Page 8 of Bitten Vampire
I was happy for her, but I was also jealous of her husband, her home and her happiness. And now? Now I feel guilty because I’m not jealous anymore. She’s gone. Her life, her dreams, her future—gone.
It was all ripped away.
The deaths of Amy and Max have left me seething with hatred. Part of me knows it’s wrong to condemn an entire group over one tragedy, but it’s hard not to.
The vampires do whatever they like, and human laws do not protect us when we venture over their borders. We are second-class citizens in a world of monsters, and nobody cares.
This is hell. Because hell isn’t fire, brimstone, a place of punishment for the wicked or unredeemed after death. Hell is here.
Baylor yawns, stretching his front paws and back legs at the same time like a starfish, and then he breaks wind. Loudly. The smell hits me immediately. It’s vile. I gag. It’s so bad I cantasteit.
“Oh my god, Baylor.” I slap a hand over my nose, fumbling to roll the window down.
He sneezes once, curls up tighter and promptly goes back to sleep, utterly unfazed by the chemical warfare he’s unleashed.
I chuckle and turn my head, gulping in as much fresh air as possible. Even the exhaust fumes in the supermarket car park smell better than that. Trust Baylor to make me laugh. I close my eyes, inhale deeply and let the world blur at the edges. If I let the panic ebb, maybe I’ll find some clarity and figuresomething out.
Baylor’s steady snoring fills the car, oddly soothing. Each breath anchors me as I focus on that gentle rhythm.
Meditation isn’t something I’ve ever been taught. I let the odd gift I have—whatever it is—guide me. I wouldn’t call myself psychic, but there’s… something inside me. This pull, this awareness, resonates like an unspoken command. A sense. A knowing. It sits between my chest and my gut, a gentle tug I’ve always felt.
Perhaps it’s pattern recognition. A canny intuition. I’ve always been adept at picking up shifts in energy, sensing the emotional charge in a room. It’s what made me so good at marketing—my ideas were always ahead of the curve.
Sometimes the urge to act builds so quickly that I respond before I realise what I’m doing. The older I get, the more often it happens, like the night Amy and Max went out. I had a bad feeling. I called her, but she didn’t pick up. I never had the chance to warn her. Every day I wish I had tried harder. But I was there to scoop Baylor up from the aftermath.
I know the human brain is complex. I know magic exists—at least for some. Like every human, I’ve been tested, and I’m not magical. Still, I trust my instincts when they scream for others even if I have spent ten years ignoring them for myself. If that isn’t magic, it’s close enough.
Colours swirl behind my closed lids, ribbons of shimmering smoke in shifting hues. Lightning flashes through the darkness; energy coils twist as though trying to show me something. I don’t resist. I let it wash over me.
And just like that, the panic slips away.
I open my eyes and glance at the newspaper. All thesuitable listings I’ve called are crossed out. A tiny ad in the far corner of the classifieds catches my eye. The text is so small it’s difficult to read.Room for rent. Pets welcome.I initially dismissed it because it has no contact number, only an address.
I’m desperate enough to give it a go. I’m already in the car and have nothing to lose. I might as well check it out.
I enter the postcode, start the engine and drive out of the car park. Following the navigation system, I turn left. I drive southeast, towards the vampires.
The rain intensifies with every mile I drive towards the mystery accommodation. My fingers tap the steering wheel. I hope someone is home and that Derek hasn’t reached them first. It’s only about thirty minutes from the supermarket, yet I feel as though we have been on this road forever.
Beyond the tarmac stretches a barren scrubland, separating humans from vampires. I don’t want to live any closer to those monsters. The nearer we get to the Vampire Sector, the more my nerves prickle.
The more it feels like I’m chasing the sun.
The dampness from my wet clothing keeps fogging up the windows, forcing me to squint. I fiddle with the vents to clear the windscreen. The last thing I need is to drive into a ditch. I follow the navigation’s directions to turn right onto a narrow lane.
The road twists and turns through the thick trees and shrubs until the land opens, and a lone house appears through the downpour.
I ease to the kerb, my breath catching as I try to make out details.
Even with the pounding rain it looks quaint. Immaculate red brick with decorative flourishes, even the roof sports ornate ridge tiles, not a single crack or chip. The bay windows are perfect, their sash frames neat and straight, the glass gleaming. I’m no architect, but it seems Victorian, likely predating the road.
Who knows. It’s not a farmhouse, yet here it stands alone. Odd. No neighbours, at least no human ones, as the Vampire Sector borders its back garden.
“Be a good boy. I won’t be long,” I tell Baylor, who’s now wide awake. I crack the windows, grab my jacket from the passenger seat and jump out, tugging it on. The thudding rain drowns out my thoughts as it hammers my hood. I will worry about drying it later if all this goes to shit.
This house could be a stroke of luck.
The day is dull and dripping, yet the house is not. It stands solid and bright, as though it has been waiting for me. For a moment I dare to thinkthis is where things finally change.
