Page 37 of Bitten Vampire
“I wish you could come with me. I could take Baylor, put a bow on his collar?”
Absolutely not. You are not taking the pup.A pause.Besides, it’s going to be a gorgeous day. I’ve set up a paddling pool for him.
Baylor loves water, so I can already picture it, and when House says paddling pool, she means swimming pool. The dog will have the time of his life, and honestly, it makes me want to stay home, sit in the shade, and watch him splash.
Sometimes doing the right thing really sucks.
But I need to attend this wedding. Jay doesn’t get to rewrite the story and stroll away clean, and neither does his mother. I’m going, and I will clear my name.
I lounge on the sofa, my fingers buried in fluffy fur as I scroll through short video reels set to flashy music. Time slips, my vision blurs, the screen stutters—and… suddenly, I’m standing in the middle of a street.
Chapter Sixteen
What on earthis going on? How the heck did I end up here?
I spin, scanning the area. Across the road stands a clump of trees and a sign forWestview Park. Nearby, a group of women in matching T-shirts emblazoned with ‘Pink Ladies’ shoulder leather bowling bags and chatter about today’s lawn bowling competition.
On my side of the street, a mum pushes a pram—the tiniest baby curled inside—while a little boy of about four skips beside her, clutching the handle. His voice is bright and eager; he chatters about his new baby sister, words tumbling over one another in excitement. The mum looks exhausted, dark shadows under her eyes, yet she answers every question.
“Mummy, can Cathy come and play on the swings?”
“Not yet, sweetheart. She’s too little, but soon you’ll be playing on the swings together.”
“Oh, can she watch?”
“Yes, she can watch you play.”
Then the baby wails, a shrill, urgent cry. The mum bends to rearrange the blankets, murmuring comforts.
I notice the boy’s grip loosening, one chubby finger at a time. His attention drifts. Across the road a fluffy dog trots out of the park, tail wagging, tongue lolling. The boy’s eyes widen.
“Puppy,” he whispers.
He steps forward, tiny shoes slapping the pavement.
There’s a car parked to the left, another to the right. He squeezes through the narrow gap, hands outstretched.
“Puppy,” he says again, louder this time, his hand stretching towards the dog.
“No!” I shout, panic surging.
I rush forward, instinct screaming at me to grab him, but my hand passes straight through. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop him!
He toddles farther, oblivious to danger. He giggles.
I hear it—the low hum of an engine. A car, coming fast. I see it before anyone else. It’s seconds away; the driver cannot see him. My breath catches.
“Joshy! No!” his mother screams, finally looking up.
Time slows.
The car is almost on him.
He takes another step, still smiling at the dog.
I scream, but no one can see or hear me.
The car hits. The impact flips him into the airand his small body twists, then crashes onto the road with a sickening thud.
