Bitten (The Graced Series Book 2)

by Amanda Pillar

  “Don’t touch me.” She was breathing hard.

  “Sorry?”

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.”

  “Okay,” Fin said. He was confused as shit, but he’d go along with it. Maybe she didn’t want dried blood on her or something. Maybe she just didn’t like being touched. But he didn’t go around forcing himself on women, even accidentally.

  “Ever,” she added. Just in case he hadn’t got the picture the first time.

  Fin held his hands up, palms out. “No, I get it. No touching.” He thought about wiggling his fingers, but that was probably a bit too much.

  He just hoped she wasn’t as hot as her voice. Because that rule was really going to suck, otherwise.

  Chapter 23

  Oberona Mountains

  How did a half-comatose man manage to put so much doubt into a single sentence?

  She probably shouldn’t have been so rude to Fin, but she couldn’t risk being touched. Even though they talked about Graceds like they were common knowledge —which went counter to what her mother claimed about the race being a secret — she couldn’t trust how the human would react to learning of her ability. She’d never heard of anyone else suffering the way she did. And of the few people who’d found out, some had then deliberately touched her, just to see if they were exempt from her abilities. Or to make her weak.

  No one was immune, apart from her mother. Her theory was that their shared bloodline was responsible. Hannah had no idea how that worked, but it did, and for that, she was thankful. She didn’t want to know what was in her mother’s mind. What’s more, her mother was old; the amount of memories her mother had, both forgotten and remembered, would overwhelm Hannah. Maybe even kill her.

  The last time a stranger had touched her it had been someone who had wanted to take her hostage, so her mother would pay a ransom in the form of titles, money and power. Hannah had been debilitated by the flood of memories and easy to grab, but what her captors hadn’t understood was that she absorbed everything. She’d been able to escape using the kidnappers’ secret routes and tunnels, and work her way back to her mother. Who had destroyed the people responsible.

  Hannah had nightmares about that for years. About people becoming tiny pieces of pulverized flesh. A whole family torn to fragments in a few minutes. It was that day she’d understood that while vampires could appear civilized, it was just a veneer. Manners, fancy dresses, they meant nothing when a monster lurked underneath. And her mother was a monster. One who could love, and be loved, one could smile and dance and laugh. But there was a barely contained ferocity to her at times, like she’d learned to replicate just enough humanity to hide her true nature.

  Tatiana Romanov had earned the nickname the Deadly Duchess after taking her revenge on the kidnappers.

  Hannah had thought it was a rather nice euphemism.

  Afterward, she’d taken Hannah to the hut on the Old Mother. Hannah had returned to Skarva a few times over the past two centuries, but only rarely, and never for long. Her life had been worse back in the city, if anything. Hannah was the duchess’ ‘special’ daughter, and everyone knew to avoid her like she was a plague-carrier. She’d been surrounded by people she couldn’t touch and who refused to even speak to her for fear of being obliterated from existence. It was lonelier being near people and being ignored than just being alone.

  “I still think Finlay is a great name,” the human said into the silence.

  Hannah came back to the present. Fin was covered in blankets up to his chin, and was lying stiff as a board. His face was so battered and swollen she had no idea what he’d look like normally, but the charm fair oozed off him. It was why she’d been so harsh with him about the touching rule. The few playboys who’d known about her ability had all wanted to try and see if they were “resistant”.

  Byrne half-turned in the driving seat. The sun’s journey toward the horizon tinted the sky in the first shades of sunset. “You need to change tack, Fin. Why would Hannah want to call her baby after you?”

  The blanket moved a little, tucking back into shape, as the cart jiggled it out of place. “Better question is: why wouldn’t she?”

  “Do I have to start listing reasons?” Byrne asked.

  “Well, I haven’t heard you come up with a better suggestion.”

  “I haven’t had a chance; you never shut up. Even when you’re half dead you manage to talk endlessly.”

