–and something jarring pierced my mind, bringing me out of the blackness and into physical being. My eyes opened, but all I saw was dirt, and all I felt was a pressure all around me. Everything was on fire; my skin could feel every particle of earth, my nose was filled with the rich smell of mulch and wood-rot. My face was in a small space of air, and when I reached out I found that it was soft, bits of dirt falling on my face.

I was underground. But instead of feeling panic, like I should have been feeling, all I could comprehend was the fact that something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong, and there was this painful ache in my chest. The ache was urging me to dig upward, to get out of the ground and do something.

And so I did.

I clawed through the dirt with my bare hands, expecting to feel fatigued but never once feeling any sort of tiredness. It was like there was a fire in my veins, making me dig faster and faster until suddenly, like breaking through the ocean surf, I was at the surface. The painful ache abated for a few moments; my senses were focused elsewhere. Sweet night air filled my lungs, though breathing was somehow different. I didn't feel the subconscious relief I remember feeling when I breathed – breathing now felt…optional, sweet and fulfilling but more to taste the air than anything.

And boy, could I taste the air!

Everything was alight with meaning and significance, and I sniffed desperately, smelling the forest and the sky and the nearby stream. How could I smell those? Why was everything so big and bright and intense? I shouldn't be able to pick out individual leaves in the pitch-blackness, but somehow I was doing so with no trouble. The grass under my bare feet was cool, and each strand was like pleasantly electrified wire against my skin.

The ache came back with a vengeance, and with such strength that a cry escaped my chest. Wait, my chest!

I looked down at my body, realizing for the first time that I didn't feel any pain. My arms and legs worked fine, I wasn't hurt at all! If not for my bloodied clothes, I would have wondered if I was even in an accident.

But the ache demanded that I ignore everything else, and my nostrils flared as a scent reached my nose. I had never smelled it before, but the essence behind it was somehow familiar, and my head whipped around to the source.

There was blood, a lot of it. The scent of it made my throat flare up, like I hadn't had a sip of water in weeks, but that was weird…it was blood I was smelling. I took a few steps forward, my eyes locked on the large smoking pile of blood and mangled flesh – it was more of a pulp than anything.

I fell to my knees beside the bloody mess, and reached out with a shaking hand. The trembling in my entire body was growing worse, and something was rising in me, a terrible knowledge and an overwhelming sense of loss. The moment I touched the blood with my fingertips, my emotions spilled over, and a keening whine filled the air.

The woman who had saved me, the blonde angel…the bloody mass was her remains. I didn't know how or why, but something deep and ancient inside of my mind clicked the information into place. Tears rushed forth, and I wailed, unable to contain myself, throwing my head back and screaming to the dark sky. There were no stars, the moon was dark, and I was alone.

The grief I felt was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I had grieved for my grandma when she passed on; I had grieved for my cousin when she died in that awful boating accident. I knew what it was like to lose someone important, but somehow, this seemed different. More permanent, more bittersweet, more binding. I hadn't even known the angel's name, but she was mine, and I was hers.

I lost track of time, because time didn't matter. I was still kneeling, my head bowed and my hands covered in the angel's blood. My mind raced with everything; the accident, the angel coming and saving me, my heightened senses, the burning hunger that ripped at my throat and begged for mercy.

Anger, anger that burned hotter than fire, rose up in me, and I got to my feet. I smelled the air again, and wrinkled my nose at the sharp, wet musk that permeated the area around the angel's remains. It wasn't unbearable, but it carried a distinctly distasteful tinge to it. It wasn't something I would forget in a hurry, and something clicked in my upper jaw when I considered that perhaps something had attacked and killed the angel. I was so angry, so enraged that someone would dare touch my angel, that someone would take her away from me!

Something sharp was cutting my lip, and I frowned, reaching up to touch the intruding objects with my fingers. There were sharp things in my mouth, but they felt like teeth, and they attached to my gums. They were…fangs?

"What the hell?" I shrieked, and frantically felt my mouth again, wincing as I cut my fingers on the sharp fangs. I clutched my hair, anger forgotten in lieu of the crushing panic.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, I have fangs! Why do I have fangs?" I whispered, feeling them once more to be sure. Yep, still there. "Am I a fucking vampire or something?" I muttered, and as ridiculous as the statement sounded…I couldn't find it in myself to disregard the theory.

But wait, vampires weren't real! Ariana, get a freaking grip! It was just a trick, some practical joke–

Suddenly, a scent washed over me, and my rational thought switched off like a light switch. The most delicious smell in the world was in my head, fogging up my world and putting me on edge. Everything was heightened, and my fangs ached, little stabs of pain that urged me to move.

I was running faster than I had ever run before, zeroing in on the scent. I heard voices, two of them, but I didn't even care about being heard or seen. I was on the hunt, and all that mattered was quenching this terrible thirst that had risen up in my stomach and set fire to my throat.

I crouched behind a tree, my mouth open to better smell them, and watched as an elderly couple made their way down the sidewalk that ran alongside the road. A series of yellow-gold lamps lit the path, throwing little orbits of light around the metal posts.

The couple was holding hands, and the wrinkles on their faces threw intricate shadows on their features. My eyes drank them in, my ears heard their pulses beat strongly, and my mouth could almost taste the warmth of blood flowing through their veins. I didn't register until later that I was looking for weak spots – one of them had a brace on, that would slow them down, and their canes would get in the way…

I waited until they were directly across from me, and then I lunged.

The man went down like a sack of bricks, and without even pausing to take in his expression of terror I chomped down on his neck. Blood poured into my mouth, and I moaned, the thirst flaring before settling down. The man was struggling, but I was so much stronger than him, and soon his flailing ceased. The woman had fallen as well, and was screaming and sobbing, but the sounds of her anguish were mere background noise. I guzzled, feeling the roar of the man's pulse in my ears, basking in the blissful smoothness of his blood on my throat.

