Unbitten: Unbitten, #1

By Gemma Perfect

 

EVER WONDERED HOW A NEW SLAYER IS MADE?

 

LIKE THIS

 

God I hate the vamps. They strut into college on their first day like they own the place. My best friend Martha is obsessed with them which only makes me hate them more.

But I can't let her go to a feeding party on her own. So I go and so does my twin brother Max.

And then the vamps screw up my life in the worst way possible.

Apparently they love playing this creepy game of human versus vamp – and guess what? They always win.

Except this time.

I'm determined to escape and help the others escape too.

And then it all goes wrong. 

 

I always wondered how slayers were made. Now I know. 

 

* Please note, this book is a new adult fantasy and deals with death, suicide and other difficult situations. *

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: PERFECT INK PUBLISHING
• Release date: Sep 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223428169

Gemma Perfect

Thank you for reading The Kingmaker – I hope you enjoyed it. I started writing it in 2011. I was watching Junior Apprentice on the BBC, and one of the female contestants had to choose which of the two boys in her team would be team leader. She said, “I’m like the Kingmaker,” or words to that effect and something in my brain just sparked. I wrote about 30, 000 words but then, for some reason I can’t even remember, I ignored it until the summer of 2015. In the mean time I wrote and self-published a set of three children’s books, an adult romance, which was also traditionally published, before coming back to The Kingmaker. I was struggling to write another romance, and questioning whether I should stop writing altogether when I picked The Kingmaker up again. Within four weeks I had written another 40, 000 words. That’s when I realised that I was finally writing what I should be writing – not what I thought I should be writing or what I believed people would want to read. Suddenly it was easy to do and, more importantly, enjoyable again. I finished the book and sent it off to publishers and agents, hoping that someone would want it. They didn’t. I decided to have faith in myself and my writing and self-publish again, but I waited until I had written the whole trilogy first. If readers liked it, I wanted the whole trilogy complete so they wouldn’t have to wait. I know how impatient I am when I read a book I love and want to read the next one straight away. So on that note, if you enjoyed The Kingmaker, then book two – Seize The Crown and book three – Born to Rule, are both written and available to buy now. For updates and excerpts as I write my new book - The Cursed Princess - please subscribe to my monthly newsletter, via my website – www.gemmaperfect.com There are two things readers can do for authors they like once they’ve read their book: Review and Recommend. Reviews really do help books become more visible to other readers and a good review can make an author’s day. Recommendations are what make a book take on a life of its own, finding new readers and fans and there’s nothing like word of mouth for spreading the word about books we love.  You can get in touch with me via fb.me/gemmalperfect or you can visit my website www.gemmaperfect.com and I really hope that you do. xxx

Book preview

Chapter 1

The door slams open and the entire school turns as one and hushes. There is no noise except for a collective intake of breath.

I roll my eyes, but beside me, Martha is almost fizzing with excitement.

The vampires are one entity as they stroll together; no, they strut. Heads held high, ready to challenge anyone who might cross them. They meet the eyes of everyone who stares at them, and the expression they all carry is eerily smug, mocking, confident. If they wanted to, they could kill every one of us – staff and students – in a lightning quick orgy of blood. They know it, and we know it. It makes them cocky; it makes me bristle.

I hate them already.

Our head teacher taps the mike, grinning like an idiot – nothing new there, but he’s jumpy today. He knows the damage they could cause if they wanted to, same as I do.

‘Today is a monumental day, a historical occasion.’ That grin again. I close my eyes for a second, just to block out his face, their faces. But I can’t block out his words. He drones on. ‘We are lucky to have our town chosen for the latest vampire settlement area, and our school chosen for the younger generation to get their education.’

Even with my eyes shut, I can see his grin, almost obnoxious and ever-present. Why is everyone so excited about the vamps? Why can’t anyone else see that we’re such a shit little town the government is happy to use us to experiment on?

I open my eyes and it’s not only Martha buzzing with excitement. She’s pink-cheeked and wide eyed, but so are lots of the others. Max told me there’s a bet going on who’ll be the first to shag a vampire. I can’t even.

As long as they leave me alone, we’ll be just fine. I’m not excited or impressed or awestruck.

Vampires being real and integrated is a pretty new thing – I blame social media; they just couldn’t keep themselves a secret anymore when the call of worldwide fame, recognition and brand deals was calling.

