Bloodbank

Prologue

To me, blood had always meant pain.

A red stain, welling under a sharp knife. A grazed knee, torn skin. 

But even under the sand, in the bunker, far from any who would drink it, blood was precious. Losing too much would mean death. It stained what it touched, hurt where it bled.

In the desert, overrun with vampires, blood meant wealth.

Blood was traded by those who drank it, for slaves, for shelter, for safety.

This gave humans no choice but to become property. Vampires were faster than us, stronger, better. They were perfect predators - we never stood a chance. So we hid under the sand of our old world, vermin in a place that was once ours.

They would find us. They always did. It was only a matter of time. I would be traded, or I would be killed.

Blood was power. And I had it running through my veins.