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A Cold Blooded Love!

My father once told me to never show sympathy to your victims even if the cry for help intruded into your blood lust thoughts. He shouted, “They’re food, worthless blood filled bodies created to serve and feed the alpha people like us.” He was and still is the most feared of vampires. Humans feared him, werewolves envied him and other vampires lived to be bigger than him, but no one could defeat my father. I loved hunting with him, because he knew where and who to hunt. Watching him in his purple silk cloak, ruffled white shirt and boots darker than the night sky, rip a person’s heart out of their body, suck the blood off in that split second before they died; boy that was intense. He had a gift many wished they could possess. He could sense blood that was the purest; it gave us that instant rush when he let us drink it. The cries for help made it seem like a musical symphony accompanying fine dining in a restaurant. Drinking pureblood was the closest we got to fine dining. As I grew up, I dreamt that I could one day be like him - a hunter, a cold blooded killer. I guess it was my mother who drove me to a love of men, brought out my softer side; trying to protect me from my father’s ways. Dragging me with her on as she called “less gruesome killings.” She would lure her victims into alley ways or dark buildings, kindly killing them before pounding their heads open and eating their brains; as she thought it would make her more exquisitely glamorous. She loved playing with her victims. She taught me how to tease them; it excited my dead soul to tease a man; made me feel things I thought I’d only feel for a woman. Hiding the secret that my dislike for a woman’s body, her touch, would send me into despair, make me want to throw myself in the rays of the burning sun that we feared. It showed more and more that my love for a male was more than being attracted to a victim as food. Once, after my father and his friends came back from a...