Author's Note: Just letting you know this is set before Blood Relatives. ^^ Oh and the quote below is from Bram Stoker's Dracula.

Vampire Kisses Fanfiction

COURTING DEMONS

01. According To Plan

'Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!'

Time had stopped, stopped dead in its tracks.

At least it felt that way to Tripp as he narrowed his eyes into a murderous glare at the clock overhead as if to threaten time forward. He watched as the second hand struggled over the half hour hurdle, almost falling back before finally plunging over. He exhaled, a wave of relief crashing over him as the school day was a few seconds closer to an end. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get away from them.

Most days he would have been at peace in class, flaunting his superior intellect by completing all his work within a matter of minutes as those around him still struggled with the first question. Then he would sit back, techno punk music blasting into his ears and smirk at his inferiors, his advanced hearing picking up their snide whines. This place, although human, was his comfort zone, not even the adults could doubt his abilities as he constantly produced flawless work. And in a world where he was an outsider, a half-breed, not quite fitting in anywhere, he needed that comfort zone.

But today was different. Today the comfort was gone and left in its wake was a sense of unrest, a bitter weakness with hints of helplessness. Today Tripp felt inadequate even amongst his trio of friends, the three who shared his half-vampire status. Even if they too were outsiders, they still had the place he lost, they still had the strength he lacked; he found that where he had intelligence and insecurities, they had everything else, they had confidence and purpose.

Over the rim of his square-framed glasses, he looked to his side where Rocco sat, at least double the width of his skeletal thin body and nearly double his average height. His toned arms were propped up on the desk, crushing his untouched work as he rested his strong jaw on balled up fists. In a tight-fitting torn shirt and pair of scuffed up jeans, the dips and curves of his chiselled form were fully exposed to onlookers. To complete his look, a grey beanie was pulled over his mess of black hair, a few fringes poking free to frame his impatient expression. He too was staring at the clock, willing the second hand to strike twelve and release them from class, but for entirely different reasons.

As always, Rocco was desperate to escape the intellectual world and dive into the physical. With a figure like his, everyone could see he was a sports star who could rule the football field and conquer the rugby pitch. When he entered the sport universe, Rocco fit in, he had acquaintances who would congratulate him on his abilities and spectators to fawn over his looks. And Tripp envied him so. He had looks, he had strength, he could defend himself–and Tripp–against the bullies, both human and vampire. He had no need for intelligence when he trampled anyone who got in his way and charmed his way to women's necks with his ruggedness.

At the table next to theirs sat the two remaining members of the quartet, Kat and Claude. Bubbles of peach-coloured gum continuously burst from Kat's lips as she scribbled down the answers at her own pace, able to hold her own in class. A dark chocolate pixie cut fell to her jaw in hazardous layers, swishing about her jaw when she moved her head from side to side in thought with her ebony streaks shimmering. Even from afar, Tripp could see the charcoal eyeliner running rings around her dark eyes, flicking out at the edges in a feline style, emphasising her gothic taste. This showcase of her taste continued with her dark violet and ebony corset dress complete with tattered fishnets and a pair of platform leather boots.

Kat was the only female of their troupe but she held her own against anyone, even Rocco who towered at least a foot taller than her. She was tough, thick-skinned with a sharp tongue and foul language. The human bullies rarely crossed her path, only the vampires dared to take on her unrestrained anger and vengeful nature. If those around her weren't being torn apart, they were treated to a sultry smirk and flirtatious words, Kat knowing how to wrap a man around her finger. She was a master manipulator. Even though she was smaller than Tripp and matching him in strength, she could hold her own and didn't need the protection of others. She was strong even in physical weakness, something Tripp wanted but never achieved.

Finally there was the leader of their quartet, leaning casually with an arm draped around the back of his chair. Running his tongue over the silver ring pierced through his bottom lip, he inspected the girls the school was offering him, looking for a temple to twist and defile before stealing her blood. His ivory-dyed mop fell about his handsome face, framing it perfectly with his black roots bleeding through. In a pair of skin-tight plaid jeans, a blood splattered shirt and his trademark leather jacket littered in spikes, Claude oozed confidence that his cunning smirk easily matched. Not to mention his array of sterling silver rings and dark accessories flaunted his immense wealth. He really had it all except for full vampirism–if he had that, then Claude really would be faultless and Tripp would resent him more than anything.

