Page 48 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Bonus Scene Two – The Border Station

Valdarr’s point of view

Around-the-clock security has watched her for four weeks. It took a few days to assemble the right people, but three teams now cover her in shifts. Every report is the same: delivery runs, a dog walk, and she is home before dark. There is nothing concerning.

Then the call comes.

They have lost her.

“Someone small, fast, ran up and down the street,” the guard says. “ Vampire fast . Picked up by border patrol, leaving the Human Sector.”

My someone.

My coat is on before the call ends. James tries to talk—agenda, meetings, a complaint about knives in the dishwasher. I leave him speaking and take the stairs two at a time.

By the time I reach the station, she’s already in custody.

The building reeks of bleach, blood, and old magic. The desk officer straightens as I cross the floor.

Her fear scents the air like a fine razor. She keeps her gaze down, posture defensive, yet the absence of a heartbeat hammers against my senses. Rage spikes so sharp my power flares.

No.

Unacceptable.

Someone has turned my mate.

Winifred was meant to live a long, safe, human life.

I force calm.

“Sir, this vampire was running from the Human Sector across the scrubland,” a guard reports. “She tripped the wards, and we apprehended her.”

“Did she resist?”

“No, sir. She ran, but once spelled, she cooperated. She hasn’t spoken, though—clearly frightened. The problem, sir, is that she’s unmarked.”

I can feel the absence. My jaw aches.

“Look at me,” I say, low.

She lifts her head like the bravest thing I have ever seen.

Sunlight in a dark place. Her expressive eyes hold fear, yes, but relief too. A scar mars her throat, weeks old. The mate bond punches through me—fierce and incandescent—and everything goes very, very cold.

“All right, gentlemen, I’ll take it from here,” I say. “Lose the paperwork. She was never here. ”

“Sir? Do you know her?” a guard asks.

One look ends the discussion.

“Of course, sir,” the desk officer barks. “Bravo Team, daylight’s coming. Lock everything down.”

They scatter. I guide her into an interview room, privacy first, wards set, sound locked. A dampening rune hums; the walls haze—no ears, no eyes, just us.

I call Harrison. “I found her. I need a car at the station. Emergency Protocol One.” Phone pocketed, I finally touch her. I cup her chin; the scar on her neck under my thumb is jagged, scavenger fast. Not a clean taking.

“Who did this to you?” I snarl.

She stares, proud despite fear.

“You were human, and now you’re not. So I’ll ask again. Who did this to you?” I drag a breath through my teeth, shove the rage elsewhere and spin the chair so her back is to the table. I brace her between my arms. Cage her with my body, yes, but also shield her from the door, the world.

“The spell gives us privacy,” I manage, voice shaking. “Winifred Crowsdale, answer my question. Who. Did. This. To. You?”

She startles. “How do you know my name?”

Oh, sunshine, I know everything about you. She licks her lips; my fangs ache like she has put her mouth on them.

Focus.

“Please answer my question.”

“A man ordered a takeaway to your house,” she rasps.

“That’s impossible.” Reflex. No one should have been there. No one was scheduled.

“Impossible?” she shoots back, heat under the hoarseness.

“I’m not calling you a liar,” I say, forcing my voice flat. “But no one should have been at that house.”

“He answered the door in broad daylight. Like you, he was awake during the day.”

An elder. There are so few of us.

“I’m telling you the truth. It was Sunday, the day after you lent me the hoodie.”

I had people watching her… no, not on the Sunday—we had only assembled the complete team on the Monday.

“Someone placed a delivery at your address. I assumed it was you. I collected the food, returned your hoodie, and one of your friends decided I would make a good snack. He dragged me inside by my hair and tore out my throat. Shock and blood loss made me pass out or die; I’m not sure which.”

She shrugs, as though it’s unimportant.

“I woke up like this, in your body bin.” Her voice cracks. “You really are a bunch of sick bastards with no self-control. I’m surprised the human government hasn’t wiped you out.”

She cannot publicly talk like that; the council and the clans would kill her.

“Wipe us out? Are you forgetting you are a vampire?”

“Indeed. Your pal murdered me. Thanks for that.”

“We’re getting off track. What did he look like?”

In a flat monotone she describes him: chalk-pale skin, a crimson mouth, dark grey eyes. The way he caught sunlight and burned; his clothes, his stance, the tone of his voice—and what followed .

Father. Of course.

A muscle twitches in my cheek. I turn away before rage shatters the table.

Calm. Think. Protect her.

This isn’t about me. It is about Fred.

“How did you turn?” I ask, already building scenarios in my head. None make sense. She didn’t carry the DNA markers. I checked. Twice .

“I have no idea.” She takes a deep, unsteady breath.

The world narrows to bitter orange, cool iron and the wrongness in the way she still draws breath. I force myself to move away.

“You’re still so new,” I say, pacing to bleed off the violence. “Still breathing. You have been an unregistered vampire with no clan for more than a month. How many bodies?” I must ask; the law demands it.

“Bodies?” She glares. “As in people? None. Do you think I’m out here murdering humans? I’m nothing like you or your friends.”

I deserve that. The corner of my mouth twitches despite the danger; my mate is all fire.

“It’s less than an hour to dawn. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

“I just want to pretend today never happened and go home.”

“Where’s home?”

“That is none of your business. I don’t know you.”

“I’m the only help you’ve got,” I hear myself say, and hate how true it is.

She grimaces. The defensive anger melts into something closer to defeat. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just… frightened. It’s been a lot.”

A knock interrupts. I crack the door. “Cameras wiped, bribes arranged,” Harrison says, handing over the clan Bloodbrand—no larger than a coin, carved with spells older than language. The iron pulses faintly, runes alive beneath its surface.

I nod, close the door, and turn back to her.

“Winifred, vampires aren’t clanless. To survive, you must belong. There’s no hiding and no running.” Not from Father, not from his treatment of mistakes. “You have managed so far, but time’s up. Let me help. Let me take over now.”

“Take over how?”

My phone buzzes. I ignore it. My focus stays locked on her. I need to get this done. We are running out of time.

“I wish I could give you more time, but you have run out,” I say, truth heavy on my tongue.

If I hesitate, I will lose her. “Please forgive me. I won’t let anything happen to you, and I will not let you fall into another clan’s hands.

” I blur the distance, catch her wrist, flip it palm-up, and press the Bloodbrand to her skin.

She gasps. “Ow!” The sound guts me.

The sigil sears a red raven on a shield, blood beading at the beak. I fang nick my thumb, smear blood over the mark, sealing it. “You are now a member of my clan.” Calm, cold, efficient—pretending it doesn’t rip me apart to hurt her.

“It hurts.”

“I know. It’s for your protection.” For mine. For my sanity.

“My protection? What about my consent? ”

“There wasn’t time.” A lie of omission; I’d have branded her even with time. Later I will beg forgiveness with my life. I hold out my hand. “Come, I’ve arranged a safe house for you.”

She hesitates.

If she says no…

Her hand slides into mine.