  “Well, whose fault is it that I’m half dead?”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “Yeah, well I’m still not convinced about your reasons.”

  “Do I even have to have a reason? Why is it my fault almost an entire town decided to kill you?”

  “It’s not like you came into the village and saw what happened.”

  “How could I? I’m a were. Those people hate ‘demons.’”

  “And I had to stick out my neck so I could get us supplies.”

  “And did you manage to get any?”

  Blessed silence. Then, “It’s not my fault she dosed me with minar root.”

  Hannah shook her head. The baby moved against her and she checked the swaddling. It looked okay. The infant sighed and dribbled a little on her shirt. She didn’t pack enough clothing.

  It occurred to Hannah that even though she was seated in the cart, she hadn’t absorbed the memories of its previous passengers or the person who built it. Perhaps her clothes protected her more than she’d anticipated, or her shields were stronger than she’d assumed. Maybe she could live a semi-normal life.

  And maybe she’d have better luck wishing on the stars.

  Fin and Byrne continued to bicker. But even though accusations were flung about, it all seemed rather amicable; neither one raised their voice, and their tones were still relatively light-hearted, even if the words were not.

  “What about Tatiana?” Hannah interjected.

  The squabbling stopped, and then Fin demanded, “What about her?”

  “As a name,” Hannah said.

  “Isn’t there some famous duchess called that?” Byrne asked. “Slaughtered an entire town or some such?”

  “Oh yeah,” Fin said. “Bit bloodthirsty for a little one, don’t you think?”

  Hannah’s cheeks grew hot, with embarrassment or irritation, she couldn’t quite work out which. That was her mother they were talking about, like she was some horror that you dragged out to scare little children. Back in Skarva, that probably was the case. By the blood, her mother even scared Hannah at times. But Tatiana was her mother. These people had never met her.

  “The Deadly Duchess, that’s what she’s called,” Fin announced, pointing a finger in the air.

  “That’s right,” Byrne agreed.

  “She’s based in Skarva,” Fin said.

  “That’s where we’re headed,” Byrne added.

  Hannah shut her eyes and took a deep breath.

  As Fin drew his hand back beneath the blankets, Hannah spotted swirls of black wreathing his wrist and disappearing underneath his bandages. The man had tattoos. Interesting and terrible. If he ever touched her, it would be even worse than usual. Those artists’ thoughts would be impressed into the human’s very skin. Fin not only carried his own memories, but also those of all the people who’d worked on him.

  “Let’s avoid the duchess, then,” Fin said.

  “As if we’re even going to be at risk of meeting one of the aristos in that city, let alone a duchess,” Byrne countered. “And isn’t Skarva run by four dukes? No way we’d meet one of them.”

  “It could happen. A strange were, arriving on a city’s doorstep with a handsome fellow in tow...”

  “Handsome fellow? Lucky you don’t have a mirror.”

  “I bet I rock the ‘survived a gruesome assault’ look.” Fin smoothed back his hair, which was awkward considering he was lying prone in a cart.

  Byrne looked over his shoulder, one black eyebrow raised. “I cannot believe you j
ust spouted that asinine crap.”

  “Don’t insult the donkey.”

  “What donkey?”

  “Betsy.”

  “Her name is Betty and she’s a goat,” Hannah said helpfully.

  “That’s what I said,” Fin all but grunted.

  Hannah frowned. “You said—”

  Byrne cut across her. “What about Mallory?”

  Fin raised his head a little. “What about her? Do we know one?”

  Hannah wondered if the laudanum had kicked in. It sure sounded like it had. She could smell the bitter liquid, like it was oozing from the human’s pores. “I’m not sure it suits the baby,” Hannah said.

  “It means ‘lucky’,” Byrne added.

  The cart bumped over a deep rut. Hannah threw her hands out to keep her balance; her palms connected with a backpack and the side of the cart. She braced herself, her whole body tensing in anticipation. But no memories flooded into her mind. She was herself. How? The pack hadn’t been hers. She was wearing gloves, but...

