Page 46 of Bitten Vampire
“You will end up with a hairy tongue,” I mutter, unlocking the phone.
I reopen the site, settle in and start scrolling. Nothing happens. I’m too tense, too aware.
Relax,House urges.Trust me.
Trust her? I do, and I do not want the power hijacking my brain. I keep scrolling, keep watching.
Ten minutes later it starts: a prickle behind my eyes, a shimmer, the sensation of slipping sideways without moving. This time, I let it happen, but I do not fall too deeply. I skim the surface. I’m aware now, and that helps.
The magic doesn’t seize me, it flows, and I let the vision take me.
Chapter Nineteen
It’s raining.
I stand in an alley behind what I think is a nightclub. The distant thud of bass pulses through the wall. Rain trickles from a broken gutter.
Check for details, Fred. Check for details.
I’ve read enough books—seen enough films—to know you look for clues, pay attention.
A bin stands nearby. A shiver twists my gut, but this one isn’t a body bin, it’s full of bottles and bar rubbish. Stamped on the side is the venue name:The Downbeat. I know it. It’s a flashy nightclub in the Vampire Sector, fifteen minutes from my house and owned by Clan Nocturna—their crest blazes on the sign.
I jump when the back door bangs open, and a girl staggers out, heels wobbling and dress askew. Aman follows, steady, composed, grinning. My nose wrinkles. He’s a vampire; even in a vision, I feel his magic slither under my skin.
He props her against the wall.
She leans, blinking slowly. “I just need some fresh air,” she slurs. “Can’t feed you… my master won’t like it. We’re… doing paperwork… Thrall paperwork. I need to get home.”
“I don’t care,” the vampire growls.
Then he bites her. No hesitation, no finesse.
I lurch forward. Panic blooms. I want to help—grab him, do something—but I catch myself.Like the little boy,this is not happening now; I’m in a vision.I can’t intervene, only observe, hunt for a clue that will help.
Her heartbeat falters—slows.
When the little boy died, I’m sure I was thrown out of the vision then.
Hurry, Fred. Hurry.
I retreat, sprinting down the alley and into the street. Yes, I know this place. But what day is it? No newspapers, no posters; everyone’s glued to their phones—useless.
A passerby finishes a message and locks his screen. The date and time flash up for a single, precious second: early hours tomorrow—1:38 a.m.
The vision tears away.
Chapter Twenty
I joltupright on the sofa, gasping.
Fred. Fred, are you all right?
“Yes,” I manage. “But there’s a girl—early hours tomorrow—who will be murdered by a vampire.”
I pour out everything: The Downbeat, the rain, the time, the victim, the clan, the predator. My voice shakes, but I don’t stop until it’s all said.
“I must go outtonight.” I groan. The words land like a dare. My heart thuds, loud and uneven, pounding in my throat.
