Bitten (The Graced Series Book 2)

by Amanda Pillar

  Can you really? her mind asked. What if something goes wrong? You don’t really know the first thing about babies, other than what the blanket told you. And the blanket’s owners were bigoted and backward. What happens if the baby needs something special because it’s Graced?

  Graced.

  Like her. But so unlike her, and so completely defenseless.

  You need help.

  Yes, she admitted to herself. I do.

  Chapter 8

  Pinton City

  The corpse looked bleached in the lamps of the underground morgue, the suture marks all the more visible for the whiteness. Alice’s autopsy had confirmed that the victim had died from a stake to the heart. Fragments of wood in what was left of the organ had revealed that pretty quickly. Pulling off her leather gloves, she threw them in the bin before washing her hands. Three times.

  Alice had always imagined that death clung to the undersides of her fingernails after an autopsy, even though she wore gloves. Fanciful of her, but that didn’t erase the fear that if she wasn’t careful when she cleaned up after a post-mortem, she might catch something nasty. Although, the risk was higher with the human victims that came through her doors than any were or vampire corpses that she might see. The vampire and were immune systems were so strong they probably killed anything horrible they came into contact with, even after death.

  Sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to be that strong, that healthy. To know that even if you were stabbed, you could survive. Although, Alice had been stabbed and lived; unlike her mother, who had been knifed fifteen times. But being a were or vampire would negate that fear, an idea that appealed so much she could almost taste it. But it was like cotton candy: sweet, sharp, but fleeting, dissolving in a rush of disappointment. She was human, and she’d lived. Her mother hadn’t been so lucky.

  “So,” a voice said, cutting across her thoughts. “How did the vic die?”

  Alice looked up — and up — into the face of Kyle McInnes. He typically worked the night shift, and if he was on duty, that meant she’d been trapped down here for hours.

  She pointed at the puncture hole on the corpse’s chest. It wasn’t as large as the one on the back, but it was pretty obvious nonetheless. “Stake through the heart.”

  Kyle flashed her a toothy grin. “A woman of few words, I like it.”

  Rolling her eyes, Alice patted the body dry with a cloth; she’d wiped it down with water after stitching the chest back together. She then walked over to the stone bench that wrapped around the perimeter of the room and picked up her clipboard, scanning the writing.

  D.o.D: 7th Day, Fifth Month

  Time & location of autopsy: 1600, City Morgue, Pinton

  Species: Vampire

  Sex: Male

  Height: Five foot eleven inches

  Weight: 170 pounds

  Age: ???

  Eye color: Purple (dah, vampire)

  Hair color: Chocolate Brown

  Skin color: White

  Cause of death: Stake Homicide

  Distinguishing features: Physically perfect? Hole from stake. No scars or birth marks. NB: do vampires even have birthmarks?

  General notes: Body was discovered in King’s Park. Victim was haphazardly dressed before being dumped in the park. Deceased was discovered by vampire aristocrats who called the City Guard. External examination at the park indicated that there were no signs of struggle. Body was still in rigor; estimated time of death was within the previous 12 hours. Internal examination demonstrated that the deceased had anal sex prior to being staked. Semen present in rectum. No signs of rape. No noticeable pathology, not that I would have expected any (vampire and all). All organs as to be expected for a vampire: heart larger than human’s (with necrotic tissue damage from stake); greater number of blood vessels; larger lungs. Remnant fragments of wood lodged in heart from stake. Area around stake shows signs of total tissue failure.

  NB: Brown powder noted on clothing: composition unknown. A type of snuff? Or drug?

  She’d listed the various weights of the organs and their respective details on the second and third pages. This was only the tenth vampire she had ever autopsied, so she’d been as detailed as possible. Normally, the aristos wouldn’t let coroners near their corpses. Vampire dead were often cremated immediately, with the ashes interred in their family crypts. Any information she could record would help her — and other human doctors and coroners — in the future.

