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Leah knew she didn't have long to get back to her group before they woke, groggy and just as hungover as her, though they probably smelt worse, she herself stunk of booze and cigarette smoke, mixed with stale perfume and sex. So she knew she had to work fast, work proficiently and earn enough to cover her group to get them through to the next city. She could see this one being troublesome, making her job that little bit harder.

She was about to make her demand again when he moved, lightening fast and firm, yet gentle too. It was confusing and in her surprised state the trigger was pulled, a flash and a deafening bang echoed round the alleyway as the bullet went skyward. Quickly finding her arm wrapped up against her chest and the breath on her neck had her pulse racing, unknown to her that he could probably hear it, smell her humanity, sense her growing fear. No one had ever turned on her like this, not at his speed, no man had placed her in a compromising situation that she didn't let them do.

With his arm wrapped around her waist, she struggled, wriggling like an oiled pig, pushing against him and trying to pull away before realizing it was fruitless, he had a stronger grip that she'd expected and the revolver fell to the floor with a soft metallic clatter. She panicked more, her mind exploring all possible options and never ended well.

"Don't kill me man, I swear.. you can have your lighter just let me go.. Please man.."

The hammering of her heart can be compared to the sizzling of a juicy steak on the barbeque. The way this woman smells doesn’t disgust me. No, the cigarettes, the booze, and the sex – that’s what I would have smelled like a lot, in my youth. In my humanity. Now, I smells a lot like cigarettes and sex, still – no booze. The booze is replaced with the cold scent of death. Not the rotting, rancid scent of death but just the coldness of it. A lack of smell, if you will. Every human has a scent particular only to them; an oozing from pores. Being dead, I don’t have that scent. I only smell like the world around me, as it clings to my clothes, as if trying to hitch a ride through eternity.

The woman struggles but then gives up. The echo of the gunshot rings in my ears. I have to move quick, now. It’s normally the gunshots that bring people to the scene of a crime. And, if the regular populace are too afraid to investigate, they call the cops. I’m not sure how long I’ve got before we are interrupted. Rather than fight me, the woman begs me not to kill her. A frown creases my brow. Maybe I’ve made a mistake, wanting not to kill her. That unless begins to waver in my mind.

I remember the way that it feels, forging that bond with another person. Killing them, and bringing them back to life with your own blood – it feels like playing God. And it’s not just an issue of power. It’s the notion that I have created something. Maybe it’s what it feels like when mothers give birth to children. These babies who have lived inside of them for nine months, who have grown fat due to the sustenance that the mother herself gives to the child. I won’t compare it to fathering a child – that’s far too crass. I have no attachment to my sperm. One tiny little tadpole does not do what a mother does.

Is it a natural urge to procreate? I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d ever fully be able to express the feeling in words, how unlike anything siring another person is. To watch my blood bring that back to life, to watch is it imbibes with power they have never had – to watch as their eyes open in wonderment for the first time, upon seeing the world through new eyes. I could do it. I could do it, right now. I don’t need to, but I want to. It’s an addiction, now. Now that I know if I avoid it, I turn bitter and depressed. Now that I know why I am on such a high – why shouldn’t I?

I hesitate, however. I can’t just go around siring everything that walks on two legs. How many rogues could I inadvertently create? How many who’d loathe me, and who’d do anything to bring me down? How many that would threaten the masquerade and everything that I stand for, simply because I did not give them a choice? I need to be more careful. Therefore, I shouldn’t be disappointed that this one hasn’t put up a fight. Maybe it means she’ll be more amenable to change.

My grip remains firm; though my gums throb and I can feel the points of my canines with the tip of my tongue as I talk, I do not yet satiate my urge to bite.

”What if I do kill you? And what if I bring you back to life, stronger than you were before? Would you hate me?” I ask. I am going to kill her, if I decide she’s not suitable. I have to. She’s seen too much.

Kill you, and bring you back to life stronger. This guy really was a nutter! Did he think he was some kind of god? Or miracle worker? Once you were dead, that was it. Dead. A fact Leah knew all too well as she'd helped a few people reach that status in the past, she was ready to help this guy meet it too but now, now she was the one facing it instead. Fate and Karma were cruel Mistresses.

The shot had rung out and she knew when that happened, people usually came looking. Being caught in this position would probably look good on her, at least until they ID'd her and worked out that the gun didn't actually have any of the man's prints on it. That fact, coupled with his mad ramblings and questions, Leah squirmed and thrashed in his grasp, trying to stamp on his feet with her heavy boots in hope some kind of pain would make him release her long enough for her to run. It was during these seemingly futile attempts that her brain decided maybe it was time to get a new profession, perhaps even a real job.

