Page 56 of Bitten Vampire
Nothing comes.
Instead, laughter—Beryl’s wicked, gleeful cackle. Groans follow, then screams, and the wet squelch of tearing flesh.
Hands over my ears, I hunch smaller. Warm blood splatters my face, slides down my cheeks, drips from my wrists. I sink to my knees, curling into the corner.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Bodies.
A scented breeze—rosemary and cool air—eddies through the hall. Smoke thins, the copper stench fades, and I open my eyes to watch as the shattered glass lifts from the floor, swirling upward to slot itself neatly back into place. The window is whole again.
The living room is immaculate. No smoke. No blood. No trace of the four vampires who came to kill me.
My hands are red, sticky. My hair feels matted. Bits of vampire are tangled in it.
I gag.
Then House’s magic washes over me, warm as a gentle wind. Tingling my skin—and just like that—I’m clean again.
It’s all right,House whispers.It’s done.
That was such fun, Beryl giggles.
She flips lazily around the living room, and my gaze snags on something in the centre of the coffee table:an earpiece.
It squawks to life.
“Team One, do you have confirmation of the kill?”
I don’t need to ask why it’s still here; House and Beryl clearly want me to do something.
“They really were the bad guys, right? And we’re the good guys—even though we… killed them?”
You didn’t kill anyone,Beryl says, her tone suddenly prim.That was all me. You are perfectly innocent.
I nod slowly, twisting my hands. “But they won’t see it that way, will they? They will think it was me. Neither of you is here, and conveniently, I’m the only one who can hear you. That’s the very definition of insanity, isn’t it?” I swallow hard. “Hearing voices.”
The vampire who murdered you sent a hit squad,House says gently.We are the good guys, Fred. You can trust that.
I close my eyes for a second, then nod again. “All right, what do I do with that?”
Tell them not to try again,Beryl suggests sweetly.
“Okay.”
I step forward and pick up the earpiece. The smooth, black plastic is cold in my palm. A tiny button on the side must unmute the mic.
I press it, take a deep breath, and release my nerves—my fear—and channel my inner vampire.
“Your people are dead,” I say, voice cold and steady. “Do not come here again. All further attempts will be met with the same lethal force.”
Static hisses, followed by a sharp voice. “Who is this?”
I don’t answer; the message has been delivered.