Funny, the last time I had that much blood in my mouth, I had been revolted. Now, I couldn't imagine drinking anything else. Wait, I was drinking blood? Why was I drinking blood?

My mind was in turmoil, but my body refused to let go of the man, refused to release my grip until he went limp, and the blood slowed to a trickle. I grimaced as I released him, pouting at the lack of life in him.

I needed more.

My thirst rose up again, but my irrational anger diminished when I realized I had another source of blood just waiting to satisfy me.

I turned to the woman. Her face was blank with horror, and I snarled, too hungry to realize what an animalistic sound it was. I made to bite her neck, but something burned my cheek. Screaming, I tossed her back and covered my face with my hands. I felt the painful sizzling, but after a moment or so the sensation ceased, and I felt smooth skin where the burn had been seconds before. I was already healed? How was that possible?

I looked back to the woman, and saw that she had a silver necklace on. Through the bloodlust, I felt a weight settle in my stomach. Stronger, faster, heightened senses, desire for blood, sensitivity to silver…was it possible that I was a real-life vampire?

The wife, her face puffy and streaked with tears and dirt, looked at her dead partner, and a sob escaped her throat. She crawled over to him, and I moved around her, careful to keep my eye on the silver necklace. The woman didn't seem to be in the position to attack me, but I couldn't be too careful.

She was cradling his head in her lap, gripping her necklace. I noticed that it was a cross, and my ears perked up as she looked over at me, her eyes clear and surprisingly bright. The woman stared at me for a moment or two, and her lips trembled.

There were no words spoken, but I understood. There would be no chase, no struggle. She wished to pass on with her husband. I felt the urge to kill ebb slightly, though the need for blood was still just as present. It hit me for the first time that this was a person, that she was alive and breathing and feeling. I wanted to feel guilty, to hate myself, but the hunger in me rose up, and the guilt died down in the face of it.

The woman gave the dead man a kiss on the forehead, and her fingers went to remove her silver necklace. She pressed the cross to her lips, and then placed it in her husband's vest pocket, patting it once before facing me.

I gave her one last second of life, and then I pounced.

When she stopped breathing, when the blood ran dry, I rose from my crouched position, blood dripping down my chin and my head spinning from the sudden burst of energy I felt. The blood was coursing through me, filling me up and making everything brighter. I smiled lazily, feeling my fangs slowly retract. I could feel a particular set of muscles contract when the fangs retreated, and I jerked my upper jaw, flexing those muscles. The fangs popped back out, and a childish giggle escaped me. I had retractable fangs. That was so weird, but strangely awesome.

I stared down at the limp bodies, seeing the blood pool around their forms, and for the life of me I couldn't find it in me to hate myself for what I had done. I wasn't sure if it was the new instincts filling my thoughts, but a part of me refused to feel sorry. I was a hunter, they were my prey. It was nothing personal, nothing planned or done with any malicious intent. I knelt down next to the woman, and touched her neck, feeling the puncture holes with my sensitive fingers.

I was almost uncomfortably full, the hunger completely gone, and with the bloodlust absent I was able to think more clearly. If I had killed two young people, I suppose I would have felt much, much worse. I would have seen myself in them; I would have been cheating them of a long and fulfilling life.

I frowned, and sat on the ground, still examining the puncture wounds. Was there any way to feed without killing the human? Or was killing the only way to get enough blood to keep the painful hunger away? I didn't want to kill, but what if it was the only way?

My eyes stung, and I cried for a while, stroking the woman's neck and trying to contain my raging emotions. I wished that my angel were here; she said that we would walk together, that she would always be there to help me. But now, she was dead and I was alone with no idea of what to do or where to go.

I couldn't go home.

The tears came faster at that thought, but I remembered how I lunged at the man, how I tore into his throat like a wild animal…I couldn't do that to my family. I couldn't be around them. I couldn't even tell them I was a vampire, because would they believe me? Well, they'd believe me if I showed them, but then what? They would fear me; they wouldn't know what to do with me.

I couldn't see them. Not until I knew more about what I was and what I could and couldn't do. But that didn't mean I couldn't email or text them. That thought made me smile a bit, and I wiped my face. I saw red on my hands, and frowned. Wait, what?

Was I crying blood?

I reached up and felt the wetness under my eyes, and pulled away, seeing crimson staining my fingers.

"Oh for fuck's sake…" I muttered, and wiped the tears away. I looked up at the sky, and felt another stab of hurt. "Why did you have to die? I really need your help," I said, addressing the angel that should have been sitting next to me.

I knew that she was a vampire, but in my mind I couldn't see her as anything but an angel. She saved my life; that made her an angel in my book.

Hours later, the sky began to lighten. I felt a tugging sluggishness in my bones, and I wondered if I was affected by the sun, like traditional vampires were. I wasn't about to test my luck, though, and so I made my way back to where I had dug myself out of the ground. I saw my angel's remains, and that sent me into another wave of hysterics, but after burying the mass of blood and flesh I was able to focus on burrowing into my temporary grave. It was dirty and dry and strange, but I managed to cover myself completely. After I was settled, I was even able to feel a bit of security.

I was a vampire, a vampire with nowhere to go, no one to seek out for help. I was still myself for the most part, but these primal feelings kept rising up inside of me, so powerful and raw that I could barely think straight. My body wasn't my own when those feelings came, and I didn't know what to expect or how to begin to control myself.

I needed to find other vampires. There had to be others, right?

Before I could think any more on the subject, my eyes closed, and in an instant I was dead to the world.