But we’re safe, so the government keeps telling us in these daily news specials. Vampires will only use approved blood from willing donors, given and stored at local hospitals.

There’s this drug thing they’re giving them all, that means they don’t go up in flames in daylight too. More’s the pity.

I’m not trying to be a bitch; I just don’t see what all the fuss is about.

Martha grabs my sleeve, and I sigh. Here we go.

‘Can you believe this?’ she hisses. ‘Look at how pretty they are. Look at how hot they are.’

I watch them, this band of strangers, congregated on the stage and I can admit it; they look good.

If I was up there, I’d be awkward, trying to stand at the back, hide behind my hair, feeling exposed. They don’t look awkward or uncomfortable.

I shudder. It comes back to knowing you can kill anyone in the room if you want to. Would I feel more confident if I knew I was the strongest one here? The prettiest one here?

I turn to find Max in the rows and rows of kids, and I see him. He’s like a vampire; confident in his own skin, accepting of who he is, not bothered about anyone who doesn’t get him.

How can we be twins but be so different?

He nods at me, and I grin. He makes me nicer than I really am. Him and Martha. They’re the only ones I’m soft for.

‘We’ll be helping the vampires,’ the head is droning on again and I tune in, ‘by allocating mentors. Students we know will help them acclimatise and settle in.’

Not me, not me, not me, I think, sinking into my seat like I might become invisible.

He calls out names and the students jump up to help. It’s embarrassing how eager they are.

‘Martha Clements.’

I groan, but she whoops and leaps out of her chair like she’s been electrocuted.

This is worse than being picked myself. Martha is enthusiastic about everything and she’s already ridiculously excited that the vamps are settling in our town.

I blow out my cheeks.

Here we go.

Chapter 2

By first break, just two hours into being a vampire mentor – Martha is in love with the lot of them. Her words are like a volcano, just spewing, spewing, spewing.

I chew my out-of-date crisps and let it wash over me.

‘Em, they are amazing. They glow – not literally, like in that film, you know, but just, they glow. I can’t explain it. Like they’re on fire, but not really, or lit up from the inside. They know so much, and they’re just beautiful. There must be ugly vampires somewhere, don’t you think? It would be crazy if they were all hot. But our lot, our vampires. Damn, they are hot. Like really. I’m already in love with at least half of them. Did you know there are two types of vampires? The proper ones, turned by a vampire and stuck at that age forever, like a movie vampire, and then there are sort of half ones, where vampires mate with real people. I mean, they are real people, but they’re also vampires. You know what I mean. I’m not trying to be racist. Is it racist or vampirist? I don’t know, but I’m not being mean. I love them. So, if a vampire has a baby with a human, they have a kind of hybrid little half human half vampire thing, but – and you wouldn’t think this – it’s the vampire gene that’s the less dominant one. Anyway, they are amazing. I know you’re going to love them.’

She takes a breath and catches my dubious expression.

‘Don’t go all Emerson on me. I know you will. How could you not? They’re just mesmerising and enigmatic and mysterious and so good looking. I don’t know what’s true about them yet and what’s just movie stuff. I don’t know if it’s polite to ask, you know, so I’m sussing them out, you know, just trying to figure it out. I mean, I don’t want to ask something awkward and get bitten, you know. God, do you think they’d bite us? I mean, is it allowed? I don’t know, but we had a brilliant idea. So, all of us mentors have made a sort of vampire committee thing, and we’re going to have a party for them. Isn’t that amazing? Just like a welcome to our school, we’re happy to have you, we’re not scared – even though we kind of are, well I am anyway, though I guess it’s not good to admit it. Again, racist or something else? I don’t know, but it’s not every day we go to school with people who could kill us in a heartbeat, is it? Anyway, what do you think?’

I smile at her and scrunch my crisp packet into a ball that immediately unfolds itself. I roll it up and tie it in a knot, throwing it over her shoulder and into the bin.

‘Sounds great,’ I say, hoping that’s enough to cover it.

