Page 68 of Bitten Vampire
Beryl slaps into my palm.There are cameras.I’m sorry about this, kid.Follow my lead.
Before I can ask what she means—or even protest—she yanks my arm, and I stumble forward. “What?” Heat lances down my spine. My fingers go numb. Something ancient slips in behind my eyes andclicksinto place. The strength that floods me is not my own.
Oh no. No, no, no. I did not sign up for this?—
Baylor freezesin the bushes with a soft whine; only his eyes track us warily.Bloody hell, is she controlling my dog, too?
The two human assassins—hardened killers, armed to the teeth—advance. One hefts a serrated black knife.
Beryl does not care.
She’s doing this because of the estate’s CCTV, desperate to keep her secret, and the assassins’ body-cams leave no room for subtlety. Every movement is sure and brutal. My body flips, reacting before I can think. I feel possessed. With my body moving like a marionette, I surge forward as she taps my dormant vampire magic. Every movement is sure and brutal.
Strike, pivot, drive. I feel the wood punch armour, hear ribs crack, taste copper spray. I try to resist, to yank the control back, but fighting her while she fights them will get me killed. With sheer horror ringing in my mind, I let go and ride it out.
Her magic is brutal. They never stand a chance.
When it is over, I’m shaking, sticky with blood. She does not release me, instead, she yanks us toward the next pair… and the next.
My mind screams; my body obeys.
I cling to a mental corner and count breaths.
At last I pin the final intruder. Beryl, lodged beneath his chin, bites into his neck.
“Who sent you?” she demands through my mouth.
“Clan Nocturna,” he rasps. “The clan and the Grand Master are coming for you. Your lover can’t save you. He can’t protect you.”
He mutters some random words; a tattoo on his collarbone flares. His mouth contorts, and then he starts to choke.
A suicide spell,Beryl murmurs, finallyletting me go.
I roll away and, still on the ground, scramble backwards on my bottom, watching as he disintegrates into ash.
“Horrible,” I breathe.
They ensure no one can be captured,Beryl replies.
“That’s not the only horrible thing, Beryl. What were you thinking? Why did you do that? Override me?” My voice cracks; I’m trembling.
People had died, and no matter their allegiance, the weight of it presses on me. I have killed, whether Beryl guided my hand or not. To keep her secret, she used me without asking. I’m complicit.
“Have you ever been used without your consent? I promised to keep your secret, but using me like that… that was wrong, Beryl.”
Tears blur my vision; nausea churns. My fingers tug at the grass, restless and sore, and my palm throbs from gripping the wood too tightly.
“I thought we were friends.”
We are friends. But it was the only way to save your life. Now quit your moaning, get up, and dust yourself off. We need to clear the rest of the estate.
Shock settles in like ice.
Together we scour the grounds—Beryl sensing, steering; me stumbling—until she’s certain no assassins remain.
I move in a daze.
For the first time, I wonder if misery with Jay might have been safer than all this magic.
