Page 8 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Eight

The weather is glorious after yesterday’s intermittent downpours; today is warm and sunny.

I’m working again and started early, so the day zips along. When a delivery for the yellow-door house appears, my heart lurches and I hit accept so fast I half-expect the phone to combust.

Day three. This is becoming a habit—one I’m going to miss.

Grinning like an idiot, I collect the order, try not to speed, and soon turn into the familiar street.

The freshly laundered hoodie is folded in a clear bag under my arm. At the door I knock and wait. Nothing. Another knock. Still nothing. Disappointed, I set the takeaway and the hoodie on the step, raise my phone for the proof-of-delivery photo?—

The door swings open.

I beam—then freeze. The man in the doorway isn’t him . A stranger stares back. My smile cracks; I hadn’t realised how much I cared until this moment. Gosh, I’m a silly middle-aged woman. I need to go back to the Human Sector where I belong.

“I’ve got a tip for you,” the stranger says, extending what looks like a wad of notes. His thumb hides most of it.

Something about his appearance is subtly wrong.

His short, dark hair is combed with meticulous precision, every strand in place.

Chalk-pale skin sets off lips so crimson they catch the eye whether you wish it or not.

Dark grey eyes—flat and keen—are ringed with a disquieting burgundy hue, like dried blood.

My subconscious recognises the threat. Instinct screams danger . I step back from the porch and into the sunlight.

“No, that’s quite all right, thank you. The fee’s in the app. Enjoy your meal.” I turn to go?—

Pain explodes as he grabs my ponytail and drags me inside.

“What are you doing? Let go!” I claw at his wrist, trying to ease the burn in my scalp. “Let go!”

The beautiful man who gave me the clothes off his back to keep me warm yesterday would never have let this happen. Where is he? Why isn’t he here to save me? Is he dead?

“Help! Help me!”

To shut me up, the stranger slams me against a wall. Once. Twice. The hand tangled in my hair slides to my throat, and a sharp fingernail pricks beneath my chin. He has claws.

“Look what you made me do,” he growls, fangs bared. When he grabbed me, sunlight had touched his arm, the skin had blackened, and the truth hits me: a vampire awake in daylight.

I avert my eyes; strong vampires can steal your will if you meet their gaze. He doesn’t bother. He wrenches my head to the side and sinks his teeth into my neck.

It hurts!

I strike out—my first punch ever—and his head jerks to the side. For a heartbeat, I think my hit will stop him. It does not. Silly, Winifred.

The only sound is obscene slurping.

The room whirls.

Then everything goes black.