‘Really? You don’t sound convinced. Do you think I’m too eager, or over the top or obvious? I mean, I am excited – you know I’ve been waiting for this since they announced it. I was hoping I’d be a mentor. I’m so happy I was picked. Imagine they’d picked someone else. I’d have been devastated. But, yay, they picked me. So, we’re going to ask other students to join our committee thing if you want to. I have so many ideas – on theme, colour, music. Shall we make it fancy dress? I don’t know. I’m not the only one on the committee, of course, and I don’t want to take over, but I’ll just die if they don’t take my ideas. I’m their number one fan, after all.’

I open my bottle of water and take a sip. I’m used to Martha. Her voice has been the theme song for our friendship since we were both four years old. It runs in the background whenever we are together, and I let it wash over me. It’s familiar and I’m so used to her that I hear her talking even when she’s not with me.

‘My girl is called Jessica. Isn’t that pretty? She’s very tall, like not stupidly tall, but taller than me, and taller than all the boys on the committee. Is that a vampire thing? Tallness? I’m not sure. Does it matter? She’s tall and her hair is grey. Not old lady grey, but sparkly grey. Oh, I could talk about them all day.’

The buzzer goes, signalling the end of our break time, and Martha closes her mouth, a panicked expression on her face.

‘I have to find them. They won’t cope without me. Take these, I’m not hungry.’

She pushes her crisps and cereal bar towards me, and I smile as she rushes off, bag falling off her shoulder, hair flying as she goes.

If I am stillness, Martha is movement. If I am quiet, Martha is noise. If I am grumpy, she is happy.

Max calls us sunshine and showers. It’s not hard to work out which one is which.

Chapter 3

Last lesson, one hour before the end of our day – is the only lesson I have with Martha, and I brace myself before I push open the door. I spent lunch time alone, reading under a tree when she texted me that the committee was having its first meeting and I’d definitely be welcome. She has to check for sure, but she knows nobody would mind. I messaged her back that I was fine to sit the first meeting out, and instead I sat on the damp grass, letting Dean Koontz’s words envelop me instead of hers.

She’s sitting in her usual seat, and her vampire is beside her. In my seat.

I’ve already forgotten her name, but I hate that she’s in my seat. I always sit in front of the window, right at the back of the class, where Mr Edgar’s spit can’t reach me as he waffles on about matter or energy or photosynthesis – a real spit churner, that one.

Martha sees my expression and jumps up to grab another stool. She pats it and asks the vamp to move.

The vamp locks eyes with me and I feel a shiver that does more than make the hairs on my skin stand up. It makes my skin crawl.

Weird. I mean, I like my spot, but not that much.

The vampire moves in a flash, and it’s like watching a film in fast forward; the air actually blurs as she moves. I shake my head, unsure if I saw what I saw, but the smirk on the vamp’s face tells me I did. I think she likes unnerving me.

‘Em, this is Jessica. Jessica, this is my best friend, the one I was telling you about. Emerson. She’s amazing. A little, you know, dark around the edges.’

I frown. What the hell does that even mean?’

‘But you’ll love her. I reckon the three of us will be inseparable.’

I catch Jessica’s expression and I know she doubts that as much as I do. I don’t know why she bugs me as much as she does. I never thought I was intolerant of minorities, hell when Max told me he was gay, it barely registered. He’s still Max, he’s still my brother. I will always love him the most out of anyone in our family. If he chooses to sleep with someone, I won’t be thinking about it, whoever they are. 

I don’t like vampires. There, that’s the truth of it. I don’t know why. Because they could kill me so easily? Because they seem perfect and arrogant and capable as hell, whereas I always feel the opposite? What is it about them? Does it matter? I have no interest in making friends with them. Even though Martha will be – already is – obsessed with them, and will start talking like them, dressing like them, wanting to be with them all day, every day, I won’t.

My life isn’t going to change just because there’s a bunch of vamps in town.

Unless they keep sitting in my spot.

Mr Edgar shuffles in, shuffles back out, comes back in with his glasses on, strokes his beard and smiles.

‘A warm welcome to our newest students. Forgive me if I cover work you’ve already learned. I’m not sure what level of education...’ he trails off like he’s not sure what he should say, what’s appropriate, what might be discriminatory.

I smile. I like Mr Edgar, when he’s not spitting on me. He’s dry and droll, but science is one of my favourite lessons, so I drink in everything he says, and I retain it. Unlike maths. However hard my teacher tries – and she really does try – I cannot grasp it. I feel at home in science and out of my depth in maths.

