the platform without looking. “Take the traitors head.”

The executioner bows. “Of course, Grand Master.” He crosses the distance in three strides and brings the sword down. Clean. Final. Then Valdarr’s father’s head rolls once, twice, and is still.

That was for Amy and Max. For all of us. My knees buckle, and only Valdarr’s support—his strong arms around my waist—keeps me upright. Beryl’s strike should have been enough, but with that monster, I trust nothing short of ash.

“I’ll burn him,” Valdarr says, reading my mind, gaze fixed on the ruin of his father. “Scatter him to the four winds, and salt the earth. He will never come back. He will never touch you again.” When his eyes finally meet mine, they are fierce and unbearably sad. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“You did.” My voice is wrecked and shaking.

“The only reason I fought him is—you. Your blood in my veins. He tried to convince me I was his, that I loved him. For one horrible moment I almost believed it.” I press my palm to Valdarr’s chest, to the steady, unnecessary rise and fall.

“But your blood sang, and my soul knew I could never be his. I love you and every part of me knows it.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on.

“I love you, Winifred. Thank you for saving me,” he whispers into my hair. “And for bringing your friend.”

Coated in gore, Beryl gives a dramatic shake, flinging droplets like confetti that freckle the dais with dots of villain. Then she zips toward me.

“Oh no, you don’t.” I dodge. “Absolutely not. You are covered in Grand Master goo. You are not going back in my pocket like that.”

She laughs, bright and shameless. Missed you too, kid. Also, you are welcome .

“Thank you,” I say, breathless and shaky and half-hysterical. “For dealing with him and rescuing us.”

“Thank you, Beryl.” Valdarr inclines his head.

As she talks, I translate as he can’t hear her.

I’ve been trying to get that bastard for one hundred and fifty-seven years. She executes a mid-air pirouette, delighted with herself. Who would have thought a baby vampire would give me the opening?

“Who indeed.”

If I had lungs, she says, I’d sing “Ding - Dong, the Vampire’s Dead.” Shame I’m not sparkly and musical.

“Beryl…”

What? Don’t give me that look. I just saved your husband and this court of evil. A little appreciation won’t kill you—though technically, it nearly did.

“You are impossible.”

And you love me for it.

Around us, the hall remembers how to think. Guards stumble as the last threads of command unravel. Vampires in the bone-white tiers look at one another with dawning horror, understanding exactly what was done to them.

The Herald hauls himself upright, palm flat to his breastbone, voice ragged but steady enough to carry. He will make his proclamations soon. There will be ash to sweep and oaths to swear and laws to mend.

But in this breath between catastrophe and consequence, Valdarr tips his forehead to mine.

“We are alive.”

“For now,” I answer, because hope is a fragile thing and I don’t know how to hold it yet. I also do not want to jinx anything. “Let’s keep it that way. ”

His mouth curves, and the fear in my chest unclenches.

Across the dais, the corpse leaks darkness onto marble.

Beryl hums, satisfied.

I lace my fingers with Valdarr’s and squeeze. “Let’s go home,” I whisper.

“Home,” he says, as though he’s tasted the word before and never found it sweet.

Beryl zips a smug loop. I call shotgun.

“Bath first,” I tell her. “Then shotgun.”

And for the first time since I died, I let myself believe in afters. In the space beyond terror and courts and kings. In a tomorrow where the villain stays dead, the stake gets a rinse, and the man I love comes home with me.