Sharing a cup of Blood with Death:

by Lily Waterflower

Author's note: This is my first FF so don't hold back. It is off the Twilight saga, but it is not like most FF's. You'll see what I mean. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter1:

I've been awake, unable to sleep. I've been still for so long that my pulse and breathing was of a slumbering person. I felt like I was sleeping, I was aware of the rain pelting against my window, the creaks and groans of the house as the rustling wind blows against it. I could see the flash of lightning, the water running off my window, my door slowly and, for once I its life, silently swing open.

Wait! Door swings open. Either I finally fell asleep and I'm dreaming or there's a draft or someone- no impossible I would have heard the tall-tell floorboards creak in the hallway or the click of my door opening, so it couldn't be someone breaking in.

I closed my eyes and instinctively fingered the cool metal of the blade of the knife under my flowered pillow.

Suddenly I felt the intruder's breathing on my exposed throat.

I whipped out the knife and pressed it on the offender's neck. I turned on my bedside lamp.

"Who are you, and what are you doing-?"

There before me was a charcoal black haired boy with obsidian gems for eyes and paler-than-a-porcelain-doll skin. He looked to be 15 years old, not much older than I was, and the boy was attractive in a dead person kind of a way.

Where my hand touched his skin, it felt as cold and as hard as marble that was outside in the snow, yet it had a soft, smooth quality to it, like the smoothest stone that sat in water for a period of time but multiply that by 100.

Then the boy disappeared and reappeared by my door, faster than I thought possible, like slow transportation or very fast movement.

"You should have been asleep." he said a honey sweet voice coated with worry, "I made sure. Blasted thirst messing with my senses."

Pale, cold, hard skin, black eyes for thirst, unbelievably fast, perfect, makes-girls-faint-just-by-walking-past handsomeness, can hear my breathing and heartbeat without being close, beautiful voice, and wonderful scent (which I can smell even though he is all the way across the room). I have a strong sense of smell.

He's a . . . . . .

"Vampire!" I ended my sentence under my breath.

His eyes whipped to my face. His face full of fear of having his deadly secret discovered, and by a human he only meet for a few minutes.

"You're here to feed." I said, suddenly fearful.

Seeing that even if he denied it I won't be convinced, so he said, "I wish that was not true, but hunting here has not gone well. Not enough large prey and I'm too thirsty to resist."

"Try?" I asked pitifully hopeful.

"Your scent over powering. Just too thirsty."

"Wait 'not enough large prey' There are humans all over town. You could for years, unless you feed on animals like in the Twilight Saga."

He nodded making his shaggy hair dance, looking at me hungerly.

"Will some blood suffice?" I asked, delaying my demise.

Taken aback by the question, he took a step back. I took that as my chance to save my life. I took my knife, still gripped in my right hand, and whispered loudly, knowing that would hear me as easily as if I shouted, "Hold your breath and close your eyes!"

He did as he was told. I closed my own sapphire eyes and slit the pale underside of my own thin, bony wrist. I rushed to my abused art table and grabbed the cup I had on it. I let the crimson blood gush into the cup.

I will this tell you this, now. I'm not emo. Anyone would, probably, have done the same thing if they were in the same or similar deadly situation.

I placed the now brimming cup on the scared table and seized a small, stained, frayed towel I use to clean my art supplies and other various experimental equipment. I bound it around my sliced wrist.

"You can open your eyes, now." I said, turning around. His hands were clenched into snowball fists.

I backed away from the cup as he rushed toward it, and sat down on my comforting bed. I put pressure on my arm attempting to stop the bleeding before he finished off his cup.

He gently placed the cup back onto the table and in a silky voice says, " Thank you. I'm sorry we had to meet like this."

He slowly and deliberately advanced towards me, took my bleeding arm, unwrapped the now soiled towel, and leaned over it. He gently placed his marble lips to the slash which was still gushing the crimson liquid that is what motivates this boy to kill me.

Expecting to feel the pain of scorching venom or the sensation of blood being removed from my veins. I tried to pull away, but it was like trying to pull out of the grasp of an titanium statue.

He pulled away and I stared straight into his moonless night eyes cold as sharks, pleading with my own. His still pitch black eyes were now tinted crimson with my blood.

"Look at your arm." he purred melodiously.

Reluctantly, I did as he said and discovered a ghostly pale scar that looked years old right where I just slashed it moments ago. Another scar to add a collection of others.

"You are not going to kill me?" I asked with renewed hope.

"Lucky for you, yes I'm not. I hope to see you again on better terms."

"There are deer and coyotes in the surrounding woods" I blurted out thinking of someone else's life that could be at stake.

He chuckled and said as if I was suggesting a restaurant, "I'll be sure to try some."

I look down at my arm again in disbelief to see if the scar was still there, and it was.

"Thank you . . ." I look up to see that he had disappeared, "for healing my wrist." I finished slowly and quietly.

I snatched a notebook off a pile of many others and started writing what just happened .

"This will make a awesome Fan Fiction." I mumbled to myself.

When I wrote the last few words, I noticed that I was so exhausted that I barely hold my pen, but before I finished the chapter, and before I enter one of my many dream lands if I wasn't in one already, I wrote, "What is his name?"

I let the worn notebook and blue inked pen fall to the gold wooden floor. I looked at the new addition to the collection of others, turned off my glaring lamp, and I finally went to sleep.

The first thing I did when I awoke to the predawn light leaking into my room was glance at my wrist and the scar was still there. I stroked it and it felt cooler then the rest of my skin.

So it wasn't just a strange dream, and vampires are really real. I grabbed my notebook, and noticed the words Stephen Prince written in beautiful, girly handwriting at the end of the chapter.