Hey guys and gals,

So, this story has been up for a while now and I haven't gotten 'round to sticking a intro on it until now #nothingelsetodo
Ew, just kidding, I hate hashtags.
All I have to say is READ, MAN. You won't regret it, promise. Reviews make my day so pretty please, I'll love you all forever xoxo Enjoy!

Disclaimer - I do not own VA or any of it's plotlines or characters (damn, I wish)

Chapter One

The moon itched persistently at my skin, silvery moonlight pouring in through the open window as the darkness outside came to life. Fireflies danced out in the meadow, tiny balls of buzzing light; an owl hooted a hunting call, an eerie sound as it swooped for its doomed dinner; wolves, hundreds of kilometres away, sang for each other, calling out to the stars. It was all so loud.

I scrubbed harder at the plate, my knuckles going white and the tips of my fingers slowly but steadily turning into pale little prunes. I frowned down at an insistent mark, putting all my concentration into that one tiny stain.

You will not change. You will not change…

It wasn't even a week before the full moon. I'd only just gone through this two weeks ago. I would not change. I couldn't change, I wasn't old enough yet. At least, that's what Ian had said. I'd come damn close to it last month, though…

I shuddered to myself, pushing the memory aside. I scrubbed harder. Stupid plate.

You will not change.

"Miami?"

I nearly topped myself on the ceiling. As it was, I leapt a foot in the air, letting out a high-pitched sound that might've passed as a squeal if I were a ditsy little girl. Which I wasn't, so it didn't.

I spun, my long white-blonde hair flying across my shoulders. I let out a breath as I spotted the gangly figure in the doorway to what passed as our living room. "Jesus, Zeno. Watch it," I rasped, my voice scrapping against the sides of my throat. I cleared it. "You damn near gave me a stroke."

"Sorry," he mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with long-fingered, chocolate-skinned hands. He didn't bother to comment that no one in this house should've been surprised by anything, that I should've heard him, as he slid into his usual seat at our spindly little dinner table. His head all but fell off his shoulders. "Couldn't sleep."

I gave a slight laugh, reaching over to kiss him on the forehead. "Really? You look pretty beat to me." I turned back to the plate and frowned. I could've sworn that flower was a stain. Shaking my head at myself, I set it on the drying rack and reached for a dirty mug.

"There's too much noise," he muttered into his hands.

I froze. My heart concurred. "What do you mean?" Oh God, please not him too. Whatever's wrong with me, just leave him out of it.

He sniffed tiredly. "Ian and Pria."

My whole body relaxed as my brain managed to process what he'd said. I let out a long breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding and I closed my eyes briefly. "Right. Yeah, me neither." My sister, Preoria, and our Alpha, Ian, had been going at it for eleven months now and, as far as I was concerned, they were still in the honeymoon phase. Apparently, they were the love of each other's lives, and I never disputed that – except for the nights they conveniently forgot that we all had super hearing.

"So that's why you're doing the dishes." I could hear the sneaky grin in his voice, a tell tail sign that he was about to make some derogatory comment about my aversion to any sort of manual labour whatsoever.

I didn't care. I was grateful for his company; whatever took my mind off the moonlight. I could already feel myself relaxing, the tightness in my limbs slowly abating. "Yeah, you wonna help?"

He laughed and abruptly cut off. We both felt it at the exact same time. That chill in the air that only animals – including us, according to Ian – were able to detect; that crisp scent that stroked my nose and made the hair on my arms stand up, little goose bumps running down my limbs. I felt like my skin was coated with frost.

Vampires.

I couldn't be sure whether they were Moroi or Strigoi. I'd only ever met one vamp, and he'd been one hell of a Strigoi; almost decapitated me. I still had a jagged scar on my neck. Luckily there was one sure cure for a Strigoi bite.

A werewolf bite.

But what's done is done and there was nothing I could do about it now. I was grateful. Given the choice, I'd rather be a 'wolf over a Strigoi any day of the week. If Pria hadn't been seeing Ian at the time, I wouldn't have had the choice.

But it didn't matter what type they were. They were here, they'd found us, and we'd all been given permission from Ian to kill on sight should that ever happen. And, for once in my life, I was going to follow an order to the letter.

"I don't know what Ian thinks he put in the food, but it may have been cement," I said casually, praying that Zeno would take the hint.

After a slight, barely noticeable pause, he laughed. The thing about Zeno is that when he laughed, he really laughed. It was the only time he actually seemed his age. I only knew it was forced then because I knew him so well, no one else would've been able to hear the slight tightness in it. "Now that you mention it, it did kinda taste like concrete," he said thoughtfully.

I put a grin into my voice, keeping the conversation going while I strained my senses, turning over every nook and cranny in the house. "I miss Sierra's fried chicken."

"Mm… and her caramel sundaes."

"Oh, and her lasagne."

"Oh yeah," Zeno agreed enthusiastically, almost fooling me. I smiled. He always had had a silver tongue.

I was about to remark on how maybe that was why Ian made us do so many laps of the lake when my ears picked up the slightest of movements, right behind me. And it wasn't Zeno.

Instead of looking through the window, I focussed on the reflective glass, just barely keeping my heartbeat even when I spotted the tall, shadow cloaked figure, emerging from the darkness in the doorway. It slinked forward without a single sound. A long, silver stake winked in the moonlight, held lightly in his hand.

Not a Strigoi then. They couldn't touch the charmed stakes that the Moroi made for their Dhampirs. In fact, it most probably wasn't even a Moroi. It's rare to ever see them getting any action – that's why they have their Dhampir guardians to protect them.

It didn't matter. A Dhampir was part vampire, and that was one part too much in my book.

"Hey, Zen?" I very carefully, slowly, pulled a long, lethal looking knife out of the soapy water. It glimmered at me. At least Dhampirs were easier to kill than straight vamps. They didn't have the unnatural strength and speed of a Strigoi, or the elemental powers of the Moroi. I didn't need a charmed stake.

"Yeah?"

Wait for it. I paused as the Dhampir crept closer. Just a little further…

"Down!" I barked, whirling and letting the blade fly. Zeno was under the table before I'd even finished getting the word out of my mouth. The knife spiralled in the air, a streak of silver, heading straight for the Dhampir's heart.

I don't know how he got out of its range. Ian always said that my aim was unmatched, inescapable. I was the newest 'wolf and I was already the best fighter. But one moment he was there, just waiting to be skewered, and the next he was gone.

Well, not completely.

The only warning I got was a change in the air and, suddenly, I was hurtling across the room, the Dhampir's hands locked around my neck. Something in my back cracked as it hit the wall and my head reverberated with the impact. I tried to cry out but the shout was cut off by a slight squeeze, gurgling and dying unattractively in my throat. I knew he could break my neck right then and there if he wanted to.

But he didn't. I waited for the unmistakeable snap, wondering if I would feel anything before my spirit left the building, but it never came. I couldn't see and it was a second before I realised that I had my eyes squeezed shut. I forced them to open. If I was going to die, he would not get the satisfaction of seeing me scared.

The blood froze in my veins. If he hadn't had his hands around my neck, my jaw would've hit the floor. "You?" I managed to choke.

He was frowning at me – with dark brown eyes. Not rimmed with red. How was that possible? I would always remember his face; that face. The fangs as they sunk into my neck… It was definitely him.

So why was his grip warm?

Why was he not bleeding me dry?

Why did he look like a normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dhampir?

Ooooh, the plot, can you see it? ;)

Later xoxox