"I swear, just take the lighter an' let me go, c'mon man you don't really believe what your sayin'! And you don't really wanna be here long, people will come looking, just let me go and I won't tell no one about you"

A single thought swam in her head as she spoke the last words, her eyes falling to the dropped firearm as her desire matched her thoughts. 'Won't tell no one, 'cause I'm gonna blow your brains out.'

This time she does put up more of a fight than previously. At least she’s not shrieking and sobbing, snot streaming from her nose in avid desperation. At least she’s fighting for her life in a reasonable way. Of course, she could be calling me insane. She’s at least smart enough not to rile an insane person, to try to slash at what might be their insecurities. She doesn’t answer my question, but continues to beg me to let her go. It’s not going to happen. And I’m not sure I’ll get any proper answer out of her. What’s the point in asking something that she’s not going to believe anyway?

I remember on the rare occasions when I used to go to restaurants. They’d give me a menu with far too many options. Too much good food – the paradox of choice. I’d narrow my selections down to only a few. Only when they’d come to take my order would I definitely decide. The pressure always helps to make a decision. Some chemical in the brain that fires on all synapses in the very last second. That’s what it’s like now, here. I’m teetering on the edge of indecision, and I know I haven’t got much time. The pressure is on. But it’s not yet the last second.

The last second will come when her heart has slowed to such an excruciating pace so as to be near death. Only then will I decide. And maybe her last gasping breath – and whatever she might decide to do with it – will help me along.

Before she actually manages to get out of my grasp (my toes are a little badgered, but nothing too serious), I find that pulse in her neck and bite. Sharp canines slide through tender skin, piercing the area just over the vein. Hot, adrenaline-filled blood fills my mouth and it’s only as the blood slides down my throat that my ever-present thirst is sated. It’s only in the act of feeding, right in the midst of it, that the hunger goes away – it’s why I like it so much. It’s why I prefer the real thing to the blood bags. The real thing is far, far more satisfying.

I hold on tight to my prey, a mantis with its claws stuck into a particularly juicy butterfly. I keep my eyes open so as to know, should we be interrupted. All my senses are on high alert, even though all I want to do is revel only in the taste of the blood, the heat of it, the bliss of satisfaction. Which I still do, in my own way. I take from the very thing that gives her life – I take it, because it gives me life, too.

She was about to try a new method of escape, shinning him, dragging the heels of her boots down the thin flesh that stood over his shin bones but she never got the chance, before thought could become action she felt the stabbing on her neck and it all became a little too real for her, he was definitely insane, biting people! She'd have to get herself checked for Rabies.. Or Tetanus. And that of course meant she'd get caught out and arrested to boot, this night was just getting better and better!

Her body told her to run, her instinct told her to run, every fibre of her being was screaming at her to snap out of it and bolt. But her brain had other plans, her legs stuck in place like tree roots in the ground. Her hands curling up into small fists as her mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to muster the energy to scream, to call for help, to do something.. Anything! But all she managed was a sickening gurgle, a feeble and ridiculous attempt at a noise.

She didn't know what he was doing to her, if he was high or drunk or just plain old crazy but his grip on her was strong and his teeth were pretty deep into her throat, knowing from experience what happened if you pulled away from a dog bite, Leah had no choice but to stop her thrashing and remain still to prevent further damage. Her pulse though was racing, pumping the blood faster and faster round her system, only making more of it reach the holes in her neck, allowing more of the crimson substance to leave her body and after a minute she felt woozy, a tingling in her cheeks and fingers, like when you fall asleep on your hand. She didn't know how to make him stop but at that moment she knew, he HAD to stop or she'd pass out and probably die anyway. Her shaking hand moved up to claw at whatever she could find, meeting only air and the edge of his jacket as he'd placed himself nearly perfectly behind her, in that one spot no human could possibly reach, the unscratchable area.

I pay attention to it when it happens this time. There’s a voice in the back of my head, telling me what I ought to do. An instinct and an urge that seems separate from me, but so very much a part of me at the same time. I asked to become this, to be turned into a vampire. Not once have I regretted the fate that I chose for myself. I accepted it, right from the beginning. I embraced every aspect of my new power, of the things that I had lost, but more importantly, the things that I had gained. The voice belongs to the vampire in me, the changed part of me. But it is me, entangled with the man that I always was.

