Page 14 of Bitten Vampire
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 Jaycould 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 ahugemistake.
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 thereand 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.
Chapter Six
A vampire deliveryon a random Friday evening. Brilliant. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but cancelling the order would mark my record, and I can’t risk that. I need this job. I don’t want to add fuel to the fire—if Theresa ever discovers where I work, she will report me.
I would not put it past her—meddling is her favourite hobby. One pointed question to the staff at the restaurant would reveal I’m a delivery driver, not a customer. I must stay squeaky-clean, so I cannot refuse this job.
I collect the order from a high-end restaurant, probably the priciest delivery I will ever make. A stasis spell keeps the food piping hot, as though it has just left the kitchen. At least I needn’t worry about the food getting cold. Expensive delivery, indeed.
To steady my nerves, I queue a motivational podcast. Ilisten intently, nodding along to the podcaster as her soothing voice reminds me to master my destiny. Thirty minutes later—having learned I should give my nasty inner voice a name—I sail past the turn-off for home.
Moments after that, an enormous sign looms over the lanes:warning: you are entering the vampire sector.
My heart skips a beat, and I immediately silence the podcast so I can concentrate. Unlike the Shifter Sector in the north and the Magic Sector in the southwest, there are no towering walls or imposing barricades here. The road widens into toll-style lanes, each fronted by an empty booth. A green light tells me I may proceed—humans entering the Vampire Sector need no papers.
The opposite carriageway is a different matter entirely, lined with guards and identification checks. As a licensed delivery driver, the electronic tag on the car will let me skip the queue on the way back.
The border is quiet now; just before sunset it will swarm with traffic. A glance at the clock tells me I have a shade over two hours of daylight. Plenty of time.
Behind me the checkpoint shrinks, and the tarmac grows silk-smooth. On each building, the windows glitter with UV-blocking glass. Everything is shinier here, almost too pristine. The farther I drive, the bigger the properties grow, and the owners’ wealth becomes impossible to miss.
Vampires are territorial; they need space for their ‘family.’ They live in small groups, collectively known as Clans, each made up of a master vampire, lesser vampires, fledglings, thralls, donors, and daytime guards. Serving a Clan is—so they claim—an honour.
An honour to serve a corpse.
