Page 93 of Bitten Vampire
The interior feed whites out. An external camera, hidden in the trees, shows fire tearing through the structure. Smoke billows. Wreckage burns.
No survivors. Simone is gone.
In the time I have known Valdarr, I have seen his kindness, his control, his patience—but also his ruthlessness. Other clans do not challenge him because they remember what happens when they do. He never starts a war; he merely ends it. Completely. No second chances.
That is how he stands unopposed as heir, and why only the young or the foolish imagine he has gone soft.
By tomorrow night, every clan will have heard the gossip: another assassination attempt has failed.
Chapter Thirty-Five
I knowthe clan is hurting, and because Valdarr refuses to tell them anything about me—about what I can do—they treat me like some sort of super spy and give me the cold shoulder.
I understand; it’s fine.
If I hadn’t knocked Simone out, it would have been much worse. Sheis—was—incredibly strong and talented.
Harrison has taken it hard. He has locked himself in the apartment’s study, analysing every scrap of data and trying to work out how she managed to outmanoeuvre him.
Valdarr is a tangle of emotions: delighted that I am willing to try a relationship, yet wounded that someone he trusted so completely has proved a traitor.
Daylight arrives quickly, and the vampires retreat totheir rooms. The penthouse is open-plan, with kitchen, dining, and living areas, each opening onto a slim glass balcony. Fortunately, the apartment is large enough for everyone to have space. Valdarr invites me to his room, but I decline; I’m not ready to watch him die for the day.
I shower, change, and after toast and tea, curl up on the brown leather sofa to try to reach House. I know I ought to have someone beside me in case anything goes wrong, yet I also need to manage this on my own. I’m sure I will be all right. I tap the faint threads of my magic, searching for any trace of her, but all I gain is a splitting headache and a nosebleed.
Perhaps daytime and being human dulls the link; perhaps she is toootherto be found. Perhaps I am simply tapped out. It is maddening.
Around midday Valdarr reappears.
I have not seen his hair loose since we first met; it falls in glossy waves around his shoulders. He is wearing grey tracksuit bottoms that sit low on his hips and a plain white T-shirt that clings to every muscle. Coherent thought deserts me. It is such a simple outfit, yet he wears it like sin. He gives me a lazy smile, then strolls to the kitchen and begins pulling things from the fridge.
“You have not eaten lunch yet, have you?” he asks.
“No, I have not,” I admit.
“Great,” he says, sounding genuinely pleased.
He starts assembling a salad—a huge one. I watch as he whisks together a dressing from vinegar, oil, mustard and some lemon juice.
He slides a glass of orange juice across the table just asI’m rubbing my temples, trying to ward off the growing headache.
“Hydration,” he says, placing a glass of water beside it.
I don’t have the heart to tell him I was trying to search for House—that I have probably pushed my power too far and need a break.
Then the salad appears in front of me, and he sits opposite, watching with a soft smile, as though he genuinely enjoys taking care of me.
We sit at the dining table and talk nonsense. I tell him about my podcast obsession and how, two years ago, I fell deep into a rabbit hole of flight-simulation crash analysis. An internet pundit dissects every cockpit procedure; I now know all the jargon.
Valdarr grins, amused.
I try to eat delicately, but when I cut into a cherry tomato, it bursts beneath my knife, splattering seeds across his white T-shirt. Mortified, I leap for a cloth. “Oh no! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he says, smiling. “I like abstract art.”
I slip my fingers under the fabric to dab the stain. “I didn’t mean to get you.”
“It’s all right,” he murmurs, gripping my thighs and pulling me close before kissing me. The kiss is soft, slow, lingering. Somehow I end up perched on his lap, my fingers tangled in his silk-smooth hair.