Except for one crucial difference. I have never claimed to care too much about other people, unless they give me a reason to. Unless they earn my respect. Not many people have my respect, these days. I have a cold heart that never reaches out for those in distress, especially if they are able to help themselves. And yet here, with this woman struggling against me, struggling against her very death, my heart reaches out to her.

Maybe it’s her blood as it warms me. The very essence of her becomes one with my own essence. I loosen my grip as I feel her weaken. My hold on her becomes tender, gentle even. Although I continue to take her blood, I lift the canines from her skin, to cause her less pain. I lap at the blood that pours from the twin wounds, rather than pull it unnaturally from her system. How many times have I bitten Grey, and she being none the wiser? And now that she knows, even when I do, I can make it pleasurable for her. I can do that. This doesn’t have to be painful. And I regret it now, being as rough as I was. It’s probably too late to rectify it, but I try nonetheless.

And when the human gives up all of her strength, I slowly ease us both down to the ground. It’s dirty down here, but that doesn’t matter. I make sure that she does not fall. I make sure that she is comfortable, in this state near death. I have one knee on the ground, and the other raised. I let her lean against my raised knee. Even if she tries to make her escape now, she won’t make it very far – I’ve drained too much blood for her to make it very far.

Although there’s still a smear of blood on the girl’s neck, there are no wounds anymore. Whatever magic that I have in me has taken those wounds away, healed them completely. There’s a broken piece of glass on the pavement beside me. I pick it up and use the sharp edge to slash a long across the vein of my wrist. The blood bubbles freely to the surface; I hold the wound over my victim’s lips, tilting her chin down so that the blood might trickle over her tongue, down her throat.

Something akin to adrenaline surges through my system, at this point. There it is again, as if my heart is beating in my chest, even though I know it’s impossible. It feels as if my heart is beating, reaching out, wanting to embrace this woman in my lap, but it can’t. It can’t do it, not until she swallows my blood. Not until she swallows enough of it that it begins to change her, to bring her back to me a new person. With my free hand, I brush the dark, thick hair from her forehead.

”Drink. Drink it, and you’ll never be the same again,” I tell her. I’ll force it down her throat, if I have to. But it always goes better if she takes it willingly.

This is it, you're gonna die here, in some backwater city where no one even knows your name. It was true, no one here other than her gang members, knew her name. And well.. now the city coroner would too as she was lowered to the ground, spluttering and trying her best to remain conscious though that in itself was a slow losing battle. Her heart slowed as she had substantially less blood in her system for it to attempt to push. Because of this man who clearly didn't want to part with his jacket, and was killing her for a lighter.. she should have just kept walking, that much was clear to her now.

His grip had lessened and she felt like she could run if she wanted, which of course she did but found moving such a hassle, it was time consuming stuff, not to mention painfully slow and only made her weaker, so in hope of being rescued before it was too late, she lay motionless. Hoping, praying someone would find her and her mystery killer would scarper. Or that he'd just hurry up and end her already.

Instead he was doing something else entirely, dragging it out maybe? Drugging her to keep her awake? Who cared what it was, the warm liquid pooled in her mouth as her head was tilted in such a way that prevented her from spitting it out, spitting it back at him. No, she had to drink it but not by choice, too weak to swallow properly she just let the blood gather in her maw, trickling from the edge of her lips as it began slipping back, dripping down her throat like a leaky pipe, until her head tipped back a little further and the flood gates opened, she didn't need to do anything as the blood gushed for a split second, then it was gone, ingested and dispersing throughout her body, replacing what was lost, converting what was left, like an oil change in a car. Leah's beating heart began to slow, unable to pump dead and dying blood, the life in her eyes dwindled and faded to a hollow stare. Almost like she could rip your soul from your body kind of stare. Her body convulsed and twitched, warping into it's new state in a rather painful and slow metamorphosis.

They do say that sometimes, this doesn’t work. Sometimes, the blood is rejected by the human body. Sometimes, the human itself isn’t strong enough to endure the turn. I’m not sure how much of my blood this particular human has ingested, but I hazard a guess, as soon as her heart beat slows to a stop, and yet her body continued to twitch and convulse, that it’s enough to have done its job. Rather than wait where we are for the entirety of the transformation to occur, I lift the woman from the ground. I have one arm beneath her knees, the other cradling her shoulders and neck. It’s hardly even an effort. We have to move, we have to at least shift to a different part of the neighbourhood.

