Page 20 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

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. A man 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.