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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 successful hunt, they brought a bunch of boys and girls for the young vampires to play with. I became fond of a young one named Malcolm He had beautiful blue eyes, blonde hair, and pounding muscles. Ohhhh! How I just wanted to bite his neck! But that unusual feeling that grew inside my lifeless body made him much more then food. While my family slept in their rotting coffins surrounded by dead carcasses, rotting animals and blood stains all over the walls, I moved. I dared to sneak out trying not to slip on my midnight feast I had left under my coffin. I went into into the bloodied chambers where we kept our victims and human slaves. The smell would linger from beneath the chambers of the rotting dead and the off blood we wasted. I wondered how humans could stand it down there. But they had no choice; they were stuck. I dragged Malcolm out pretending he was my next meal. I wanted to have a little fun with him, see how much he feared me. I made a small chamber for him behind my fireplace and told him I would not harm him. But as you’d guess he was petrified of me. He eventually realised I wasn’t going to eat him. I protected him. I loved his human soul. We became close; we played, talked even laughed and when my family were near I would hide Malcolm in his chamber. He was so unaware of my love for him. His cheeky smiles, eye to eye glances as if he was searching for my soul, his physical touch was doubtful. Why can’t I tell him, tell him “I love you?” I guess I was scared if he didn’t love me back I’d be so angry I couldn’t help but rip his guts out and feed it to the crows. Until that one ominous night when my life changed forever. After my family conducted one of their famous balls in honour of our ancestors, I ran back to my room to talk to Malcolm. But I found my room door open. I walked in and to my horror, they’d found him - they’d broke down my fire place. His blood showing a trail through my room. Suddenly, I was struck by an object and passed out on to...
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