I wonder if vamps ever feel out of their depth. Are they clever and beautiful? Are they mysterious and scholarly? I can’t ask Martha, because she’s so enamoured, she won’t be able to think straight.

I watch Jessica though, all through the lesson. She writes really quickly, but from what I can see when I try to peer at her book without looking like I’m peering at her book, her writing is immaculate, almost like it’s been printed, not written. Her hand shoots up every time Mr Edgar asks a question, and the few times he asks her, her answers are right, and she adds an extra – unasked for – and annoying bit of information.

Teacher’s pet.

I hate her.

Chapter 4

Thankfully, when the buzzer goes, Martha and her pet vamp head to the bus and I wait at the gate for Max.

He takes his sweet time, like he always does, and when I finally see him, he’s walking with James. I know how he feels about James and how James feels about him, but nobody else does.

Max was happy to come out, but it’s not faring so easily for James. Max will wait. I don’t care either way. I just hate waiting at the gate for him.

‘I’m going to go without you tomorrow.’

Max slaps me on the shoulder, and I refuse to wince.

‘You say that every day.’

I sigh. It’s true. I hate waiting, but walking with Max is better than walking alone. Only because it’s Max.

‘Bye James,’ he calls as James climbs on his bus. I wave too. I like him, even though he upsets Max. Even though Max won’t admit it.

‘How’s Martha enjoying her new role?’

I groan, and Max laughs. He already knows; he just wants to get a rise out of me. I can’t help it. I rise.

‘Pathetically simpering and obsessed with every last one of them. Terrified of being seen as racist if she asks anything about them, and also tripping over herself to be the best mentor that ever lived. She’s doing my head in.’

He laughs again, kicking a plastic bottle out of his way and onto the road.

‘How’s James?’

Max shrugs. ‘He’s okay. I think I’m the weird one. I honestly never cared what anyone thought.’

‘He does though?’ I bump my hip into him.

‘He’s genuinely shit scared.’

‘That must be hard.’

‘For him. I don’t care. He’ll do it when he’s ready.’

‘Doesn’t it annoy you to have to hide it, though?’

‘We don’t hide all the time,’ he says, making a lecherous face. I laugh and poke him. ‘I don’t want the details, but it would upset me, the secrecy.’

Max shrugs. ‘What can I do? I won’t force the issue.’

‘What if he never comes out?’

‘I guess we won’t skip through the streets hand in hand. Come on, Nan will be waiting for her soup.’

I nod and speed up. ‘What are the chances that dad’s home with fish and chips?’

Max kicks another bottle. It bounces and hits a car, but he doesn’t miss a step.

‘I reckon he’ll have bought pizza.’

‘McDonalds.’

‘Subway.’

‘Cereal.’

‘Toast.’

‘Jam sandwiches and shit crisps.’

I open the front door, calling out a greeting to Nan.

‘Hey honey, we’re home.’

I laugh and head into the front room, her room.

She’s asleep, and I watch her for a second before waking her. I need to empty her commode and feed her. I can hear Max clattering around in the kitchen and I know he’s warming her a tin of soup and making a cup of tea.

‘Hey, Nan,’ I say, gently nudging her shoulder. ‘Wake up.’

Nan opens her eyes and beams a gummy smile when she sees me. She reaches over to the table and puts her teeth in. Now she looks younger, but less sweet. She’s a sour one, my Nan. I reckon I take after her.

‘Come on, let’s move you over.’

I move her from her commode onto a high-backed chair. She can’t sit on the sofa; she’d never get up. I empty the commode in the upstairs toilet and squirt some soap into the bowl. I wipe it with some toilet roll and then wash my hands.

When I get back downstairs, Max is ready with her food. He helps me settle her back on the chair and we pull over a table so she can eat.

She’s still sharp as hell and can eat and sleep and wipe her own arse; she just can’t walk far. She can’t go out unless she’s in a chair, and she hates it. ‘I feel like a cripple,’ she says, no matter how many times I tell her that it’s not a nice word. ‘It was a nice word in my day,’ she says and starts whinging about political correctness gone mad. I can’t imagine what she’ll think of us going to school with vampires.

I don’t know what I think yet.

