Bitten
THE GRACED SERIES, BOOK TWO
AMANDA PILLAR
About Bitten
Being the coroner has suddenly become the toughest job in town.
Doctor Alice Reive has more bodies and fewer answers than normal, so she’s determined to find the murderer responsible before another vampire ends up dead. With the help of the vampire Dante Kipling and city guard Elle Brown, she races to track down the killer.
Hannah Romanov has spent hundreds of years living on an isolated mountain. One of the only Graced vampires in existence, her quiet life is thrown into chaos after she discovers a baby left in the wilds to die. Hannah will do anything to ensure the infant’s survival, even if it means travelling to a city plagued by murderers and filled with vampires who’d want her dead.
Contents
About Bitten
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
More by Amanda Pillar
About Amanda
Dedication
For Liz Grzyb. Wonderful friend and editor extraordinaire. You’ll smash it.
Prologue
The Trsetti tell of a peak, high in the Oberona Mountains; sometimes it is clothed in the white of snow, other times in green and flowers of startling blue. They call it the Old Woman, and on its cliffs, there sits a hut. None of the Trsetti have seen this building in hundreds of years, although there are those who swear the stone house is empty, that no one has lived there for decades. But those who say this are young and do not believe in that which cannot be seen, or touched or heard.
The older Trsetti know better.
In truth, the hut has sat abandoned from time to time, once for centuries. Every now and then, however, it has been occupied. An auburn-haired woman would go there, when she was weary of the world beyond the valley. Indeed, the Traveler, as the Trsetti call her, had been visiting this stone building for as long as they could remember, and their memories were long, stretching far back to times when the purple and yellow-eyed demons fought for control of the world. The blood drinkers and the shape changers. The Traveler, they say, was a blood drinker, yet she never drank from the Trsetti, not even when sustenance was offered freely.
Then one day, she arrived in the valley with a small girl who had eyes so dark Brown they could be Black. She traded for food and essentials, while the girl child stood alone outside the small town, watching the ground at her feet. And when the Traveler was done, she led the child away, disappearing up the Old Woman’s trails. It was over a hundred years before the Trsetti laid eyes on either one again.
PART I
Nature is wont to hide herself
Chapter 1
Trsetti village
Fin was running for his life.
Again.
For the third time this month.
His feet beat along the dirt tracks that meandered between the Trsetti huts, his breath coming fast. He swore as a villager leaped out from a gap between dwellings. Spotting Fin, the man released a bloodcurdling shout, his eyes wide and savage. Fin skidded to a stop, met the man’s wild stare and grinned. The Trsetti cursed in his native language, raised a club above his head, and swung. With a burst of speed, Fin dodged to the left, sliding around his attacker. He winced at the loud thunk of the club on a daub wall. If that had been his skull, it would have cracked like an egg.
Breathing hard, Fin banked right, before bursting from the edge of the village. He ran for the trees, their emerald tops glinting against an azure skyline. Yells and cries followed him, but he didn’t look back to see how many villagers were giving chase. The cacophony was enough to let him know that there were too many. Stones thudded into the ground around him; he was lucky the villagers were such bad shots. He ran on. Once he hit the tree line, he’d be safe.
Well, safer.
The yells grew more excited as a rock struck his shoulder, and he bit back a grunt. The sharp burn of fatigue seared his legs, and his lungs ached. The trees beckoned, a green line of safety that promised him a breather, a cool drink of water, and a long and no doubt furious chat with a pissed-off werebear.
While each villager might know the surrounding forests like the backs of their weathered hands, they wouldn’t follow him in far, not once they’d seen Byrne. Coming up close to a hulking were would make them think twice about coming near Fin ever again, the superstitious bunch of idiots. That was why he’d gone into town alone. With his Hazel eyes, Fin was surprised they’d even tolerated him. But his pretty face generally smoothed things over.
Yes, he’d survive this day; he’d put gold on it.
He didn’t want to think about what Byrne would say when they met up. It wouldn’t be flattering toward Fin; then again, it never was. Byrne was grumpy. Being in cold weather in his human form tended to leave him agitated. Bears liked to hibernate, after all. It also didn’t help that it was the third time this month that Fin had gotten them kicked out of a town. But that wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.
How was he meant to know that the Trsetti woman was married?
Chapter 2
The Old Mother
Hannah hadn’t spoken to another person in over a year. She couldn’t even remember the sound of her own voice. After all, there were only so many conversations one could have with oneself before boredom — or madness — became a serious issue.
