For those of you who know and didnt know about Vampd, it has been my work of fiction for 5 years now. I started it with terrible grammar and writing style, and have re-written it half a dozen times. But now, I bring to you, the preface of VAMPD, book one, in hopes that youll be interested to give it a go. If you like it, like this status. If you have comments, please leave them. If you want more, please say so. Ill be giving you sneak peaks into VAMPD, the final draft, here on FB. PREFACE: “It’s never going to be the same, is it?” Ethan took a quick drag from his cigarette, blowing the fog colored smoke into the evening wind. He caught Wick’s eyes, then, and a pang of jealousy rang true in his heart. “She was my best friend. You took that away.” “I didn’t take anything away,” Wick replied, his voice calm and even, but through it Ethan could hear the tenacity within it, “You pushed her away with your stubbornness and secrets. Ashe, she’s like water. Cool, gentle. She doesn’t like when you throw stones in her flow –it causes ripples. And it changes the course forever.” Wick reached in from his pockets and lit a cigarette of his own, the tip glowing iridescent red over his face, all curves and shadows. “I was trying to protect her.” “She doesn’t need protecting. The quicker you learn that, the quicker you’ll see who she really is.” This struck a chord. Ethan threw down his cigarette butt and stomped on it with emphasis. “You barely know her. Quit talking like you do.” “The same could be said for you.” Wick cocked an eyebrow, the smoking cig dipping from the corner of his lips as he said, “You want to make it up to her? Quit thriving in your secrets and be open.” A fist rippled through the air with lighting precision, connecting with Wick’s jaw. The cigarette fell down to the pavement below as Ethan drew his hand back to his side, glaring. “I’m not the secret keeper. Let’s remember that. When are you gonna tell her all that you are?” Instead of anger, like Ethan expected, he saw a smile peel back on Wick’s face as he straightened his frame, lighting one more cig. He was laughing. “Touché.” His voice, like bells, rang with chuckles into the night. “Touché.” He patted Ethan on the shoulder and strolled down the front steps of 21 Baker Street, gliding past the front lawn ethereally. The screen door creaked open from behind him, causing Ethan to jump. Ashe, her hair in soft, pale curls, emerged meekly. She wore nothing but an old, ratty shirt and shorts. Her eyes were puffy, probably from all the crying, and she was sipping on sweet tea through a straw. When her eyes caught with his, she averted her gaze instantly. “I thought I heard you two fighting…” “I decked him,” Ethan said, watching as her stare turned to horror. “He just laughed,” He added, pushing his hands down into the depths of his jean pockets, “Didn’t even phase him.” “He’s weird,” Ashe said half-heartedly. “You love him, don’t you?” The words choked Ethan to say. “What?” “You love him.” “Ethan.” Ashe began, but the look on her face was enough. Ethan, for the second time that night, let his fists fly, this time into the side of the house. Bricks cracked under the force of his fist and dripped with blood. He knew he had broken something, because his wrists was pounding, but not as much as his head. He shook his head, the smell of his own blood trailing down into his throat. Ashe loved him. How? How could she let herself fall for someone so… arrogant? Discontent? Unstable? Wickland O’Malley was death warmed over. How could anyone fall for someone so uncharming? Un-equivocally tempered with destruction? He hadn’t noticed himself drawing closer to Ashe until he was only steps away, crimson drops falling to the white slats underneath their feet. “Your hand.” Ashe reached for it, but he jerked backwards. “What’s one broken wrist?” He mused, staring deep into her hazel eyes. Something, a burning, grew within him, so intense it felt as if he might explode. His good hand reached out and brushed a curl back behind her ear. “I…” How could he find the words? “I should have told you, so long ago, how I felt. Maybe then you wouldn’t have…” Ethan inhaled, taking in the scent of her salty-sweet skin, the perfume on her neck, the blood coursing just under her epidermis… “Stop it.” Ashe’s eyes fluttered under blonde lashes. “You’re scaring me.” “Maybe that’s what turns you on.” He let his fingers brush down against her neck, her shoulder, down to her own wrist, where he could make out her blue veins pulsing. “Is that why he appeals to you? Because he scares you?” Ashe bit her lower lip, but Ethan knew it wasn’t out of adoration. She was trying to hold back tears. He knew he should revolt from his frail attempts, but the blood was calling to him, calling to him in a way he didn’t know how to evade. He felt torn between his devotion to Ashe and his lust for the blood. There was a great pull, and Ethan jerked her wrist up to his lips, even as she struggled against him, but he was strong. He knew he was strong. Was this the strength Wick talked of? The dangerous strength of a vampire? “I can’t stop…” He breathed. “You have to!” Ashe’s other hand pushed against his chest, writhing beneath his grasp. “Ethan, get a hold of yourself!” “So… sorry…” His lips brushed against her skin, so deliciously close. BOOM! Something hurt. He wasn’t sure what it was, but there was a sensation just below his ribcage like bees crawling. Tiny dots appeared in his line of vision. Ethan saw himself growing smaller, closer to the ground, and Ashe was above him. Had he fallen? Why was she crying like that? Why was it so hard to breathe? “I’m so sorry, Ethan.” Ashe sobbed, falling to her knees beside him. Her hands glowed with an orange aura, like the sun bursting. “I didn’t mean to. You scared me. Oh my God. What did I – I can’t… I’m sorry!” Don’t cry, he wanted to say, but all that spilled out of his mouth was a copper-tasting liquid. He tried his best to look down, to figure out why the bees were suddenly stinging him with their thousands of needles… There were footsteps coming up the porch. It was hard to focus his eyes, to get a grasp of the situation. “No.” He heard Ashe gasp. “No, not now. Not now! Can’t you see how badly he’s hurt? Get away from him! Stay away!” A bright light. Then darkness. Then the banging and the clamoring of a fight. Ethan wasn’t sure why he couldn’t find the strength to fight. But he was sure he was all alone now, on the porch, and the darkness wanted to consume him. And he wanted to let it. “Ashe…” He whispered, eyes fluttering closed. Then he drifted into a desperate sleep, where he danced with Ashe at their prom, all in blue, and the tinsel stars above them shimmered like a thousand lighting bugs. It wasn’t until a hand came down around his throat that himself to open his eyes again. There, in his face, nose to nose, was Evelyn Carr. “Tell that Wick he just made my shit-list.” She smirked, gripping tighter. “That is, if you live long enough to tell him. Did you know you had a hole in your chest?” Her hand dug into the sinking pit of what Ethan thought were bees. He now knew that it wasn’t bees, but a gigantic hole the size of a hand, that ran straight through his gut. She dropped him, his head cracking to the wooden slats beneath, and sauntered away like a graceful cat. Only the tiny glint of her glowing violet eyes gave any indication that she existed past the darkness of the lawn.
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 00:07:27 +0000
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