Page 105 of Bitten Vampire
The men exchange uneasy glances: his serenity disconcerts them, as they are accustomed to fear. He radiates the messageYou are nothing to me.
The car pulls away.
I fold the vision, using the magic to trace where the car will end up because that’s where the Grand Master and danger is.
I arrive outside an apartment block—fourteen storeys—on the edge of the Vampire Sector. If I have to come here in the flesh, I mentally note the street name and building number.
Now I must choose: do I snap back and tell the others or stay and watch this through? My power is limited; if I leave, I might not return. And what seems like hours here will be minutes in the waking world. Valdarr may not even have been taken yet.
I have time, so I decide to stay and study the building, counting guards, mapping exits. I trust my magic will let me know the moment Valdarr arrives—there will be a faint ping, almost subliminal.
The Grand Master owns the entire place, and security is tight.
On the ground floor I start with the security office, a control centre behind a reinforced door. I note the camera angles and their coverage, anything useful. I skim the paperwork left out, but find nothing helpful.
Next I move through the armoury and the break room. It apears some staff even live on-site, packed into bunks like an army barracks. For all the Grand Master’s wealth, he treats his people poorly.
Each floor serves a different function. One is devoted entirely to PR and marketing. For a murderer of his calibre, he is meticulous, and that thoroughness has kept him in power for so long.
Floor by floor, I work my way up. Just before the top storey—an hour and fifteen minutes later, far longer than necessary—my magic pings to let me know the car is pulling in. They must have driven in circles to confuse him. Without having to think too much about it, I’m back at street level. No matter, he knows I’m watching.
They lead him inside. A lift whisks them straight to the top floor.
The doors open onto a suite of velvet, gold and ostentatious luxury. Heavy drapes. Polished stone.
They remove the hood. Valdarr neither blinks nor flinches. He simply surveys the room.
They make him wait. It’s a power play. The kind menuse when they fear they have already lost. Guards stand at parade rest. Silence lengthens until it creaks. Then a guy appears and flicks two fingers. Valdarr strolls forward as if he has all the time in the world, obliging his father to wait those extra, deliberate seconds.
He enters the inner office. Closes the distance. Each step is measured, deliberate, until they are close enough.
“Son.” The smile is all fang.
“You wanted to speak to me?”
“Still playing at rebellion? How quaint.”
Valdarr’s eyes are half-lidded, as if bored. “You fed without consent. You killed her. Dumped her like rubbish. When she rose, you sent knives and assassins—humans, even—to fix your mistake.”
“A mistake?” The Grand Master’s eyes glitter, cold, delighted. “Do you know how many mistakes I have buried, boy? Empires. Wars. Lovers. You think I remember every throat I drain? If she lived, some other power meddled, not my hand.”
“You know who she is to me.”
“I know what youwanther to be.”
“Winifred Crowsdale is my fated mate.” He drifts closer.
“And the instant you called her mate, you made yourself weak enough to break. Do you remember what I taught you about weaknesses?”
“I remember you taught me to hide mine.” Valdarr’s mouth flattens. “I’m done hiding.”
A low chuckle. “You think that Court will save you? You tossed a torch into tinder. The Twelve won’t kneel to aboy who drags his pethumaninto their chamber and names her miracle.”
“She’s not just a miracle,” Valdarr says softly. “She’s proof.”
The Grand Master’s smile holds; his eyes harden. “Proof of what, exactly?”
“That you’re not a god,” Valdarr replies. “That you can make mistakes. That the Accord still binds you, whether you believe it or not.”