  Looking up from the clipboard, Alice realized Kyle hadn’t left. The tall city guard was staring at the dead vampire with a look of mild interest on his face. He must have felt her eyes on him, because his warm brown gaze swung back her way. He gave her another charming grin. “So, are you doing much after your shift tonight, sexypants?”

  Sexypants?

  Alice’s clipboard drooped as she raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  His grin grew wider. “Sexypants. Cos you fill those pants out in a really sexy manner.”

  Alice couldn’t help but crack a smile. The guy was as subtle as a baton to the skull. “Does this kind of thing work for you normally?”

  Kyle folded his arms across his broad chest, and gave an awkward shrug. It made the material ripple nicely over his shoulders. The bastard knew he was built like a...well, like a city guard. “No one’s complained before.”

  “Well, I’ll be the first, then.”

  “C’mon, sexypants. You know you want me to take you out to breakfast.”

  Alice shook her head. She’d been thinking of asking this guy over to her house? Admittedly, she had just wanted to borrow his height to help paint, but the idiot would probably think that was an invitation straight into her sexy pants. He had his pluses: he was tall, hot and exceedingly well-built, and most human guys Alice knew weren’t so comfortable around corpses. The last non-city guard she’d had in the morgue was her ex-boyfriend. He’d ended up vomiting in the waste bin.

  But date Kyle McInnes? The man who was more interested in breaking skulls than making friends?

  “No, I don’t want breakfast.” Cutting people up tended to dent her appetite.

  Kyle waggled his eyebrows. “I can just give you a bit of dessert.”

  “Really? You just said that?”

  “You’re a tough woman, Dr. Reive. I’ll win that heart over yet.”

  “You aren’t after my heart.”

  He slapped a hand to his chest. “You wound me. You really wound me.”

  Alice set her clipboard down. She was about to kick him out when he suddenly grew serious. “Anything else about the vic, then? Something we can go off to catch the murderer? Dead leeches aren’t that common.”

  “I don’t know.” Alice ran a hand over her face. “I’ll send a full report through this afternoon. All I can tell you is that he was staked — yes, obvious — but he had sex beforehand.”

  Kyle peered at the corpse’s groin. “You can tell that?”

  “Disrespectful much?” Alice muttered. “He had sex with another man.”

  Kyle rocked back on his heels. “Right. Consensual?”

  “Appears so.”

  “Have we got his identity yet?”

  “Nope, that’s your job.”

  “Okay, we’ll no doubt find out soon. When we do, I’ll get my team to check out if the guy was in a relationship. Problem with the aristos though, they’re in and out of people’s beds all the time. While I admire the lifestyle, if he doesn’t have a long-term partner, it’ll be hard to track his lover down.”

  Alice gave a small smile. “And that’s why I just work with corpses.”

  Chapter 9

  Near the Trsetti village

  I have the worst hangover in the history of hangovers.

  Fin moaned. His blood was pounding a steady and unwelcome beat through his head. It was as if the villagers were still bashing him in the skull with their weapons, fists and feet. With a wince, he tried to roll over and couldn’t.
Pain shot through every square inch of his body. Even his balls hurt. Had someone managed to land a lucky hit? He thought he’d protected his best assets during the assault. A low groan was torn from his chest as he moved, and that hurt even worse. He stopped trying to roll over and collapsed onto his back. Breathing was definitely an effort. Maybe he should limit his concentration to sucking air into his lungs. It would be a worthy cause: keeping himself alive. Everyone should be thankful he was expending so much effort.

  “The prince has awoken,” Byrne said.

  “Fuck you,” Fin managed to gasp. “Why is the bed moving?”

  “It’s not.”

  His mattress seemed to be relatively soft — since when did he even have a mattress? — but it was also prickly. Like he was lying on a bed of pine needles.

  “Feels like it is.” Fin raised his arm to rub his head, but the movement pulled on his ribs. More pain, gasping and profanity ensued. He thought he heard Byrne laugh.

  Complete and utter asshat.