Although he was not a full vampire–and they were friends who trusted one another–Tripp still felt sour. He was gorgeous to every woman even with his startling dress sense; he could charm anyone and get almost anything he wanted. He was determined, confident, flirtatious and dangerous. His aggression often clashed with Kat's strength and Rocco's rugged behaviour. Not to mention Claude whined constantly about his royal Sterling family, claiming they neglected him when they truly cared for him, when they gave him everything just to make him comfortable with what he was. Tripp's, on the other hand, couldn't care less about him. He was an embarrassment to them, in their eyes he was barely a vampire; he lacked the strength, the brutality of his friends and the vampires around them.

Tripp sighed and looked away from his friends; he shouldn't judge them and indulge his jealousy. They weren't to blame for how he felt, it was all in his head and he never spoke to them about it. How were they supposed to know? They couldn't read his mind nor would they want to. No one wanted to know of how inadequate he feels when his parents put him down, when his friends have to protect him, when he has to depend on others to hunt. At least he thought they wouldn't want to know.

"You alright?" Rocco grunted, breaking Tripp from his sea of thoughts. His eyes never left the clock but his thick eyebrows were arched curiously. He had clearly noticed Tripp's anguish out of the corner of his hawk-like eyes.

"Fine," Tripp lied even though his friend had just given him the opportunity to confess his inner conflict. "I just need to get out of here."

"I thought you loved this hellhole," he frowned as he spoke. "But you're the only one who does."

"Well I'm famished,"

Rocco nodded in agreement with Tripp's lie, understanding the excuse. It was hard to enjoy anything when you are a vampire, full or not, in need of blood.

"We'll grab a snack before sports."

Suddenly something clicked into place in his mind; with the aid of Rocco's suggestion, Tripp knew what he had to do. He had to prove himself. He had to show everyone that he could do it, that he could be a vampire, that he was a vampire. He would go out and grab a snack, grab one all by himself without the aid of his friends. He would go for a woman; he would swallow his nervousness around them and take charge. He was shy around anyone, but women paralysed his vocal cords and made butterflies flutter through his stomach. But he would get passed that, if he couldn't talk to one, he would summon up his strength and pin her down. He would let her struggle and beg as he tortured her to satisfy his needs and soothe his self-doubts.

Soon enough the school bell rang and everyone in the room climbed to their feet. Tripp hurriedly shoved everything into his bag, desperate to begin his hunt. His friends simply watched with scrunched up expressions, bewildered by his frantic excitement. Tripp was usually the calm and collected one, the brains.

"What's got you so spooked?" Claude grinned, clapping a hand around his shoulder and shocking Tripp from his plan.

"Nothing," the word came out of his mouth so fast that it barely made any sense. He gulped and calmed himself. "I just have stuff to do."

"Stuff?" Kat repeated with a disapproving look, seeing through his barefaced lie. "What kind of stuff?"

"Just stuff I have to get done," Tripp stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "The sooner I leave, the sooner I can complete my commitments."

"You're going? I thought we just agreed to grab a little snack before training," Rocco blurted as he snatched up his sports bag, patting it to emphasise his point. "Otherwise I won't be free to hunt with you guys until later."

"And we'd better get out there before sundown, beat the vampire rush," Claude added with a nudge to Tripp's ribs. "We know how much of a damper the bullies can be on your mood."

"Well I'll have to deal with it then," Tripp snapped as he was reminded of what his friends thought of him. They clearly saw him as weak too. "See you guys later."

With that he stormed passed them, ignoring their bewildered looks. Their words only made him more determined to prove himself to them, to his parents, to everyone. He was tired of his image, he was tired of everything. Now he was going to change everything with the aid of his newfound determination and resolve. So when his foot first stepped out of the school, his hunt began.

Unfortunately, as determined as Tripp was, he was lost. Once he had walked a few blocks and arrived in the main city districts, he had no idea where to go or how to go about anything. Claude always led their hunts–although Tripp was the tactician. He didn't know the clubs or hotspots like his friends did. He never went to them alone. So instead of venturing into the unknown, he sought out places he was familiar with. That was how he ended up in the basement beneath one of the towering buildings.

