One

"Ana?" Stephen asked softly. His older sister had her hand clamped around his wrist in a grip that made the cold blue veins that led up to her fingers stand out. "Where'we goin'?"

"Shh…" She hissed at him, her blue eyes glowing in the dim light. The sun was setting, casting soft shadows over his sisters face, which was lined with hidden strain. "I told you not to talk." She glanced at her brother, and smiled condescendingly. He was only seven, but didn't see the reason that she had to treat him like such a baby. But in spite of it, he loved his sister. He was never able to give her a name, she was always changing it. From Brooke, to Tracy, to Yvonne, then back to Brooke. He dropped his gaze from hers. "Ah, comon Steph. Jus' a li'l while longer, and then I'll buy you a coke, or something." She said, trying to console the down cast seven year old.

"Yeah. Okay." He said, sighing. She nodded, then walked faster, pulling him along. Her dirty blonde hair fell in front of her face, hanging in front of her heavily painted eyes. She was cold, her jacket had been left at the bus stop accidentally when she saw the next one coming, leaving her with a black tank top and pants to work with. Stephen had objected to that.

"It's no big deal, Jessica." He had said. She had practically pulled his arm off by dragging him away as she ran. "Another bus. So what?"

"It's no big deal?" She had snapped back. "We don't know who coulda been on that bus. The cops, or maybe someone who had seen my picture in the papers. It ain't safe, Steph." She had then sighed and looked down at him. "Oh, an' from now on, you ain't supposed ta call me Jessica no more."

"Why not?"

"That ain't safe either. I'm Ana. Got that?"

"Okay." He had whispered, terrified of his sister when she got that hard look in her cold blue eyes. So now she walked faster, gripping his wrist tighter, making his fingers tingle. Goosebumps were forming on her own arms and collarbone, and she looked frightened.

She hastily pulled him into a magazine store and told him to shut up and look natural. Ana was good at looking natural. She was now casually striding over to a bookshelf and reaching for a magazine. Stephen sat on a hard chair, swinging his legs idly, stirring up the dusty air. It was darker outside, now that the sun had completely disappeared from view, and the clouds covered the stars. Ana glanced up from her magazine, which she was indifferently flipping through, and then stooped to a lower magazine rack quickly, in the pretence of finding a new one. Stephen had followed her gaze out the window. He knew she had seen something.

"Stephen. Here." She hissed suddenly. He hastily jumped off the chair and stumbled to her side. He heard a car growl, and slowly drive by. "It's the cops. They're onto us. We'll never get on that ship…"

"We're goin' on a ship?" He smiled. She glared over at him.

"Forget I said that."

"Okay."

"Comon!" She ran over to the girls washroom and dragged him inside, much to his seven year old disgust. Then she went into one of the stalls, climbed up onto the seat of the toilet, and placed her hands on the frame of a window, and pushed.

"Ana, I can't go in here!"

"Shut up!"

"It's a girls washroom!"

"I said shut up!" She said, almost speaking above a whisper. He quieted immediately, and watched her pound on the frame till it slid upwards. Then she hastily clambered through it and dropped onto the ground. "Stephen! Comon." She hissed loudly. He climbed up onto the tank and was able to pull himself up on to the frame. Then he peered over. The ground seemed miles and miles away to his hazel eyes, but even more frightening was the sight of his sisters expression, malicious and threatening. Gulping, he slid one leg over, feeling his stomach lurch and pulled himself through. His fingers, slick with sweat, suddenly faltered, and he toppled off and landed on the cement on his side, pain washing over him. He felt tears spring to his eyes, but knew his sister wouldn't like that.

"Whassa matter with you?" She hissed, pulling him to his feet. "The cops are after the both of us!"

"No, they're only after you." He replied softly.

"Wrong." She snapped, her eyes evil. "They're after you too. If we get caught, they're gonna lock you up in a cell. With rats. And monsters. You'll be there for the rest of your life."

"Ana…" He pleaded. She just pressed a finger to her lips.

"That's why you gotta do what I say, and not fuck anything up, because this…" But she was cut off by a sudden rustling noise as a figure caught her and pulled her sideways. Stephen only caught the sight of her angry eyes turn wide with terror before she was pulled away. He slid to the ground behind a garbage can and crawled forwards.

A dark haired figure was dressed in a black, loose tank top and huge baggy jeans. His skinny, yet muscular arms were wrapped around her waist, but his face was hidden by the fallen strands of hair. Stephen froze, crouched a few feet away from his sister and this stranger.

"Let go a' me!" She screamed. Then she swung her fist backwards and smashed it into his face. His head snapped backwards, but then he recovered instantly.

"I'm impressed." He smiled. Then he threw her down onto her front. She hastily scrambled forwards into a crawl, but he grabbed her leg, flipped her over, then straddled her, smiling down at her terrified face. She craned her head backward and caught Stephen's eye.

"Stephen!" She screamed. "Help! Stephen, help me!" Stephen could do nothing. He was frozen, like a block of ice. The stranger glanced up at him, and Stephen caught the colour of his eyes. Then he looked down again and wrapped his fingers over her lips, wrenching her head sideways at the same time. Fluid as water, he leant over and pressed his face to her throat. His hair flopped down, and Stephen didn't know what was going on, but could only hear the sudden, terrified screams of his older sister. His fingers were white and taut on the ground, and his face was pale, as her shrieks streamed through the air, upward to the sky, and then slowly dwindled down to moans of pain, then nothing. Her eyes fluttered shut.

The man wrenched his face away and looked up at Stephen. Blood was shining on his lips, the same kind that soaked his sisters throat. He wanted to back away, back away and run back to his home, wherever it was, but he was glued to the cement. The stranger stood, wiping off his lips and smirking down at the terrified child.

"See ya round, kid." He said softly. Then he turned and stalked off, the night consuming him like dark, thick smog.

The police arrived a few moments later, and took Stephen away.

+

Misprint: It is reposted…and it is good…

Shade: er. it's gooder

Misprint: Just like your grammar.

Shade: Grammar is to me what Vampires are to you

Misprint: Angsty and overrated?

Shade: Angst making and overrated

Misprint: Hello, dear readers. A few changes in this new Bloodflame, mostly just the accents taken out, along with a few references that were going no where.

Shade: Most of them are her fault but truly they make it better

Misprint: Hey. I wasn't the one changing Shade's future every other session.

Shade: oh how could I forget Mrs {Insert plot thingimaduy she won't let me give away here}

Misprint: -smile- We hope you enjoy it. Even if you've already read it, we would prefer you to read it again…partially because there's some new hints that need reading, and partially because we like reviews.

Shade: Trust me when I say it's better this time around. She took the parts I effected out. . . like quoting Queen of the Damned. That is now at a bare minimum. Go, Girl!

Misprint: The best part about that sentence was when she had to type "girl" four times to get it right. Right gilf?

Shade: Dude you wrote Bite you have nothing on me.

Misprint: Yeah? At least Bite was spelled properly.

Shade: spell this -turns off word processor-