Drake | SAMPLE ONLY

3

One thing I was proud of- I could handle my drink. As in, I could drink wines, spirits, beer- you name it- and it didn't turn me into a fragile mess. Back home kids were drinking in the park with their friends from the tender age of fourteen- fake ID could get you into a bar from sixteen- meaning by the legal age of consent- eighteen in the UK- you were usually a seasoned pro.

I used to go to the pub every weekend with my dad, where he would treat me to a packet of crisps and a ham roll. I would play cards with my friends whilst the adults drank, until the bell would ring to signify the end of the night. I used to love those evenings, spent feeling like a tiny grown up sitting at tables with my friends. We would only be sipping on orange juice but we would pretend it had vodka in.

So when I found myself at the Autumn Party after my first week at school, I was surprised by how drunk most of the girls were after one or two glasses of spiked punch. I didn't think it was too strong, but still I didn't knock it back. I wasn't about to become a cliche of my own getting wasted and bedding some random.

Nope.

However, I was thoroughly enjoying the party. One thing I already preferred over anything back home was how the Americans could throw a party. The room was not dissimilar to a club back home- multiple rooms with different music in each one, soft lights and tonnes of places to sit. Everywhere was lit by fairy lights, and the scent of cinnamon and spices filled the air. I was already stoked for Halloween here, but this was a fabulous introduction.

"Oh, you didn't make an effort. Don't they have parties back in the UK?"

I turned to see Malibu Barbie with her friends, cackling gleefully as I allowed my gaze to drift over her.

"None that you'd have been invited to. Excuse me."

I turned on my heel and walked away, thankful for the thick skin I'd developed to bullies and nasty bitches like her. What was her problem?

Maybe she needed to get laid.

I sipped my beer as I spotted Jones leaning against the wall, talking to Greg Doherty. If she was trying to play it cool, she was mistaken. She was gazing at him as he spoke nodding and laughing in all of the right places. I tried to hold back a smile as I leaned against the wall, taking a moment to absorb my surroundings.

"So are you going to cast a spell on anyone in particular?" I heard a voice murmur beside me, as I sipped my beer.

"Hello, Drake. Out of victims already?"

"Is that what you think of me?" he moved in front of me as I felt my a jolt run through me. His hair was slicked back, his eyes ringed with black eyeliner making them stand out like glittering emeralds. As he spoke I became aware of his fangs, and I sucked in a breath.

"Vampire. Victims," I explained, tearing my eyes away from him as I tried to appear disinterested.

"Ah. Here I was, thinking you were just being offensive."

Why was he standing so close to me? I know the music was loud, but that wasn't enough of an excuse. My eyes refused to obey my instructions to ignore his incredible body under the tight white shirt, instead they roamed freely over his body.

"So what's your type, Victoria? See anyone you like?" he raised his eyebrows as he lifted his honey coloured drink to his lips, which I really needed to stop staring at.

"Your powers won't work on me, Count Casanova," I laughed throatily, scanning the room for a distraction. He moved closer, studying me carefully.

"You're not drunk," he observed, clearly impressed.