  Hannah shuddered.

  Luck.

  She’d just been lucky.

  The baby sighed gently, responding to Hannah’s body language.

  Fin groaned at the rough treatment. “Don’t be ridiculous. Mallory’s a name for a teenager, not a baby.”

  Byrne sighed. “Teenagers were babies once.”

  “But the kid is a baby now. Wait, it’s a girl baby?” Fin sort of blinked, but with his three-quarters shut eyes, it didn’t work well.

  “No shit,” Byrne said. “Weren’t you just suggesting a girl’s name earlier?”

  “Finlay? Finlay is a boy’s name.”

  “No, it’s a girl’s name,” Byrne countered.

  “I thought it was a girl’s name,” Hannah added.

  Fin grumbled.

  “Either way,” Hannah added, “we’re not calling the baby Finlay.” Byrne opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “Or Mallory.”

  “Or Tatiana,” Fin muttered.

  Why was she even allowing them to have a vote in this, she thought. She didn’t know them at all.

  A few heartbeats of silence descended, and Hannah had never thought quiet could be so welcome. They were funny, these two, and they seemed nice enough, but between them, there never seemed to be a soundless moment.

  From his breathing, Fin may have even fallen asleep.

  Settling back, Hannah cupped the baby’s bald head and smiled. Maybe she had finally had some good fortune. She was on the road, Betty was following along slowly, the baby was alive and well, and she had some traveling companions who would scare off most of the kind of villains who would think to attack a woman and a baby on their own.

  “What about Serenity?” So Fin wasn’t asleep then.

  “What about it?”

  If the human’s eyes weren’t so swollen, Hannah was sure he would be rolling them. “As a name for the baby.”

  She frowned. “Isn’t it a bit...odd?”

  “Odd how?”

  “Well...”

  “She was found through the serendipity of the Old Mother,” Fin said. “I thought Serenity was a good comprise.”

  “What about Serena?” Hannah mused.

  “Rena,” Fin corrected.

  Hannah gently tilted the baby’s face to one side, examined the round cheeks, the hairless scalp and the tiny snub nose. “Rena,” she tried.

  The baby opened her murky Green eyes and looked at her, and then gave Hannah a toothless grin. Hannah couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Rena, it is.”

  PART II

  The road up and the road down are one and the same

  Chapter 24

  Pinton City

  As a child, he’d always been lacking in his mother’s eyes. She’d pretended that she found nothing amiss, that she loved him as much as a mother should, but he just didn’t have the empathy she had for others. He was very good at reading people, though, and he knew part of her hated him.

  Despised his lack.

  Once, when he was ten, he’d buried a dead rabbit in their tiny backyard; he’d killed it by wringing its neck, and then stomping on its back. It had squealed as it died, and the sense of power that had flooded him...the only thing to match it had been one particular death that he’d caused.

  He thought he’d done a rather good job of disposing of the corpse, but his mother had sensed his change in mood with unerring accuracy, and had found him as he’d patted the last piece of soil down.

  “You should feel remorse for this,” she’d said.

  “It’s just a rabbit,” he’d replied. “Food.”

  She looked at him with such sad eyes. “Well, you didn’t kill it so we could eat it, did you?”

  Her logic had been irrefutable. “It’s just an animal.”

  “Animals have the right to life, just as we do.”

  “Not everyone has a right to life,” he’d protested. It was something he still firmly believed. “They waste it. Just look at Mr. Johnson; he sits in his apartment all day, eating and shitting, reading newspapers and naughty pamphlets. What kind of life is that?”

  She’d gripped his shoulders, shaken him a little. “Language!”

  “It’s true.”

  “He may not do much with his life, but you don’t get to choose who lives or who doesn’t. It’s not your right. You shouldn’t even think such a thing.”

  That had been his mother: constantly telling him how he should think and feel, like these basic parts of him were hers to control. By the blood, he’d hated her and her all-knowing attitude. But part of him had loved her, too. She’d given him life, and that was a gift beyond price.

