Page 32 of Bitten Vampire (The Bitten Chronicles #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

Last night’s back-to-back visions were anything but healthy. After dozens of attempts I ended up glassy-eyed and shaking, nearly unconscious, until Valdarr—quite rightly—put his foot down.

Strangely, I was grateful for my vampire half. Had I attempted them while being human, and forced that many visions into a single sitting, I would have fried my brain. The undead part kept me going… until it could not.

Now we stand in the heart of the Vampire Sector.

The district is ultra-modern, almost science-fiction, with technology I have never seen; I half-expect hover-cars to zip past. It feels as though I have stepped into Back to the Future .

We pause before an immense block of black glass.

The Hall of Silence .

My anxiety spikes. I have never been this frightened—not for myself so much as for Valdarr, for the clan who took me in, for anyone who might pay the price of my existence. One misstep and it is not only my head on the block; I might make a mistake that has my vampire killed.

“Are you all right? You’re looking a little peaky,” Simone says.

“Fine, thanks,” I lie, forcing a weak smile.

I am anything but fine.

We are about to enter the Hall of Silence, a building full of vampires who believe I am a rogue, and I’m going to face the Head Vampire who actively wants me dead. No pressure.

Valdarr stands beside me like a silent sentinel.

I have not told him what I discovered in the visions; fear stayed my tongue. I also have a sneaky suspicion that the power wouldn’t let me. If he had known, he might have reacted differently and changed something. It does not help that I have watched him die—this wonderful man—again and again.

When he promised to protect me with his life, he meant it.

He meant everything.

I am a different person from the one I was yesterday. The visions have hardened me. Broken me. Experiencing alternative realities, without knowing the science behind them, and fearing that a single misstep could fracture existence, has left me deeply unsettled. I never want to do it again.

I smooth my fitted, mid-length blue dress, a shade that flatters my eyes, emphasises my pallor and somehow makes my blonde hair glossier.

Six-inch heels would have crippled me when I was human but vampiric balance keeps me upright, and though I loathe every step, having extra pointy things that can be used as weapons is comforting.

Beryl is strapped to my thigh beneath the fabric, silent and unnervingly cold. I must trust she will wake when it matters.

“Going to tell us we can’t enter or that we have to cartwheel through the door?” James sneers.

My visions insisted James accompany us, otherwise, Valdarr would have left him behind. I give him a tight smile. “No cartwheels, James. We are all good.”

During the drive, I revealed our route in fragments.

The detours infuriated everyone but Valdarr, who simply watched me, storm-grey eyes understanding.

He knew what I was doing. He would not let anyone override me.

I threaded us through side roads, turning a half-hour journey into more than an hour. James—mercifully—in another car.

Security waves us through and we step inside.

I have walked this moment countless times, yet never enough to banish dread. My stomach flips. It’s like rewatching a familiar film—but different. The visions were scent-free; being here is overwhelming. My senses flare, fangs sliding down of their own accord.

At least my vampiric nature keeps the sweat at bay.

The Hall of Silence exudes oppressive grandeur—an eighteenth-century court dipped in chrome, polished to a mirror shine and set inside a curved skyscraper.

Cold, clinical light pours from invisible sources far above, catching on steel fittings and glass balustrades. Everything gleams. The open-plan space feels deliberately cavernous, designed to make you small, and it succeeds.

It makes you think you have stepped into the belly of something ancient, ruthless, wholly indifferent to your survival.

Tiered rows of bone-white seats sweep around the central floor, where I will stand—an insect in a very clean, very expensive trap.

The higher a clan ranks in the hierarchy, the higher the members are seated. Clan Nocturna occupies the middle rows; I spot them at once, and they are glaring. The old adage “if looks could kill” springs to mind.

I know the other clans too—their rivalries and who they would kill if given the chance.

I watched them closely in my visions and then carried out extensive research.

They mingle in small groups, gather in force.

Others stand alone—some stare, some smirk, and others look keen to behead me where I stand.

All of them relish what they see as Valdarr’s epic mistake.

By contrast, Valdarr’s clan has remained impartial for more than a thousand years, helping rather than hindering. He has kept his head down, allowing the newer clans to squabble.

I recognise faces, reactions, intentions. The elegant lady across the hall plans to strike Simone. The scowling man near her, furious even among his own clan, will unexpectedly shield me.

Foreknowledge matters now, but I am glad I don’t live with it daily. I will not make a habit of using this power. Last night I pursued the threads of the main players and nothing more. The future is a spider’s web of possibilities .

One careless tug and the whole thing tears.

I must handle these next few moments very, very carefully.

Many thoughts spin through my head: be humble yet confident—do not look coached. I am no actor—my heart lives on my sleeve—but I must pretend every word is new, must perform to save our lives.

Valdarr angles his body protectively before mine. He is ready—willing—to throw himself into danger, and I dearly hope I do not ruin everything. I must keep him safe. I do not want to watch him die again.

Our clan spreads out behind us, outwardly relaxed. Simone mutters at James, who snaps back. Ralph stands aside, all warrior. Tony is quiet, watchful. Harrison, the head of our security, draws sneers from other vampires. They have no idea. If things go wrong, they will never see him coming.

Valdarr has surrounded himself with capable people.

My eyes drift around the hall. In the Hall of Silence, vampires must represent themselves, and it rarely ends well for the accused.

Sometimes, when a vision went wrong and I didn’t have the heart to watch the outcome, I wandered—eavesdropped, explored, learnt this building.

I probably know it better than most here—better than the Council, the guards, perhaps even the Grand Master himself.

He enters exactly on time.

Everything stills.