My Stepbrother's a Vampire!

Prologue; The Anticipation

(Greetings, guys! This is my new work. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. For those who are wondering when the so called 'dirty' parts begin, it starts at around chapter 8. It is, remember, a build-up; the characters can't just start procreating in the preface. It's not Fifty Shades of Grey.

Enjoy!)

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“How do I look?”

For the millionth time this morning, my mom twirls prettily on the spot. In this instance, she has on a swirly, floral-patterned dress which, I admit, does much to flatter her curvy figure.

I sigh in a very teenager-y way and sit up from the slumped position I’ve adopted. We are in my mom’s bedroom, me reclined upon her double bed, her walking in and out of her closet modelling different outfits. She looked equally as great in each of them, of course, but, for some stupid reason to do with middle-aged love and Richard, she thinks she doesn’t look good enough.

“Mom,” I groan. “Honestly, you look hot—as hot as you did the last gazillion times. Just please choose something.”

Mom smoothes down the sundress’s sides and looks uncertainly at me. “Really? Are you sure my butt doesn’t look too big?”

I give her what my best friend Emma likes to call the Zombie Look of Death, reserved usually only for enemies and teachers. “Yes, I’m sure. Your ass looks fine.”

A flicker of parental disdain flashes across mom’s face at the bad word, but, quick as it comes; it flees to be replaced by insecurity. She frowns and begins to bite at her thumb nail.

My mother is easily the most beautiful person I know. She has wavy blonde hair which looks and flows down to her shoulders like liquid sunlight, eyes as blue and revealing as the sky, and a full figured body which get people—men in particular—staring. She doesn’t know she’s hot, and she sure as hell doesn’t notice all the attention—especially recently. As of nine months ago, my mom started dating Richard Burbage, a forty year old Italian architect who, you guessed it, lives in Italy. Mom met him at some home sellers convention in Utah, seeing as she’s an estate agent, and I suppose they bonded over something mega yawn like loft insulation reduction taxes. They got totally smitten and fell in love. Of course, Richard did have to return to Italy which is where his architectural company’s based, but a new branch recently opened up here in San Francisco which he’s flying over to oversee, meaning he can live with us for the first time.

He’s not alone, though.

I climb off the bed and walk over to mom, who has begun to appraise her reflection in the full-body mirror mounted on her wall. “Mom,” I say slowly. “Are you sure about all this?

With her eyes still studying her flawless reflection, mom says, “Sure about what, honey?”

“Having Richard and his, er...son move in?”

Just like that, mom swiftly spins around to face me and evaluate the expression on my face. I know why. When mom first told me Richard had a seventeen year old son who was also going to live with us, I freaked. Most of the guys his age at my school microwave their sneakers for fun. I do not want some grubby boy coming over and ruining our space. But, when I realized how much mom wanted all this to be perfect—and that includes me accepting Richard’s son into our lives—I swallowed a big dose of Get Over Yourself and ‘accepted’ it.

“Yes,” mom responds. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I stare at her for a moment. What I really wanted to say is that I don’t want some stranger moving in across the hallway. But she’s been alone for so long, my subconscious argues. And she really likes him. Richard, that is. Not his son. That would be paedophilia.

I smile blankly. “No reason.”

Mom gives me a big smile and returns to her reflection. She frowns again. “Are you sure this dress is cute? I just want him to think I’m beautiful.”

I roll my eyes. “He already does. Stop freaking, mom. I’m pretty sure Richard doesn’t care what you’re in. After all those months of face time, you could turn up in a sweatsuit and he wouldn’t complain. If I were you, I’d concentrate on what you’re going to wear tonight.” I give her a suggestive raise of my eyebrow.

Mom glances sternly at me. “Kara.”

I grin innocently. “What? In fact—” I quickly dash into mom’s wardrobe and open the drawer where she keeps her underwear. When I return, mom can’t resist the laughter that follows swiftly at the sight of me.

I model the lingerie I now have on like a Victoria’s Secret twig, striking provocative poses.”You like?”

Mom manages to stop laughing enough to yell, “KARA!”