My Stepbrother's a Vampire!

1; The First Impression

Whilst mom is at the airport collecting Richard and his son, I clean the house. And by clean I mean hide the mess.

As I dust the walls feebly with what looks to me like the tail of a peacock, I think over the whole situation. We live in a two-level colonial with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, so there is more than enough space. I mean, if I time everything right, we'll never even see each other. Richard's son and I, that is.

What's wrong with you, Kara? My subconscious asks. You haven't even met the guy, and you're making plans to avoid him. For all you know, he could be awesome. And hot.

Err, I think awkwardly to myself. See, this is the problem with having a bizarre subconscious. You can't shut it up on the basis that it is fundamentally yourself.

I have problems.

His name is Alexei, I recount, moving into the kitchen, whose sink is cluttered with dirty dishes. As I place the dishes and cutlery in the dishwasher, my eyebrows furrow. Or was it Alec? Or Alejandro? From the pictures I've seen, he is the complete opposite of what I'd picture of an Italian guy. Pale skin? Glasses? Red eye? Mom showed me the photos last month. I was not impressed.

But, then again, so what even if he is hot? That won't make me like him any more.

I exhale in irritation and switch on the radio to drown out my thoughts. Some One Direction song is on, but it's the catchy one, so I ditch the duster and begin to jerk alarmingly around the house. I let the lyrics pound away in a circle round my brain.

"If you don't wanna take it slow

And you just wanna take me home"

I sing with the music in an embarrassingly loud voice, so loud, in fact, that I almost miss the doorbell.

I freeze on the spot. They are here. Vague despair throbs within me. I try not to acknowledge the fact I've been sort of hoping they'd get run over by a truck on the way here, with the exception of my mom surviving miraculously.

The doorbell comes again, more frequent and insistent. It snaps me out of it.

"Coming!" I yell. I march out of the kitchen like a soldier to war, thumping the radio off on the way.

Just before I reach the front door, I pause and inhale deeply. Okay, girl, my subconscious reprimands. You be polite. You be nice. No matter how annoying and repulsive he is, you refuse the urge to punch him. Do not ruin this.

I nod to myself, breathe in again, and open the door.

My brain switches off.

The guy standing before me is hot. As in, mind-numbingly hot. As in, ghost chilli hot. As in, Ian Somerhalder hot.

Okay, maybe not that hot.

His skin is the colour of health and tan, a rich fair hue. His hair, a collection of carelessly clustered waves, is black with glinting natural brown highlights. His face is a masterpiece I can't stare at for too long, but the plush impression of his lips and perfect shape of his incredible jaw line imprints in my brain. And his eyes......I've never seen a blue that dark before.

Somehow, I manage to tear my eyes off him to study what he is wearing. A loose white shirt and close-fitting jeans.

As my subconscious barks repeatedly HUBBA HUBBA, WOOF WOOF, a part of my brain wonders who this stranger is. An Abercrombie and Fitch model? He certainly has the looks

"The mall's that way," I say stupidly after a moment, pointing to an impressive building buried not too far in the distance.

The guy smiles amusedly at me. "Why would I need the mall?" He has an accent, I note. Not too profound but evident. It gives his sexiness another dimension.