The basement was separate from the building itself. Dark stairs led into a concrete pit set in the ground around the corner from the rotating glass doors leading into the building. In the pit sat the only door to the underground room, giving the basement its own designated entrance. The basement itself housed one of Tripp's favourite places in the whole city; Neon Chords. It was a music shop with practically every range of tunes in existence, from famous to obscure bands.

The interior was just as impressive as the music collection. It resembled a cavern with jagged stone pillars supporting the ceiling, the cave-like room only illuminated by neon lighting. Music pounded through the store, practically vibrating the store to such a degree that some feared cave-ins. Racks filled with albums and the tables advertising the latest music-related technologies–from portable media players to high-tech speaker systems–decorated the shop floor. Here Tripp felt at home. He belonged with his own state of the art portable player slipped into the pocket of his slim-fitting pinstripe trousers, blasting his odd taste of music into his ears.

Time flew by as he browsed through one of the racks, flipping through the albums of bands he loved and ones he had never heard of. It had taken his mind off of his insecurities and the unsuccessful hunt he was on. In fact as he snatched up a few CDs, he released how relieved he was of all his angst and frustration. He had spent several hours by himself, with his thoughts, doing what he wanted. He had proven that he didn't need his friends, that he didn't need anyone else's help to function already. He had been alone out at night and he had handled everything; he wasn't beaten to a pulp by bullies or struggling to hold a woman down and drink from her. He just had to be alone and collect his thoughts. That was all he needed.

Without realising it, Tripp found his lips curling into a small smile at the thought. Although he still felt unsure about his adequacy, he felt that some of the burden of his recent insecurities had been lifted. It seemed someone had noticed his lingering presence in the store–and change in mood–as when he crouched over a shelf, absorbed in his search for new music, something obstructed his searching eyes. The CD stared up at him, its cover decorated by a collage stylised as the human brain with the creative areas highlighted. Although it was only a few millimetres from his pallid features, Tripp didn't jerk back. Instead his piercing ashen eyes simply darted up, glancing at the beholder over the frames of his glasses.

She stood on the other side of the rack; leaning towards it to present Tripp with the CD she had chosen. She was short, shorter than him–and he was thankful for it, most women matched his height–but she didn't look significantly younger. Her skin was fair, smooth as a porcelain doll but not nearly as pale as his. Golden hair fell passed her shoulders in messy layers with a set of slanted bangs skimming just above her dark jade eyes that watched him curiously. The edges of her peach lips stretched into a welcoming smile when he glanced her way, urging him to accept her gift.

With her developed torso compressed into a black shirt printed with the Neon Chords logo–not to mention the name tag pinned to her chest, revealing her name to be Catalina–Tripp identified her as an employee. It explained the air of familiarity about her; she worked the till frequently but, like most people, was ignored by the socially awkward half-vampire. After a few moments of staring, which Tripp barely registered doing, her smile dropped and she spoke.

"The band is called Lateral Thinking," she explained gently. "Based on everything else you've been looking at, you'll love them, trust me."

Hesitatingly, Tripp took the album from her fingerless glove-clad hands, finding the band name splashed around the edge in absurd lettering. He wanted to speak, after all if there was anything he knew better than most, it was music. But his vocal cords once again refused to move and he felt nervousness set in. The longer he stared at her, the quicker his insecurities returned at full blast. If Claude were there, he would have had the girl wrapped around his finger already. How he hated his inability to talk to women.

That was when he noticed it. The smell of her blood wafted through his nostrils, delicious as any woman's, but there was something different. He had smelt it before, directed towards Rocco or Claude–or towards Kat in the case of men and certain women–but never for him. It was strange yet all the more alluring, her quickened heart rate with that sweet aroma of her rushing hormones. With his vast knowledge, he could have named every hormone being released into her bloodstream, bombarding her body but he'd never been the subject of such a change. He'd never been found so attractive, if that was the word to describe her reaction to him.

He wasn't sure what to do. He felt helpless with his mind was racing with angst-ridden worries once again. He was in the perfect situation, the situation his friends easily took advantage of; her hormones were brewing and the store was emptying. But he couldn't do anything, he felt rooted to the spot. So instead of imitating his friends and overcoming his shyness, he simply dropped his gaze to the CD and shrunk back into his shell.