  His ribs must be broken, just what he didn’t want to happen. Aside from his skull — or beautiful face — it was probably the worst set of bones to break. At least, it was from his experience.

  “You’ve probably got a concussion,” Byrne said.

  “Thanks for stating the obvious.” Fin’s words were more air than sound, but weres had good hearing. And anyway, a concussion might be the least of his worries. Maybe his skull was fractured. It would figure.

  “Hey, you’re alive, so don’t complain.” Byrne’s voice was almost cheerful.

  Fucker.

  Fin couldn’t see much more than a faint blurry line, but he could sense Byrne had just shrugged. He could hear it in the bear’s voice.

  The pounding in his head was getting worse, if it could. “Can’t you give me something?”

  “Give you what?”

  “Something for the pain. Surely we have some laudanum...”

  The bed creaked, and there came the sound of Byrne rummaging around. “How much do I give a human?”

  “Enough so that you don’t kill me.”

  “And that is how much? I could probably drink the whole bottle and have no lasting effects.”

  Bragger.

  How was Fin meant to know the answer? His brain was beating itself to death inside his skull. It wasn’t like concentrating was his forte right now.

  “A teaspoon?” The whole bottle would be nice, like Byrne suggested, but even in this much pain he didn’t want to be dead. He had too much to live for. What, exactly, that ‘too much’ was, he didn’t know right at this very minute. But it would come to him when his brain wasn’t committing suicide.

  “Will it be enough?” Byrne asked.

  “Do I look like a sawbones?” Fin tried to scowl, but that just hurt.

  “You look like you’ve been sawed.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You wish.”

  “Just give me the bloody painkiller.”

  “Maybe I should hold off; you seem to be in good spirits.”

  “If you don’t give me the drugs, I’m going to rip off your arm and beat you to death with it.” Well, he’d certainly try. And wasn’t it all meant to be about the effort or some crap?

  A huge hand gently cupped the back of his head. He jolted and moaned. Every. Part. Of. Him. Hurt.

  Without waiting for him to stop groaning, Byrne poured the liquid down Fin’s throat, choking him.

  “What the fuck!?”

  “There; I gave you two teaspoons.”

  The laudanum had better work soon, or he’d perish from pain. “If I die, it’s all your fault.”

  “I didn’t sleep with the married woman.”

  “No, you just let the villagers beat me to within an inch of my life. And then overdosed me with pain killer.”

  *

  Byrne shook his head and capped the small bottle of laudanum before tucking it away in the first aid kit. The stuff smelled nasty, but Fin was in bad shape, and would probably drink horse piss if it made him feel better. He looked more like pounded meat than a person. Both his eyes were swollen and black, his face mottled with bruises, and the rest of him wasn’t much better. Broken ribs, bruised bones. No arm or leg fractures that Byrne had noticed, which was a small bonus.

  Maybe he shouldn’t have waited so long to come to Fin’s rescue. But the human had needed some sense beaten into him, some kind of lesson to keep his pants buttoned. From the gibberish Fin had been spouting just now, though, it seemed like the sense had been knocked out of him. What little sense he had, that was.

  The laudanum appeared to have kicked in, though. Maybe Byrne had given him a bit much, but he could hear his friend breathing — raspy and rattling, but breathing — so he was still alive.

  For once, Byrne could really see the benefits of being a were. Normally, being a werebear at the start of spring, trapped in human form, did not help his temper much. Hibernation — for him — was a thing of the past, and he mourned the loss, but he had responsibilities. Such as not letting the human get murdered.

  Self-control, that was the real issue with Fin. The human had little to none when it came to women. He loved them. All of them. Fat, skinny, beautiful, ugly, old, young: Fin managed to charm the lot with little effort. A flash of white teeth and a dimple, and the guy could do whatever he wanted.

  Was Byrne...jealous?

  No, that was ridiculous. Why was he even thinking such malarkey?

