Page 7 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Seven

I was right about working in the Vampire Sector: almost no humans here deliver food, and the fees—even in daylight—are nearly double what I earn across the border. So why would I not work here? Less time on the road, less fuel, more money. Easy peasy.

This morning, instead of heading for the city, I turned towards the vampires.

Now I’m outside One Bite Won’t Hurt, the ‘themed bistro’ where Amy and Max ate their last meal. Goosebumps pepper my arms. From the pavement, it looks more haunted house than haute cuisine, but the neon open sign burns true to the website’s promise of twenty-four-hour service.

After a long walk to tire Baylor out before work, I skipped breakfast, so at nearly eleven, a meal feels justified. And if I have a quick chat with the staff about a very public murder, it’s perfectly normal. Right?

I draw a shaky breath, wipe my damp palms on my jeans, and straighten my newly dubbed ‘vampire-hunting’ top—really just a black, sweat-wicking exercise shirt with long sleeves and a high neckline that hugs my throat.

Fabric against my neck feels safer—who knows whether vampires study bare throats the way chocoholics size up a slab of cake.

Not that I plan to meet any vampires.

The bell over the door cackles like a Halloween toy, and I jump. Ahead, a host station shaped like chrome fangs guards the entrance, and behind it, the pièce de résistance dominates the room, a faux-blood fountain.

A wall of crimson liquid slides down smooth glass, backlit to suggest a pulsing vein, and the soft, rhythmic drip into the shallow pool below is oddly soothing. For a moment a charm thickens the air with a faint metallic tang, artificial yet disturbingly convincing, before the scent fades.

Velvet drapes and cobwebbed chandeliers complete the kitsch. Online photos never captured the full commitment. Amy, the horror buff, would have adored it.

A member of staff sweeps in, cape swirling, plastic fangs distorting her smile. The same dull glaze I noticed yesterday in others clouds her eyes. She looks exhausted. Perhaps life here does grind people down. I should head home—money isn’t everything—but the truth matters more than comfort.

“Good morning. Welcome to One Bite Won’t Hurt,” she lisps around the fangs. “Table for one?”

“Yes, please. Are you still serving breakfast?”

“Certainly. This way.” She leads me to a table at the back—perfect for observing the room—then hands over a menu.

When she returns, I order the breakfast special.

The plate, when it comes, is pure theatre: scarlet beans, an egg moulded into fangs, sausages shaped as stakes, and a heap of crispy bat-wing bacon. All gimmick, yet perfectly cooked.

While I eat, I note the other diners. An elderly couple—mid-seventies, perhaps—sit hand in hand, giggling over their plates. Adorable. The sight makes me smile.

The waitress checks on them, then turns to me. My stomach dips. This is the perfect chance to ask my questions, but do I blurt them out or attempt something subtler?

She lingers beside my table. “Enjoying your meal?”

“Very much, thank you.” I clear my throat. “If you have a moment, may I ask a few questions?” I flick my hair, leaning into the dizzy-blonde act.

She folds her arms, glancing about. “Sure. What’s up?”

“I’m a delivery driver from the Human Sector.” I jerk a thumb towards the border. “I had a drop-off here and like the area. Would you recommend living here? Is it safe?”

She exhales. “Pretty safe, just don’t wander at night, but that’s normal.” Her laugh is brittle.

“Must you belong to a Clan to work?”

“Yeah. Apart from jobs like yours, everything’s clan-owned,” she says. “Big firms, corner shops, this restaurant.”

“Oh, really. Which Clan owns it?”

“Clan Nocturna. I’m family.”

“How does one join?”

“You look the type, and the vamps would love you.” She hesitates. “You would need a vampire’s sponsorship, and most Clans aren’t taking new members.”

“Oh, okay, thanks for the info. So are you happy here?”

She drops her gaze. “It’s… fine.” Leaning closer, she lowers her voice.

“The pay’s good, the vampires are gorgeous, and being bitten”—she shivers—“is bliss. But they’re sociopaths.

Not human. Some try to care, but they don’t.

Do you care about a carrot? You might if it wilts, yet it’s still food, and that’s how they see us. They’ve evolved past us.”

Her candour jolts me. I drop the act. I’m no good at game playing anyway.

“I lied. I’m here for answers. My friends Amy and Max Fisher were murdered four weeks ago.”

“I remember.” She wipes the table, hands trembling. “We closed while the police investigated. I’m sorry for your loss, but you shouldn’t ask questions, not around here. Speak to the wrong people and you’ll end up getting hurt, or worse, killed like your friends.”

“Do you need help?” I whisper. The house has two spare bedrooms.

She shoots me a look of flat disgust. “I don’t need rescuing.”

Unnerved, I thank her, settle the bill, and add an oversized tip. With her warning echoing in my ears, I step outside and straight into a sheet of rain.

The downpour batters me as I dash across the car park and dive into the driver’s seat, silently cursing my forgotten coat.

Instead of signing in and starting work, I pull up directions on my phone to where Amy and Max’s bodies were found.

Whenever vampires kill, speculation follows. A loud, angry group called Human First publishes everything it can dig up. The members claim to seek justice, but they merely revel in pain. Still, thanks to them, I know the exact spot.

Rain drums on the windscreen as I drive. Reaching the location, I pull over. The area feels wrong. Why would Amy and Max have come here of all places?

The only explanation is memory magic: a vampire must have manipulated them into coming here.

I stare through the rain-slicked glass for five minutes. When the weather eases, I get out, kick at rocks, dandelions, and stubborn weeds. Hands on hips, I scan the ground. Nothing.

