Chapter 1

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Hi guys,

So, this is it: my first story, my first book. No cliches, no fanged boys who fall for the girl after two seconds. Are you ready for this story? Cause I am. Let me know what you think.

Lara Stein


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Copyright @ Lara Stein All Rights Reserved Copyright:

All the chapters and content of this book are copyrighted. All rights reserved by the author (Lara Stein) and any unauthorized copying, broadcasting, distribution, manipulation, or selling of this work constitutes as an infringement of copyright. Any infringement of this copyright is punishable by law. Any links, brand names or otherwise copyrighted material is not my own, and is not covered by my copyright. No copyright fragment intended.

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Chapter 1


22nd Street was a danger zone in disguise. Too many people. Too much noise. Too many variables in between.

The sound of my footsteps was smothered by the overkill of blaring music and shrill voices. I pushed myself through the throng of people, my mind restless, my pulse frantic. Thoughts and speculations increased their pace with each step. I had to find her.

Maria said she was somewhere close to Tamuré Club, an establishment with the kind of reputation that made you steer clear of its vicinity, even during daylight. The club was in the heart of the Crimson District, cradled by dozens of other bars with dazzling neon signs. There was so much color and so much life, you'd never have expected this to be one of the darkest and most dangerous areas of the city. I avoided this part of New York at all costs in the past. It was common knowledge that these streets were the most favored playgrounds of the undead.

What the hell was Maria doing here of all places? Why call me in the middle of the night, demanding I meet her within the hour, if not because something happened? I heard the agitation in her voice over the phone and it was too real to be neglected. Then the fact that she was gone all of a sudden, disconnected.

I had to find her and make sure that she was alright. I quickened my pace, bumping into leather-jacketed shoulders and muscled backs as I made my way through the terrain of partygoers.

By the time I reached Tamurè, my lungs were burning. I stopped to catch my breath and scanned my surroundings. My eyes traveled up and down the street, moving over clubs – pillows of bright color and light – to the darker corners of the area. This was a part of the city I had never been in before. One glance was enough. It was just like everyone said.

The streets in the Crimson District were always busy. No matter how old, no matter what kind of skin color, you would find them in the streets: a crammed mass of staggering clubbers in need of another fix. People of every age and flavor were queuing to get into Tamuré, and the line was long.

A group of girls stumbled past me – all drunk, all in high heels. They giggled, laughed in shrill, high-pitched voices, flashing their fake fang marks to anyone who cared to take a closer look. Somebody was throwing up beside me. Two guys with neon-colored hair were making out in the middle of the street. And no one gave a damn.

In another part of the city I might have fit in with my leather jacket and jeans, my long, brown, undyed hair. In another part I might have been able to mix and blend into the crowd: just a young, twenty-something on her way home. Not so here. In this zoo, I was the oddity.

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