  Maybe because Fin had been laid at least three times in the last month, and Byrne hadn’t had sex for...years? Had it really been years? Surely not. Months, it had to be. Sitting back on the wagon — avoiding the bed he’d set up for Fin — he clasped his hands behind his head and thought. But those thoughts weren’t calming, rather they were frustrating and tinged with embarrassment.

  He climbed down from the wagon and began tidying up the campsite. The crisp scent of crushed pine needles was all around him. The smell of home, of early spring and a time for family, but instead, he was out here, looking after a broken human who had as much sense as a gnat.

  The fire was close to burning out, and he threw on some more wood, prodding it to life. The distraction didn’t work; his embarrassment still churned deep within. He had to acknowledge what he’d been ignoring. It had been ages since he’d gotten laid. Three years, if you counted being drugged out of his mind and used. More than a hundred since it had been consensual. He hadn’t been with anyone since Fin had saved him.

  Maybe he was jealous.

  And angry. He was certainly that.

  Chapter 10

  Oberona Mountains

  I can’t look after a baby.

  It was a mantra, her new one. Normally, it was ‘I can’t go outside and be near people or their things’, but that was going to have to change. No more being afraid of life and the people who lived it.

  She was going to have to go to her mother.

  The idea locked her muscles in instinctive denial. Her mother lived hundreds of miles away, in the city of Skarva. Hannah hadn’t been there for years, but her memories spoke of a place featuring tall stone buildings swathed in coal smoke and the stench of vampires, humans, shit and stagnant water. People had rushed around the city, barreling down streets, not caring if they bumped shoulders with a small child who couldn’t bear the slightest touch from a stranger. It had taken her mother years to come to terms with the fact her daughter wouldn’t be able to develop the shields she needed if she kept having them shattered by accident.

  By the time Hannah reached the tender age of ten, she had learned about love, hate, greed, lust, obsession, apathy and the rest of those tangled emotions and feelings that imbued memories both good and bad. She’d endured them all through inadvertent physical contacts. She didn’t think she’d ever been ‘innocent’, not when she could see everything within people’s memories. But she had been naïve.

  Sometimes you could only learn through experience
.

  But her life wasn’t about just her anymore; it was about the baby who needed more than she could give. She’d taken on the role of a parent the moment she’d picked the infant up from the ground. Most people had nine months to come to terms with motherhood; Hannah had had mere seconds. But she’d made her choice, and now she would abide by it.

  It wasn’t the baby’s fault that her biological mother had abandoned her shortly after giving birth, and that the only available person to save her was a Graced vampire — a freak of nature if ever there was one — who had more problems than she had answers. Hannah owed it to the scrappy piece of humanity to give parenthood her best shot; she couldn’t just rely on the memories in the blanket to see her through.

  And her mother was a mother; she’d raised babes before. Clearly she could help Hannah, or at least, help her find a wet nurse or someone who knew what to do with an abandoned infant. Maybe she could even help Hannah find Graced parents who would adopt the baby. Blues, Greens or Grays would know what to do, how to care for a baby. Because while Hannah was happy to take on the role of a parent in the short term, she wasn’t capable of raising a child; she had to acknowledge that.

  Leaning down, Hannah checked the little girl and saw she was still asleep, her arms and legs swaddled tight in one of Hannah’s blankets. Hannah had even fastened a diaper around the infant, although it had taken a few tries to get it right. At least at this age, there couldn’t be too much urine or feces.

  Could there?

  Hannah ran a gentle finger down the baby’s cheek. Soft feelings of contentment travelled along the connection. Perhaps with no real memories to transfer to Hannah, the baby passed feelings on instead.

  “You’re a strange-looking thing, aren’t you?” Hannah murmured.

  From her own memories, and those she had absorbed from others, she understood infants were meant to be cute, but while this baby’s skin had an olive tone to it, and sooty lashes above plump cheeks, her lack of hair made her look more like a grumpy old man than a two day old. Hannah had never really thought that grumpy old men were cute, but maybe she could grow accustomed to the idea.