I expect a stain, a scrap of blood, something to mark the place where two remarkable people died. There is nothing. Not even a forlorn strip of police tape.

Ahead stands a derelict industrial building. I wander closer, but a sudden noise startles me. My nerves are shot; I feel silly and skittish. Low clouds roll back, heavy with more rain.

I dash to the car and slam the door. Coming here was pointless.

I know there is nothing I can do—however much I wish otherwise.

Common sense tells me to head back to the Human Sector.

But I’m here now, and a day on double pay is hard to surrender.

I open the delivery app, log in, and a cascade of orders fills the screen.

I do not know the street names, yet the money is worth the learning curve.

I grind through job after job. The novelty breakfast keeps me going, though the bacon leaves my tongue arid; I gulp a bottle of juice just to unglue my mouth.

By half-seven I accept one last run—back to the house with the yellow door. The pickup’s nearby, so fifteen minutes later I’m cruising down the same road as yesterday. The rain has been off and on, with me avoiding the worst of it, yet the sky chooses that moment to split wide open.

I groan, but the door of number forty-two swings wide. He’s seen me arrive, no chance to wait it out.

Grabbing the bag, I plunge into the deluge.

This evening I keep my phone tucked away until the final photo—no more rookie mistakes, unlike yesterday. I realise now how stupid and na?ve I was to be fiddling with my phone while rocking up to a house in the Vampire Sector for the first time. I won’t do that again.

Rain trickles down my face; a droplet clings to my nose. I shield the bag until I shuffle beneath the oak porch, and then it’s in his grasp. His eyes—more violet than grey tonight—hold mine.

“Quicker this time,” he notes.

I nod, shivering, not knowing what to say, frightened that I’ll say something stupid or rude. My clothes cling—late Spring or not, the wind shaves ten degrees off and steals the warmth from my skin. Without taking my eyes off him, I pull out my phone to snap proof of delivery.

“Where’s your coat?” He frowns, then reaches over his shoulder and hauls off his black hoodie in one fluid motion. The T-shirt beneath rides up, revealing a slab of abdominal muscle before it settles.

Bloody hell .

I glance away, then see nothing at all as he drops the hoodie over my head.

“Sir… please… you don’t have to—” I mumble into the fabric.

“Arms.”

I obey, robot-like. The sleeves swallow my hands, phone and all, and the garment hangs to my knees. Still warm from his body, it smells of musk, metal, and something darker… intoxicating. I stare up at him.

Satisfaction softens his expression: I’m warm, therefore acceptable.

A strange man.

“When do I bring this back?” I ask.

“Keep it. Next time, wear a coat.” The door slams shut.

I flip up the hood, hurry down the path and clamber into the car. Who does that? Who gives a delivery driver their clothes?

I can’t believe I just stood there, mouth agape, while he stripped and dressed me.

I shake my head and pluck at the fabric. A silver-stitched emblem stands out against the matte black: a bird, wings tucked, perched on a round shield. A single drop of blood gleams red at the tip of its beak.

Before starting the engine, keeping the hoodie in place, I wriggle out of my drenched top beneath. Much better. My jeans are still soaked, but I’m not about to peel those off.

I log out of the work app; it’s time to go home.

The soft black fabric of the hoodie covers my fingers as I change gears. Like a lovesick teenager, I want to live in it, yet I refuse to cling to a stranger’s clothes. I’ll wash it and return it tomorrow.

Tomorrow. One more day working in the Vampire Sector won’t hurt. Sunday is triple pay, and I don’t have to wait for jobs. It will cover Baylor’s recent mishaps.

I will keep my head down and my mouth shut. I have come to the very sensible conclusion that I can’t solve Amy and Max’s murders and would probably become the next victim.

If I die, where will Baylor go?

Relying on the house to take care of him would be selfish, and I don’t want to leave the wizard’s house alone. In the short time I’ve lived there, I’ve never felt safer. As daft as it sounds, the house is my friend, and Baylor is my fur baby now.

One more day, then I’ll abandon vampire territory and concentrate on clearing my debts, the slow, sensible way, I promise myself.

A marketing job over here, safely beyond Theresa’s reach, is tempting, but serving a vampire Clan is a step too far. Courier work is one thing, servitude to a master vampire is quite another.

Crossing the border, I toy with freelancing in the Human Sector under an anonymous company name. I cringe. The risk of losing everything is just too great. It would break my heart if I set up a company for Theresa to come along and ruin everything.

I know I shouldn’t live my life based on fear, but the thought of losing everything again is paralysing.

I’m tired of being afraid.

Maybe I should go to the wedding… My heart skips. Ha ng on, that’s a great idea! If Jay truly thought I was a thief, would he invite me to his wedding?

No, he would not.

Would my attending publicly prove Theresa a liar?

Maybe.

I park, rush indoors and call, “House, do you think I should go to the wedding?” My words run together as I rush to explain my plan.

The invitation materialises on the sideboard.

“Brilliant, you didn’t send it yet. Do you have any correction fluid?”

The tick beside Regretfully decline fades; ‘ Accept with pleasure’ is now marked. The house even selects beef for my main meal.

“Am I really doing this?” My voice trembles with fear and excitement. The thought makes me feel downright giddy. “Yes, I bloody well am. I will attend, wear a stunning dress, and meet Theresa’s stare head-on.” They will regret underestimating me.

I exhale a breath of determination tinged with maybe a little bit of madness.

Oh, my goodness, I’m going to my ex’s wedding!

And I’m getting my life back.