Except that it unnerves me. I don’t like change. I don’t like shiny new things. I don’t like the stuff that everybody else likes. The more popular it is, the more suspicious I am. I couldn’t even tell you why.

‘Any sign of my son? Or your mum?’ Nan asks, and I brace myself for the tirade. She loves to slag my dad off. She loves to moan about him and call him names. He’s not perfect, but he’s my dad. I hate it when she goes off on one. But then he’s her son; does that give her more right to call him out than me? I never would. Even when he’s mean to me, I still love him.

He’s not the worst dad, but he’d never win a prize for being the best.

Chapter 5

He gets home when Max and I are already in our rooms for the night, and I know there’s going to be a fight.

When mum got home from work the first thing she did was complain about dad. He’s spending all their money again, he’s never home, he never helps her out.

I’m not tired; I’m really hungry, but I won’t venture downstairs. When the shouting starts, I leave. It’s been my rule since we were five. Max would always stay, watch fascinated as the verbal blows and then the physical ones were exchanged.

I couldn’t stand it.

I’d hide, cover my ears, feel tears sting my cheeks. Feel responsible. Maybe it was my fault it started. Maybe it was my fault I couldn’t end it. Was it cowardly to stay out of the way and pretend it never happened? Did I enable it by going along with the happy family charade?

Headphones on, the physical size of them blocking my ears and the sound both, I flick through a colouring book, fetch my sharpies and my glitter gel pens and fill the white gaps, making them pretty and perfect. I never go outside the lines; but I never finish a colouring either. I don’t know why, but I always leave one part of the picture white, uncoloured, unfinished, like a flash of cloud in a blue sky.

Max knocks and comes into my room.

I take the headphones off, reluctantly. I know I’ll hear the fighting downstairs and I’d rather not.

‘I think about punching him,’ Max says, ‘but I know mum would hate me for it.’

‘She wouldn’t.’ A rush of excitement pulses through me. I love my dad so much, and I love my mum so much, but they’re better apart, like sausages and sugar. They just don’t go. They haven’t been happy for years, but neither of them will leave. He says it’s his house because his mother owns it. She says she needs to stay to look after us. Dad says she’s a shit mum, so we’ll be okay without her. She says you only know I’m a shit mum, because you’re a shit dad. Their fights either end in tears or sex or both.

I know because I hear it. I never see it. That’s one good thing.

‘He might leave if you punch him,’ I say, warming to the idea. ‘Then he’d take us for fast food and to the fair on the weekends, like a good absent father.’

‘You think? Candy floss and the ghost house?’

I nod, and Max sits beside me, draping an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him.

‘I did it once,’ he says, his voice so quiet I strain to hear him.

I pull away from him and shake my head.

‘You hit dad? No way.’

‘I did. When I was about fourteen.’

‘Shit, Max, what did he do?’

‘He hit me back. Then he stormed out. I thought mum would be proud of me. I was finally old enough, strong enough to protect her, but she was furious. She hit me too, battering me on the chest with little fists, bruised fists.’

‘Shit. Why didn’t you tell me?’

He shrugs, rubs his knuckles like he’s remembering the pain of hitting his own father, like he can still feel it. ‘Too embarrassed. I didn’t help. I didn’t fix anything. And both of them hurt me.’

I hug him and feel tears well up.

‘He’s hit me too,’ I confess, and it feels good to say it out loud. It’s a horrible secret to carry around.

‘Bastard,’ he says. ‘When we’re old enough, we’ll leave. Let them stay together, making each other miserable.’

‘Good idea,’ I say, wishing we could leave right now, wishing money grew on trees, wishing wishing it would make it so.

It won’t.

‘Don’t cry,’ he warns, and I laugh against his chest.

‘I won’t. Where will we go?’

‘Anywhere.’

‘Anywhere would be better than here. What about Nan?’

‘We might have to wait until she’s dead,’ he says, and I poke him with my elbow.

‘Don’t joke,’ I repeat, listening to them shouting, voices raised, then lowered so I’m straining to hear. Then silence. Which doesn’t feel like a good thing.

‘Shall I check on them?’ I ask my brother, who looks so much like our dad, but acts nothing like him.

Max shakes his head. ‘Stay here, where it’s safe. Don’t go looking for trouble.’

Don’t go looking for trouble.

Mum always said that to us when we were growing up. Maybe she