Page 121 of Bitten Vampire
Unacceptable.
Someone has turned my mate.
Winifred was meant to live a long, safe,humanlife.
I force calm.
“Sir, this vampire was running from the Human Sector across the scrubland,” a guard reports. “She tripped the wards, and we apprehended her.”
“Did she resist?”
“No, sir. She ran, but once spelled, she cooperated. She hasn’t spoken, though—clearly frightened. The problem, sir, is that she’s unmarked.”
I can feel the absence. My jaw aches.
“Look at me,” I say, low.
She lifts her head like the bravest thing I have ever seen.
Sunlight in a dark place. Her expressive eyes hold fear, yes, but relief too. A scar mars her throat, weeks old. The mate bond punches through me—fierce and incandescent—and everything goes very, very cold.
“All right, gentlemen, I’ll take it from here,” I say. “Lose the paperwork. She was never here.”
“Sir? Do you know her?” a guard asks.
One look ends the discussion.
“Of course, sir,” the desk officer barks. “Bravo Team, daylight’s coming. Lock everything down.”
They scatter. I guide her into an interview room, privacy first, wards set, sound locked. A dampening rune hums; the walls haze—no ears, no eyes, just us.
I call Harrison. “I found her. I need a car at the station. Emergency Protocol One.” Phone pocketed, I finally touch her. I cup her chin; the scar on her neck under my thumb is jagged, scavenger fast. Not a clean taking.
“Who did this to you?” I snarl.
She stares, proud despite fear.
“You were human, and now you’re not. So I’ll ask again. Who did this to you?” I drag a breath through my teeth, shove the rage elsewhere and spin the chair so her back is to the table. I brace her between my arms. Cage her with my body, yes, but also shield her from the door, the world.
“The spell gives us privacy,” I manage, voice shaking. “Winifred Crowsdale, answer my question. Who. Did. This. To. You?”
She startles. “How do you know my name?”
Oh, sunshine, I know everything about you.She licks her lips; my fangs ache like she has put her mouth on them.
Focus.
“Please answer my question.”
“A man ordered a takeaway to your house,” she rasps.
“That’s impossible.” Reflex. No one should have been there. No one wasscheduled.
“Impossible?” she shoots back, heat under the hoarseness.
“I’m not calling you a liar,” I say, forcing my voice flat. “But no one should have been at that house.”
“He answered the door in broad daylight. Like you, he was awake during the day.”