She kicked the wooden door shut behind her and walked across the open room. Leaning down, she dropped the bucket of blackberries onto the timber b
ench that constituted her kitchen table. The pack full of roots she’d carried slung over her shoulder soon joined the bucket on the scarred benchtop. She had enough to eat for a few days yet.
Hannah snorted.
She could go without food for longer than anyone else she knew. Not that she knew many people. Eating food was necessary; it just didn’t need to be a daily occurrence for her, not so long as she could hunt animals for blood. But that was the thing with boredom — gathering and eating produce gave her something to do.
Hannah reached her arms high above her head, toward the beams that spanned the ceiling, and stretched out, arching backward as she did so. She held the position for a few seconds before she dropped her arms and looked around the small cabin. The dishes — misshapen pieces of pottery that they were — had been washed, the ceiling was free of cobwebs, and her bed was made. She’d also catalogued her larder and meager collection of books.
The large room, which housed her kitchen and living area, was stone-walled and hung with thick tapestries that were out of place in the small cabin, their richness in stark contrast to the serviceable furniture of the hut. They depicted scenes of vast cities, of death, and of life. Even though they hung on the walls of her home, insulating the interior against the cold, Hannah still wouldn’t touch them. Another’s hands had woven the cloth; another’s memories and impressions were as intertwined in the images as the individual threads. When her mother came to visit, she would beat the dust out of them for Hannah. No, the hangings were too potent for Hannah to handle, even wearing gloves.
She wasn’t that desperate for things to do.
In the metal hearth, the fire had died down to coals, so she walked over and began to stoke it. As flames started to flicker and lick at the kindling, she fed the growing blaze some of the wood she’d stocked next to the chimney. Like almost everything else in the cabin — from the battered table, to the chairs, the bed, and even the cutlery — Hannah had made the hearth herself. She’d sold all the other items she’d been given over the years, except for the tapestries. Those she’d kept for her mother.
Once the blaze had settled in, she rose and took off her gloves, dropping them on the kitchen table. She should get some water, so she could wash her face and the roots she’d collected. And she should check on Betty, her goat.
Grabbing a second bucket from near the sink, she headed outside. Turning left, she strode around to the small stable — a shed she had converted. A natural spring ran about two hundred steps from her kitchen window. In the summer it flowed freely, and she used that rather than the pump inside. Like most other things, she’d made the pump herself, and it worked, usually. Most of the time though, it was quicker to head outside for water.
The grassy banks along the stream were so green it almost hurt to look at them. Small yellow and white star-shaped flowers dotted the verdant expanse, and Hannah could hear small animals and insects crawling through the vegetation. Even a few bees buzzed happily from flower to flower. It was still early spring, not really all that warm yet, but up here, on the Old Woman, animals took what opportunities they had.
Hannah bent low and dropped the bucket into the stream; it filled quickly. She reveled in the sensation of the water as it flowed over her hands, chilling her. She almost felt naked, the bare skin of her hands exposed. But there was nothing to contaminate the liquid up here — from mountain to cup, that’s how she liked it. Fresh as a daisy, as her mother would say with a smile.
She hauled the bucket out of the stream, then turned and headed toward the stable. She’d fill up Betty’s trough for the night, then go back and grab some water for herself. Hopefully the goat’s supply wouldn’t freeze over; the nights were still cold, but Hannah had insulated the little addendum to her cabin as best she could.
She opened the stable door and smiled when she spotted Betty, although the expression wilted when she spotted the carnage. The goat had chewed through several pieces of scrap leather that Hannah had thought were placed well above her reach. The animal turned and looked at her with large, liquid brown eyes. It was difficult to be annoyed at having her leather collection ruined, when confronted with such a pathetic display.
Hannah emptied the trough, then filled it with fresh water while Betty nibbled on her piece of leather. She dropped the bucket by the door, and collected the other half-chewed pieces. They were beyond salvaging, weak from the gnawing, and would have to be thrown out. Hannah could just leave them for Betty to chew on some more, but she wasn’t sure how healthy that was for the silly nanny. Thankfully, it was cow leather, so at least Betty hadn’t inadvertently partaken in cannibalism, although she wouldn’t put it past the goat to try.
Checking the supply of hay, Hannah determined there would be enough for the night and following day. She would let Betty roam tomorrow, the only problem being tracking the goat down again afterward. The nanny could cover a surprising amount of terrain in a day.
