Another Bite - Vampire Cohorts Book 2

Chapter 1 - Vampires Make Poor Fairy Godmothers

A/N This is a sample from the first draft as it was available on Wattpad, please note that the release version, with new and previously unseen opening chapters, is now available for purchase.

“So, you still have the story you wrote. Right?” It wasn’t the first time Lex had asked, and when I nodded she asked me the very question I’d been debating for weeks. “Wouldn’t you like to know how much was repressed memory and how much was…”

“The fantasy of a teenage girl?” I interrupted, as ill-tempered as it was possible to be while surrounded by seasonal cheer.

We were patrolling between Milbank House and Requiem, a task which was both cold and wet as snow fell in fluffy white flakes and the chill wind bit at my nose.  There’d been a time when I would have loved the sight of streets blanketed in white, and of the golden light spilling from the doors of late opening shops and cafés which were making the most of the last weeks leading up to Christmas. Twinkling multicoloured lights decorated windows and Christmas trees dominated shop floors and the café counters. Mortals bustled about, frenzied, even though the sun had set hours ago. The excitement and festive spirit should’ve been infectious but I was grumpy. While I figured irritable was improvement over suicidal, but I doubted my gloom was fun to be around.

“Of course I want to know, and I’m aware that Conn could validate it. However, as he so considerately pointed out, who I might once have been doesn’t change anything. So what’s the point? Anyway, the warrior in the story isn’t Conn, he isn’t even called Cyneweard. He was Leof, I told you that.”

Lex shrugged, “So? Ragnar said you never called Conn by his name. Anyway, I looked up Leof for you,” she said, feeling only mild embarrassment while admitting to interfering in my life. “It means beloved. I think it might have been a pet name, not a given name. Regardless, Conn’s the only one who can tell you if you were writing about him or not.”

She was right, but I was terrified of having it confirmed. If I’d documented a life I couldn’t remember living then there was no way to dispute who I was or what my grandmother had done, and I desperately wanted to deny it all. I didn’t want evidence that the woman who’d raised me had used black magic, especially not in an attempt to determine the outcome of my life. More than that it hurt too much to accept Conn would still brush me aside if I was his wife.

Yet, in my heart I was confident that Ragnar hadn’t been mistaken. As Conn had once said, being with him was like finding something I’d lost, and my soul knew it was true even if my mind still wanted to protect my heart. I was Dunthryth, but I’d be damned if I knew what to do with that knowledge.

“Even if I gave the story to him, I could only let him read up to where he left to go with Ælla.” Trusting my hands deeper into the pockets of my cohort issued jacket, I tried to warm my fleece covered digits as I debated telling Lex the reasons behind my hesitation. There was a motive behind my reluctance. It was the same motive Conn used to explain why distance between us was essential. I wanted to protect him, and myself by extension.

She frowned, confused, “But why? Even though he wasn’t there he might be able to verify some of the history. Even if he’s just confirming that your description of Dunthryth and her home are true to life. What are you hiding from him?”

“That I was bitter at him for leaving?” I offered, but if the story was accurate then he’d known that anyway, even before he failed to come back from our king’s campaign against the Viking invaders.  If the words I’d written were true then we’d argued about it before he left. He’d gone anyway, as stubborn then as the Conn I knew in the present day. I’d handed him his sword and remained furious as I watched him leave. We’d never had the chance to make up.