Only after Catalina shrugged and turned her back to him did he look up, watching her return to her place at the till. She swung her hips as she walked to the beat of the thumping music, humming softly and drumming her hands against her thighs in time. His disappointment was soon replaced with frustration, she irritated him and her presence mocked him. She personified his inferiority, his weakness and he wanted nothing more than to tear her throat out. He just had to pluck up the courage, but he was starving and now he was angry too.

"Are sure you're okay with locking up?"

Tripp listened from the other end of the store as the manager spoke to Catalina. His tactics were in place, his plan was formulated. He just had to wait for the time to be right then Tripp would attack and stamp out all his fears–and her life.

"Completely sure, Sam," Catalina replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Are you heading home tonight?"

"Nope, got plans," the manager shook his head. "But I'll tell Isella to meet you at the station when I pass by the studio. Just text her when you're done."

"Will do," she saluted him, a playful grin on her lips.

"Catch you later."

After dumping the keys on the counter before her, he exited the store with his footsteps quickly fading away. Tripp sniffed the air just to confirm his suspicions; with the manager gone, he was left alone with Catalina. Confirming this, he made his move towards the counter and, when she caught sight of him, was once again flooded with her hormonal scent. With her blood teasing him, his exhilaration grew. He was going to do it.

"Hello," he croaked, his voice cracking but his resolve remained strong.

"Do you need any help? I'll be closing up soon."

"I do," he needed to get her out of the room and his lie formulated in an instant. "Do you have any Royal Sterling in stock?"

"Royal Sterling?" The name he fabricated rolled off of her tongue smoothly.

"They're a band. Bit obscure, I thought you'd be the most likely to have them," he was surprised at how solid his voice was becoming. This well-structured plan of his seemed to control his nerves. "But I struggled to find them on the shelves."

"Explains why you've been here for so long," she smiled before seizing the keys on the counter. "I'll check the stockroom for you. Stay here,"

"Sorry for the trouble,"

"Don't be," Catalina called over her shoulder as she unlocked the room hidden behind the counter. "There's a list of all our stock, it'll just take a second."

"Thanks." He mumbled, never taking his eyes off of her.

As soon as she disappeared into the stockroom, Tripp leapt over the counter after her. She was alone, vulnerable and he was a predator. Within seconds her back collided with the far wall, pinned underneath his clawed hands as the lights flickered into light. She gawked at him, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping with utter confusion.

"W-w-what?" She stuttered in her daze, her body instinctively struggling beneath his grasp.

"Stop it!" He roared before tearing his claws through one of her upper arms. He wasn't going to let her wriggling ruin this for him.

She shrieked through her gasps for air as blood began to seep from the scratches, staining along the tears in her sleeve. With a wet film glossing over her eyes, announcing the fast approaching tears, she stared up at him and finally saw what he was. He smirked, waiting to bask in her fear as he bared his fangs, his claws at the ready.

"You're one of..." She whispered, blinking away her sadness and replacing it with calm. She sighed, closing her eyes patiently. "Just don't make it hurt."

"What?" Tripp was dumbfounded.

Catalina wasn't scared at all, she was content. She had bravely accepted her fate, she chose not to fight. This had never happened with his friends. This wasn't supposed to happen. Now Catalina was rapidly becoming something he hated more than his own insecurities; something he couldn't understand. As an eager pursuer of knowledge, he needed to understand, his intelligence was all he had and she was undermining that. His anger evaporated away, perplexity replacing it. He no longer wanted to kill her, he could not kill her. He had to understand her first, he had to answer all the questions she was inspiring within him. He had to know.

Noticing his sudden hesitation, she took hold of his hand and guided it around the back of her head. She used it to tilt her head, securing it and revealing the nape of her neck to Tripp. She knew exactly what he had wanted and even stranger, she was giving him full access. But this only made him reject her more.

It was as if her blood was curdling before his eyes, its sweetness was turning sour. She smelt of hatred, of death, of destruction. And all of this just made nausea bubble up inside of Tripp, wiping away his hunger and desire for revenge. He didn't want her blood anymore; he didn't want any of this anymore. As her calm complacency grew, his confident dissolved and his own fear took its place.

What is wrong with this girl? He thought, glancing over her tranquil features and closed eyes.

Nothing was going according to plan; she was offering her blood to him but he couldn't take it. He couldn't understand her. So with one last look and a nervous pit digging deep into his stomach, Tripp scrambled out of the store and vanished into the darkness. He had to get away.