I carry the girl down to the end of the alleyway and reach a t-intersection. I turn left, and come out on the street between two closed shops. I stick to the shadows as I check the street. One car passes. A couple of people down the end laugh, but are moving away from us, rather than toward us. Satisfied that no one is watching, I dart across the road and into a different side-street. I follow the dimly lit road for a short while. The greenery thickens, and the cement gives way to grass – a park. Perfect. I slip into the shadows of the park. It’s probably quite a popular park during the day, but right now it’s kind of eerie given how empty it is. Although there are lamps that light up the path through the middle of the park, there’s a playground further back that’s doused in shadows. Some kind of wooden structure, in the shape of a pirate ship. There’s a ramp that leads up to a flat area, the wooden walls of the ship rising up around us. Cover from prying eyes.

I lay the still-convulsing body of the girl out onto the wood, carefully. I remember how this went for me. I remember my body rejecting all human fluid, as it was no longer required. I remember the pain as all my internal organs shut down. But I also remember each and every transformation for each and every fledgling that I have turned, and each one was different. I wouldn’t be surprised if this one is different again. I watch and I wait, ready to aid the new childe when the time arises, but otherwise lingering, like a bird waiting for an egg to hatch.

She knew she was being carried but why, or to where was beyond her. Why didn't he just leave her to die? Why did she have to mug someone who'd poison her?! Then again, it's not like she expected him to be so fast, so strong and so... bite-happy. Her eyes fluttered as if the lids of those big brown orbs were too heavy for her to even try and lift, if she were still aware of her surroundings she'd certainly be a lot less docile, her brain not even bothering to try and work out what was going on, it was too busy being confused by her changing anatomy.

For what felt like an age, and yet only a split second simultaneously, she lay still. Her twitching ceased until they passed from the light ridden paths to the shadows, being lowered back to the ground she figured this was it, her chance to run, at least her brain thought so. Her body however had other plans as she coughed and spluttered, dry heaving as her stomach tried to rid itself of something that it now knew - minutes too late, it was housing something that no human should have ingested. But Leah's body had already absorbed most of it, the damage had been done, all she could manage to cough up was air and what was left of her stomach contents which in this case they were lucky, she hadn't eaten that morning.

The wood beneath had no feeling on her bare skin, it was just there. She was numb all over and soon enough her coughing fell silent, dragging her nails along the boards that lay underfoot as it came like fire, each of her organs shutting down in turn, like a checkilist of the no longer needed, ticking off one by one. Leah regained feeling in her extremities but her throat remained numb for what felt like forever as her lungs were caught in a feud between the rising vampiric blood, and her brain demanding they keep breathing, like a torch with low battery, they flickered on and off but all the while still fading, ready to join the rest. The raspy sound of forced breath soon stopped and she regained full feeling, which was odd, who knew the dead felt anything? Her throat sore, her whole body was bloody sore but she tried to talk, barely a whisper.

"What.. What did you do.."

There’s nothing I can do as the human throws up, or attempts to. Nothing but hold the hair from her face—a gesture she might not even notice, as the change burns through her body. I’m not sure how long I sit there as it happens. I am, as always, fascinated by the process, and otherwise preoccupied by looking inward; I can feel it now, the connection. And as each second passes, it gets stronger. I don’t know this woman. I know nothing about her. I have no idea how she’s going to react or what she will think of me. But I know that I will teach her all that I can, and I know that I will be protective of her, insofar as I am able.

I know that I am protective of all my childer, and all whom they spawn. But there’s not much I can ever do for them if they choose to keep their distance. I wonder, now – did they choose? Or am I somehow lacking? The thought scrapes at my brain. It doesn’t fuel my depression now, however. It instead fuels a desire to know more, and to rectify past mistakes.

This is no time to think about that, however; I have a new one who I will strive to make no mistakes with. I will keep tabs on her. I will make sure she knows to come to me, should she need to – but I won’t wait for her to do so. And I will introduce her to Velveteen and Micah, yes. All these plans and more flit through my brain like so many flies trying to get out. I banish them all as soon as my new childe opens her eyes. I grin at her.

”I did exactly what I said I was going to do,” I tell her, speaking quietly in that broken husk of mine. I know she’ll be able to hear me. All the senses will now be heightened, and I don’t want to overwhelm her.

”I killed you. And I brought you back stronger,” I add. I could apologise, I suppose. I could show some concern as to her well-being – but maybe if I keep smiling, she’ll decide to like me rather than hate me. I won’t show concern over her state of being because, in my opinion, it’s nothing to be concerned about. In my opinion, I have given her a gift. It might take time for her to realise it, but I do hope that it is the conclusion that she herself will come to. I offer her my hand.

”Jesse Fforde,” I say. As good a time as any for introductions, right?