Page 5 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Five

A Week Later

I sit in the living room, watching while Baylor wrestles with a cushion. He lets out a low, grumbling growl and crawls across the dark green carpet on his belly, teeth gleaming as he nips at a tassel.

The cushion shoots into the air, twirls, then bops him on the bottom as it zips past and lands on the other side of the room.

“Huff-huff. Pffft,” Baylor complains, his breath short and sharp. He notices me watching and grumbles again.

I raise my hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t look at me. I do not control the house. You know better than to chew on the furnishings, buddy. That’s not allowed.”

I’ve been keeping score: wizard’s house, ten; Baylor, nil .

A homemade treat materialises from thin air, hovering just above him. Baylor’s nose twitches. Eyes wide, he tilts his head, watching it intently, tail swishing against the carpet. He leaps, snapping at it, but it’s too high. A distressed whine escapes him.

The treat hovers in place.

Baylor circles it, moving cautiously. Then, as if guided by a silent command, he sits. The treat lowers, and with surprising gentleness, he opens his mouth. It is placed carefully inside, and he crunches it with delight, his tail spinning like a helicopter.

Another treat appears, and Baylor flops onto his tummy. Then another, and he rolls over smoothly. A fourth arrives, and he sits upright, offering his paw.

“What the…” I stare, mouth agape in disbelief. I don’t believe what I’m seeing. Trained by a house in just one week. I just… can’t.

The antique clock on the mantelpiece chimes softly, reminding me of my obligations.

I glance at my mobile. The peaceful morning is over; it’s time to work.

Now that we live here, Baylor essentially has a full-time sitter, so I can concentrate on earning extra money and climbing out of this bottomless pit of bills.

Night-time delivery jobs pay nearly double, but they are tricky.

Humans usually stay indoors after dark, out of reach of predators, which makes home delivery big business for anyone with a proper licence and a clean human background check.

I refuse to work after dark. It isn’t safe. So I’m stuck with the daylight gigs.

“So, you are sure you are all right with him?” I ask.

The living room door creaks in response .

I take that as confirmation. Over the past few days, I’ve become more attuned to the house, understanding how it communicates. “Okay, well, thank you. I will be back before it gets dark.”

Baylor doesn’t even notice as I slip out and jump in my car. I grin when I spot a lunchbox on the passenger seat, along with a glass bottle of juice. I take a quick peek inside to find a salad—celery, walnuts, and a dressing that smells divine—plus an apple and a banana.

I’m so grateful how the house is taking care of us. Moving here was the best decision I’ve ever made.

I head into the city.

Over time I’ve found a prime spot, a catchment area that covers six takeaways, several offices, and a cluster of homes. When business slows, I circle back, and the app feeds me a steady stream of quick jobs. By lunchtime the orders are rolling in; today promises to be productive.

As I wait at the pickup point for an order, a busy waiter hurries past. He nods at me in greeting, his white apron slightly askew. The place is buzzing. I have been avoiding collections here because it is Jay’s mother’s favourite restaurant. But today has been slow, and I cannot afford to be picky.

The air smells of garlic and savoury spices. Behind me comes the rhythmic clink of plates, the soft jingle of glasses, and the low hum of conversation, punctuated by bursts of laughter .

One familiar voice cuts through the noise. I tense, groan, and tilt my head back, silently pleading for divine intervention. Did thinking of her summon her? Of all the rotten luck, she has to be here. Why me?

“Samantha said, Peter?—”

“Wait. Isn’t that the woman who was dating your son?” Her friend’s voice has the delighted tone of somebody who loves to gossip and enjoys being mean.

“Yes,” the woman replies. “That is the hussy who broke his heart.”

Hussy? Who is she calling a hussy? Not counting my conversations with Amy, I’ve never spoken ill of Jay, but it is getting harder to keep my mouth shut.

“The one who embezzled money from your company accounts?”

Oh, here we go.

I turn to face them, keeping my arms at my sides, relaxed.

I want to fold them defensively across my chest, but I refuse to give in to the urge.

Body language is everything in this situation, and I don’t want her to think she’s getting to me or that I’m scared.

I give both women my best non-expression.

“Yes, that’s her,” she sneers, her blue eyes—so similar to her son’s—narrowing with disdain as she assesses me. She casts a scornful glance at my casual clothes, her lips curling in distaste. My outfit can’t compete with her immaculate designer suit and perfectly coiffed grey hair.

The urge to defend myself to this woman is almost overwhelming. Come on, Fred, you no longer need to be polite. “Are you still slandering me, Theresa?” The words spill out before I can stop them .

“Slander? It is not slander if it is true.”

“Is it true?” I challenge. “Where’s your evidence?” I raise my hands, tapping my wrists together to mimic handcuffs. “Where are the police? If I’m a thief, shouldn’t I have been arrested? No one’s knocking down my door, because it is not true. You are a liar.”

“What Jay ever saw in you, short, fat?—”

I stop listening. When I was younger, her venom might have broken me. But I’m not that sweet woman anymore.