Hannah stroked Betty’s head for a few minutes and the goat shut her eyes in bliss. They’d been together for five years now; the animal was a faithful, if cheeky companion. Hannah had traded for her when her old goat, Molly, had died. There were some rare herbs that grew on the slopes of the Old Mother, much prized by the Trsetti women, and they’d more than covered the cost of a goat. Withdrawing her hand slowly, her heart swelled with emotion. It was dangerous to fall in love with her pets — they always died — but she couldn’t help it.
After making sure the stable was locked behind her, Hannah headed back to the stream, pail in hand. A thin wail drifted to her on the breeze, like a cat howling. There were few cats on the Old Woman: a cougar or two, but nothing that had ever ventured close to her hut. Not close enough for her to hear, anyway. They could detect that another predator had marked out her territory.
The cry sounded again, thin and weak. If Hannah hadn’t been a vampire, she probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it.
Maybe it was a person? A child who had gotten lost on the slopes?
Dropping her bucket, she ran in the direction of the sound. It grew weaker as her feet sped over the green-carpeted slopes, but she followed it to the source. Barely panting, she came to a sudden stop, eyes wide at the sight laid out before her.
It was a baby.
Chapter 3
Pinton City
Being short had never really been a problem for Alice Reive. Sure, there was that time when she’d dated Roger Mingly, who’d been six foot two, and with her just five three, kissing had been a bit of an issue. And normally she was fine with her height, or lack of it. But today she was trying to paint the ceiling in her flat, and even though she had climbed to the top of her ladder, the last bit of plaster was just beyond her reach.
Huffing, she held the paintbrush out and tried to stretch that extra couple of inches, but she wasn’t in luck. The unpainted patch mocked her with its greenness. Who had ever thought that green was a good color to paint a ceiling. That’s what she wanted to know. Admitting defeat — temporarily — she climbed down the ladder and took the paintbrush to the sink. Maybe she should ask one of the guards she worked with if they’d mind lending her a hand. Kyle McInnes and the guard captain Mikael Johnston were tall enough that they could paint that corner with ease. Probably wouldn’t even need a ladder, Alice thought with a frown. Bastards.
As she rinsed the last of the white paint down the drain, a knock sounded. She turned the faucet off and dried her hands before opening the door to her visitor — a small boy in the black cap that identified him as a messenger for the City Guard. Pinton’s guards had taken to employing a regular stable of runners, as it made their communication system much more reliable, compared to the previous method of grabbing the nearest street urchin and promising them bronze. Even though most of the messengers they now employed permanently were the same urchins.
But when it came to messages from the guards, Alice knew it could be only one thing.
“They found a body, miss,” the boy
said without preamble.
Alice sighed. A life cataloguing corpses certainly wasn’t how she’d imagined her adulthood would turn out. It was her type of penance or punishment; she wasn’t sure which. “Where?”
“Down in King’s Park.”
Blinking, Alice looked down at the boy. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “Where did you say?”
“King’s Park, miss.”
“Let me get my things.”
*
Alice carefully set her black leather bag beside the shrouded body and took a deep breath. She didn’t think she’d ever get over the fear of the unknown; the horrible uncertainty that rocked her the moment before she pulled back the cover to reveal the dead face.
Distracting herself, she stole glimpses of the surrounding park. Green grass extended as far as the eye could see, intersected by tracks and flowerbeds. Tall iron structures designed to mimic trees dominated the landscape, covered in thick, flowering vines. And then there were the aristos who had gathered around the guard perimeter to stare at the body. They were dressed like a children’s coloring set; pinks, blues, greens, blacks and every other shade in between. All in no doubt extremely expensive fabric — fabric she could only dream of touching, let alone owning.
Humans didn’t generally get to visit this area. Oh, they could come into the park and even wander around, but the death stares they’d earn from the vampire aristos generally meant it wasn’t worth the bother. Neither was the risk of ending up as a vampire’s next meal, or worse, the risk of becoming bit-ridden. One bite was all it took, the drug-like high induced by their saliva second to none. So she’d heard.
Alice didn’t believe in tempting fate to find out.
“When was the last time a body was found here?” Alice asked. She glanced over at the crowd of onlookers.
“For a vampire body, around fifty years ago,” Dinya answered. The day captain had organized for three guards to stand sentry at the perimeter of the site. Their hands were folded behind their backs, military style. Dinya, meanwhile, hovered close to Alice and the corpse. “Humans are pretty common. Someone gets a bit enthusiastic about lunch or some such. You’re lucky it’s daytime, otherwise the crowd would be three times this size.”
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