Your Safety, My Pleasure

Your Safety, My Pleasure

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing31m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Dec 3, 2012
I sit on my couch and watch the local news. VAMPIRES WALK AMONG US scrolls across the bottom of the screen while they show images and video of protests going on throughout the Seattle area. There’s panic coming from both sides. They show the living buying guns, boarding windows, painting crucifixes’ on their homes, and vampires gearing up for the coming fight and trying to ensure the living they aren’t here to harm us. Months later we have learned that there are four main vampire clans in the Seattle area. The Ventruliati are the leading vampire clan with the biggest house, no other clan dares to mess with them. The Lerujah are the second biggest clan, followed by the Cambrulla and Kainvean clans. We are still finding out about the vampire world, but we’ve recently learned the leader of the Ventruliati has died causing a war to start among the clans making the living scared to go out at night. Little did I know how much this leader’s death would soon affect not only my personal life, but my love life as well…
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CONCERN

"Who are you?" the boy asked. His eyes are wide, full of adrenaline and glowing red. I feel something else from him, something very few people feel during their lives as vampires. I feel compassion. This boy does not want to attack, he simply wants to protect. He wants to protect her. I smile at his naivety. There is no room for compassion and love in the vampire world. It is every person for themselves. If only I wasn't so hypocritical. My sole purpose for being in Seattle is to feel that warmness of love again. Ever since I turned, all I have known is bitter coldness. I don't want that for myself anymore. "I'm Bree." Her voice startles me. "We don't want to fight. We want to know why you are here." Her pale face appears next to the boy's shoulder. Bree's eyes gleam in the moonlight. She steps out from behind the boy. She is slim and not much taller than I am; maybe 5"3.

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