Years of enduring her sharp tongue have hardened me, and now I’m confident in who I am. My sense of self can still wobble a bit, but I know my worth. Someone like her, who finds it acceptable to fat-shame, lie, and sabotage someone’s career merely because they left her son, will never understand.

Her cruelty comes from weakness, not strength.

I stand a little straighter, as though a steel rod runs along my spine. Even though she’s taller, I tilt my head so I’m looking down on her and tune back in.

“I am so glad Jay did not marry you.” She turns to her friend and scoffs. “Could you imagine her in our family? Good God. Melissa, his fiancée, is so much more his equal—she’s got a degree. She’s smart.”

I have a degree. I’m smart.

She must be disappointed that I’m not reacting the way she hoped. I already know about her precious son’s wedding.

“And Melissa is an absolute marvel. They have been together for a year, and he knows she’s the one?—”

I freeze. What? A year?

They’ve been together for a year ?

But… but I left him almost five months ago. He cheated on me? No—that can’t be right.

Come on, Fred, stop being so na?ve. Of course he did!

He’s a forty-four-year-old spoilt child who wants what he wants when he wants it.

You are not so observant now, are you? my inner voice snarls.

When it comes to Jay, I stopped listening to my screaming inner voice years ago.

I thought I was perceptive; I even believed I had some supernatural gift.

A gift? What a joke. There’s nothing special about me .

How many other women did he cheat on me with?

Everything warps around me. My ears and nose feel blocked. The weight of her words crushes my chest, and the world distorts, as though I’m at the bottom of a swimming pool.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry in front of this woman.

“After everything I did for him,” I mumble. “I didn’t think he would cheat.”

“Pardon?” Jay’s mum snarls. “Cheat? How can you cheat on a placeholder?”

Ouch.

“Don’t you dare speak about my son.” She strides forward, heels clicking on the tiles.

With a sharp nail, she jabs my breastbone.

“You.” Poke . “Are.” Poke . “Useless.” Poke .

“An embarrassment.” Poke . “Not good enough for my son.” Poke .

“Of course he replaced you. What do they call it, Margaret?” She glances at her friend, who only gapes back at us.

“That’s right,” Theresa continues. “Monkey branching, that is the term. We did not have words like that in my day, but now it is everywhere. He kept you on a leash while he tested out his new fiancée.” She smiles coldly. “Best decision he ever made, getting rid of you.”

“I left him,” I say quietly, my voice thick with the weight of it. Where she poked me, there’s a sharp throb. When she jabs me again, I swat her hand away. I rub my chest, suddenly furious. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

Behind the counter, my order’s called. I turn away, grab the bag with a “thank you” and then get the heck out of there. I’ve got a job to do. Thanks to her, I’m not sitting in a fancy office somewhere, doing the work I trained for. I’ll be damned if she’s going to make me lose this job too.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Theresa screeches.

I pay her no mind and keep walking. Her voice rises behind me, but I don’t listen. I leave the restaurant via the side door, hurry to my car, and in a daze, drive to drop off the order.

I’m so disappointed in myself for letting Theresa get under my skin. I don’t even know why I care what that woman thinks. I should not have engaged; I should have ignored her. That’s on me.

Why can’t Jay and his awful mother stay out of my life?

When I was a kid, I read somewhere that when you date someone, it takes twice as long to get over them as the time you spent together.

I do not want to be thinking about Jay for the next twenty years.

In fact, I don’t want to think about him at all, certainly not in twenty years, not in twenty minutes.

That man is not living rent-free in my head.

Maybe Theresa is lying, but what if she’s not? What if he did cheat on me? I could never understand how Jay could propose to another woman after only two months, but now… yeah, this makes more sense.

Amy always said Jay was a narcissistic twat.

I could easily waste hours trying to analyse what’s going on in that man’s head, but in the end, it’s pointless. All I can do is judge him by his actions and how they make me feel. And the truth is, I don’t like the person I become around him and his family.

And I need to stop giving these people power over me.

Whatever they think or feel has nothing to do with me.

My hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as I drive. Once the delivery’s done, I mindlessly accept another job without even looking at it.

Half of me wants to RSVP ‘yes’ to his wedding, to go and watch him marry her. Marry Melissa. Perhaps that would give me what I need to truly move on. Healing, closure and the relief of knowing Jay and his mother are officially someone else’s problem.

I plug the next delivery address into my navigation to realise I have made a huge mistake.

It’s for the Vampire Sector.

I feel sick. “Oh bloody hell.” I slap my hand against the dashboard hard enough to sting my palm.

Why did I do that? Why did I accept delivery without looking?

I can’t believe I took a Vampire Sector order.

“Fred, things happen for a reason,” I mutter, trying to convince myself it will be all right.

I look out the window.

The sun’s shining.

What could possibly go wrong? Besides, it’s still three hours before nightfall. I’ve got plenty of time to get there and back. It will be fine. Vampires are daytime dead, and their fledglings, thralls and blood donors still need to eat regular food.

At least the drive is long, which means a huge delivery fee. I glance at my phone’s map. The location is near the border, right at the edge. A quick in-and-out. And it’s close to the wizard’s house. Once I’m done, I can head home.

Yeah. It will be fine.