Scared of Blood? by Maddyson Ruby

Pairing: Seth/OC

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit from this. All characters you recognise belong to Stephenie Meyer.

AN: I'm back with this story. Let me know your first impressions of it. To let you know this is the main character's POV but I didn't want to give their name away yet. So as of the next chapter their POV will always be labelled as such.

Chapter 1

Running. The ultimate freedom. At least to me. The feel of the wind in your hair and the sun on your back... Nothing can compare. That feeling was what dreams were made of. The simplistic ease of running, no thoughts, no feelings - total peace.

The freedom is what drove me to this life. That tantalizing lure of doing what you want, when you want. That was why I chose to be a nomad. Well that, and I have no family members.

I rebelled against my father. If you could even call him that. He was cold and calculating; a child's nightmare in the flesh. He was a true monster, preying on unsuspecting women, impregnating them and then vanishing without a trace. He leaves them to die once he knows they are with child. They are merely vessels to him. He has no emotional attatchment to them because in his mind, he was a god, more than humans could ever hope to be.

I'm of no use to my father. Another daughter, another failure. My older brother Nahuel is what my father wants. A son. One as sick and twisted in the mind as Joham himself. Thankfully, Nahuel was raised by Pire to love his mother for her sacrifice. Otherwise there would be other hybrids running around like us.

My mother was a brave woman. Not only did she bed Joham but she loved him wholeheartedly as well. She was african american in descent, as stubborn as a mule I had gathered. Her name was Rafiya and from my newborn memory I can discern that she was very beautiful. Skin the colour of milk chocolate and big amber eyes framed by long dark lashes. I took after her in looks though my skin was not quite as dark in colour and had a luminescent quality that made it beautiful.

Jennifer, the sister nearest in age to me, met me once and gave me the answers I sought regarding my heritage. Joham visited me once when I was very young but I simply used my gift on him and vanished without a trace.

That was what I did to Jennifer too. She provided me with the information and I wiped her memory of our encounter. Simple as that.

My name is Adanne. Just Adanne. I had no last name, my mother died leaving me with just her whispered utterance of my name in my memory. Adanne, she called me. I looked it up in a library once when I managed to steal some good quality clothes and had bathed in a nearby river. Adanne means mother's child. Fitting for me, I'd hate for my name to mean something like father's child.

But back to the running. It meant everything to me, to be able to escape into my mind, let my senses overrun and just work on instinct. It was freeing. Running was my one comfort, that one thing that kept me sane.

I was born in Peru. What my mother was doing there I will never know, but that is where I was born. Safely hidden within it's forests. I was able to crawl around in the first few hours, this slowly evolved to toddling as my hunger spurred me on. I stole meals from hikers in the very beginning. I had no other choice, it was either that or die. Even my young mind could process tha dying was bad. One of my first feelings was of in the womb. My mother's voice promising love and safety. That feeling I still cling to, even today as a six year old.

I was still travelling north, away from my captors. I had been captured by vampires nearly two years ago. They wanted me because I was different; a freak. Their mistake was assuming that I would be easy to pick off, that was their downfall. Yes, they captured me but I was free once again within the hour.

The other vampires I encountered were hostile. None were interested in talking to me. Leaving me no choice but to paralyse them and then erase their memories. My gift was extremely helpful for getting out of tight spots unscathed. It was one of the few things I could thank Joham for, not that I would ever admit it. I had no plans at all of ever coming face to face with that heartless monster again.

I can't help but feel guilt for the death of my mother. Even though logically I know that I am not the one at fault, I can't help it. Knowing that you are the sole reason that somebody you love is no longer alive is a hard burden to bear. I constantly pain myself with guessing my mother's reaction to things I see or do. Would she be proud? Or would she hate the thief I have become? What was her favourite colour?

All the simple little things that other children take for granted I torture myself over. Mother's day, for example. I will never, ever celebrate it with my mother. Hugs are another thing. I will never hug my mother or hold a conversation with her. My single memory of her voice is a mere whispering of my name. How pitiful is that? Not knowing your own mother's voice?

I was still running north. my troubles and my life all happened in the south. South America to be exact. So, therefore, the north is the way to go to get as far away as can be. I have been running properly for around four years up north, only stopping for sleep and rest and to eat. My only life outside of the basic needs of survival, running is all I have known.

But I was running along the west coast of America now, I had checked in the last town. I stuck to forests and heavily wooded areas when I could as my clothing wasn't much and my english was questionable at best. I had only learnt what I knew through listening to others and working out their meanings that way. Even still I think I was nearly perfect but without someone who spoke the language fluently as a reference I had no idea.

Loneliness was one thing I lived with. Talking to nobody save for a few merchants or a local now and then to asks for directions didn't properly class as company for me.

I was running in an area I had heard others call Forks. Wasn't that an eating utensil? I didn't know. The forests of 'Forks' were lush and rich in colour. It was beautiful scenary ot look at. By now I was growing exhausted. I had met another vampire three days ago and had been forced to run after paralysing him and adjusting his memory. There was no time to lose in this game. My life was what I defended and they sought and despite popular belief, I wanted to live.

I had been running since that encounter and knew that I would have to stop for food and rest but I couldn't. I came accross then the scents of other vampires, many of them both old and knew interspersed with a scent that was both wild and tame, animals maybe? But they smelt to human to be animals and too animal to be human. I was dreadfully confused. As I ran further I could feel the exhaustion beginning to take over as my limbs became sluggish in their movements. One scent and one scent alone piqued my drowsy mind's interest. It was the scent of a hybrid.

Just as my fatigue began to take over and I was forced to lay down, I heard the sound of a vampire approaching. Quickly.

I struggled to do more than lift my head an inch. I saw a tall man with sandy coloured hair tied in a ponytail approach. Only he was no man, he was a vampire; his harsh red eyes a dead give away. He stoped his run as he entered the clearing I lay in.

Then my eyes rolled back into my head and darkness took me.