Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. I do not own anything but this . . .pulls out a bag full of Pocky Mwahahaha!

Yeah, well, I figure I need a supernatural fiction (other than angels, of course). So, here it is! I don't think there's much of a point/plot yet, but I'll think of one by the time I finish chapter two. LOL! Anyway, please enjoy.

Summary: For over seven hundred years, two blood lines of pure blooded vampires have been at war. It began when Sango, a vampire slayer (sorry for the cliché, but it works), was bitten by one of the elder's son, Miroku. Now the vampires want either Sango's loyalty or life (afterlife, whatever . . .).

Enjoy!

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Prelude: Red as the Roses

They always said beauty was in the eye of the beholder. That had always sounded silly and stupid to her. For those who had once said they were weak against this or that were now dead. Those people who had said they were a romantic and truly gentle people were ripped apart. Those people who had scoffed at her work, her way of living and believing.

Those people were all dead. By either time or them, they were none the less dead. And here she was, standing over one of their graves, the flowers held at her side as she murmured a prayer for their innocent souls. Stupid souls, but none the less innocent. They had had their ideas about those who hunted them like rabbits.

Sango wondered if any of these people had thought of her in the end. Did they call out her name for help? Or did they curse her for not helping them defeat the creatures they had defended all those years? Was their an innocent child within these graves that had wished her family had had more sense than pride?

She hoped so.

The sun was going to rise in less than half an hour, and still she stood on the hill, looking down at the small stones marking the graves of those people she'd once tried to protect. The horizon was turning pinkish purple, making the stones a beautiful color of pale purple, close to the color she'd seen only once before. That plum color that had taken hold of her soul.

That night had been yet another of the nightmares she'd lived for the last seven hundred years. He'd almost found her. He'd almost been able to call to her, to make her come to him. But she was strong enough not to let her body take over, to let the fire of lust to take her over. He could hunt her all he liked. He'd been doing it for hundreds of years, and still he hadn't caught her. She wasn't sure if she should be proud or afraid.

If she could barely get away from the elder's son, what if one of the elders decided they wanted or needed her all the more desperately?

Shit! Her demonic-like eyes, turned yellow from the vampire's curse, looked out over the endless graves. They filled the hill, which was over a mile wide, and still went on into the distance. This was her curse. A night walker, a vampire, or a bloodsucker. Whatever the term was this century, that was her name. No longer were the days of hunting them. Now it was being hunted by them, for their own selfish goals. Stupid goals that made no sense. Goals that all pointed to the end of the human population and the then end of the vampires.

Stupid suckers, thought, turning her back on the graves of her victims. Come after me, I don't care anymore. Hunt me all you want. She disappeared into the shadows of dawn.

Neither he nor you elders will ever take me.

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He'd found her scent again. He could tell by the smell roses in the air. Always the roses. Red as the blood she drank, as deep as the oceans she'd crossed to keep him away. As pure and tainted as she herself was. He'd found her at long last and would finally take her to his family, to the vampires that wanted her for their plans for their race.

It had been hundreds of years since he'd last looked into those tobacco brown eyes he'd fallen for. Once they had looked at him, he knew he had to have her. He had had to turn her to have her, but at the time, he thought it would be worth it. After all, no other mortal had ever held his glaze so long. He'd proven his want of her when he'd taken her blood. His tongue still remembered her sweet blood, and his body still remembered her own.

But he had also proven his obsession when he had spent seven hundred years, still wanting her as he had when she was just a mortal girl, weak and paralyzed in his arms. This girl who had hunted him had become the hunted when she had turned to find him right behind her.

He licked his lips at the memory of that first moment. By the moon, she was the first woman whose taste had driven him insane. As his father had said, a mortal's blood was always sweet, but only a select few were any good. He should know. Each of those women had become his bride.

He himself had never taken a bride, unlike his father, and his father before him. They had found many females with sweet blood.

But this one's blood was like drinking gold. Pure bliss, to equal that of only one other blissful entertainment. And when he had her in his arms again, he'd test that theory. She would be his, no matter the consequence. Come his father's rage or his clan's uproar, this woman was all his. (A/N: Possessive much?)

He crossed over the hill at a dead run, his hair, which had been held in a hair band, was now lose and trailed behind him as he hurried to find her. As he topped the hill, he saw a sight he'd seen only once before.

"My God . . ." he whispered, eyes wide and centered on the stones. Such a thing was impossible. Looking down, he saw the dates on the headstones. Walking forward, he noticed they started from three nights after he'd bitten her to that day. Each had a single red rose, or the remaining steam of a rose that had once been placed on the grave. Shocked and amazed was an understatement. She couldn't have done this. Not even . . .

Not even the mass graves of the vampire clans had this many stones. And thousands of vampires dropped their dead at the graves of the clan's leader, his father. Every vampire had a choice of six mass graves meant only to bury the kill of vampires. This . . . This was twice the size of that.

No. She couldn't have . . . I'd have smelled this . . .

"Sango . . ." He whispered his love's name, letting it drift onto the air, hoping she'd catch his voice. "You can't be responsible for this . . ."

For the first time in over seven centuries, he finally heard her voice. The first reply he'd received from her after countless messages. "The responsibility is mine. Soon, either your body will lie on that hill, or mine will lie on yours, Miroku."

Miroku felt her eyes, turned and stared into the eyes of the only innocent vampire left. "Sango . . ."

She didn't say anything before turning and disappearing.

Her scent was gone. In the span of one second, she was gone. He now knew why he had never been able to catch her.

She was still innocent both of cold blooded murder and of men. Miroku frowned as he looked back over the hill. At that moment, he sword to take her innocence, one way or the other.

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Oh, bet you have a few questions about that, eh? Well, to understand, you'll have to read on, won't ya?

Reviews are nice, so please, click that little bottom below read 'Go'. Peace and Love, Inc. o.oV