  Over the years, he’d watched other mothers throughout society, seen how each one told their children what they should and shouldn’t do, how they should feel, what they should think. Training their children in what was expected of them, reining in their progeny’s base instincts, turning them soft. So now he had a special place in his heart for all mothers, knowing that his own had not been unique in her demands.

  He’d kill them all, except for the fact that they were necessary for the continuation of the species...

  But sometimes he let it get to him, and that’s how he’d chosen his next victim. She was a mother — her daughter was born hundreds of years ago, but that didn’t negate her role as a parent, even though she seemed to think her job was done. Clearly, her offspring needed guidance. Her daughter was an insipid, frustrating bitch. He’d kill her, if she wasn’t such a favorite with the king. That would draw too much attention his way and he didn’t think the king would like one of his pet aristos slaughtered, even if they deserved it.

  But her mother? She gallivanted around the kingdom, fucking her way through servants and aristos alike. She had power, but did nothing with it. She had all but begged him to screw her senseless, even though she knew who he was. Had she no respect? Or was she using what power she thought she had?

  Either way, it didn’t matter. He’d agreed to a ‘rendezvous’, wining and dining in a hotel room. Not at the Rutherford, the most prestigious hotel in Pinton, no. He’d told the bitch he couldn’t afford that and she’d tittered gleefully, happy to be ‘slumming it’ with him. No, he’d booked a room at the Myracle Inn — a much less dignified establishment — under an alias, where they would spend the evening, and where he would bring out his ‘toys.’ He picked up the stake and ran his fingers over the wood, lovingly.

  Too bad she wasn’t going to enjoy the evening half as much as he was.

  Chapter 25

  Pinton City

  It had been a week since the last vampire body had been found. Alice had gone over her notes time and again, and had kept Tal up to date with the investigation, even though she probably shouldn’t, but no other leads had emerged. Even Elle Brown’s aristocratic ties hadn’t provided much intelligence as to the identity of the killer, although, thanks to the newly Chose
n vampire, they did know that Pierce Butterworth’s family hadn’t accepted the death certificate she’d written. They were very unhappy with his ‘change in life circumstances.’

  As the coroner, it wasn’t Alice’s job to try and solve the crimes, rather to work out cause of death and provide the relevant documentation to the grieving family. But the inquiry was like a man treading the murky depths of the Thyme, barely keeping his chin above water, and unsolved murders always affected her. There was no denying her dream that she might one day catch the man who’d stabbed her, killed her mother, and either murdered or abducted her brother.

  She’d been told by the city guard at the time that it had been a deliberate attack, although she hadn’t known anyone who would want to hurt her mom. They’d said sometimes the killer didn’t have to know the victim, that murder was all about power. It was a concept Alice had trouble grasping, but she figured that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. What it did mean was that her mother’s death could have been totally random — and then Alice would have no chance of finding the truth, or her brother. The likelihood that Ashok was still alive was already slim to none, but she still hoped that one day she’d find him. Too bad hope was such a fickle mistress.

  She smoothed a few stray auburn ringlets from her forehead and sighed. Her breath fogged slightly in the cool air. She’d long since grown accustomed to the cool temperatures of the morgue and accepted it was a tradeoff: being perpetually cold was better than having to tolerate the strong odors of decomposition. Besides, the black jacket she wore over her red work shirt and her sturdy shoes kept her warm enough.

  She shoved her notes into her leather briefcase, and shut the brass lock with a snap. She wouldn’t let her lack of success get to her. Violent death happened in Pinton all the time; she was used to cleaning up after it. Most of the cadavers that entered her morgue were vampire-created: death by exsanguination, or by the occasional rage-driven heart-ripped-from-chest, neck-almost-torn-off method. In a vampire-run city, and in her line of work, Alice had grown accustomed to vampires being the monsters, with humans being the good guys by default. That was the norm.