HEADS UP: There's some upsetting content in this chapter.


His mindless taunts will not cease, they are everlasting. He has ensnared me in his heart-shaped incarceration. Those seducing dark locks cascading down to his naked, moon-kissed back tangle like silk in my slender, dainty fingers, his molten chocolate eyes enticing me into allowing him to finish seeking my embrace. Breathless from what he has gifted me, I permit my hands to roam the rest of his sculpted body. Though I allow it, he is the one restraining my self-control from functioning. Those supple lips of his sweep across mine, exploring each part of me without any limitations to hinder neither him nor the gasps escaping from my throat. The person watching this man who ruptured everything I felt for him screams desperately with their hopeless aim being to impede this passionate act. My body quivers, freezing as if his coffee-brown eyes were those of Medusa, as jagged fangs penetrate my skin, the erotic joy heard blatantly in his growl. I want to scream out of an undiluted excruciation as it climaxes to something unbearable. Please, stop.

Rich, crimson blood swirls around my ocean blue eyes. In the physical world of these inexplicable dreams that devour every inch of my sanity, I can feel the liquid of my death trickle down my breasts, all the way down to my pulsating stomach where my heart now resides. A deadly love once consumed my heart, but he has drained it. Dwayne, please, stop.

In this dream of the night, he owns me like I am nothing but a toy to pleasure his desires. His blood-sated breath encroaches nearby, magnetizing itself to my ear where I feel his shuddering, smoky voice...then capturing his pale, icy blue stare and platinum locks. This is not longer Dwayne – it is David.

"You are human for now. Never forget that"

With a jolt, my eyes snap open to view the shadows engulfing the bedroom Michael and I share in our home. After blinking several times to assure myself that I am back in the world where those dreams are non existent, I take in a deep intake of the scent of apple and cinnamon joss sticks that linger around the house, the ablaze orange glow now dimming hastily to blend with the unforthcoming shadows. In the background, I hear the sloshing of the majestic waves at a gentle pace, the wind now placid so it camouflages the sinister enigma behind the slogan of 'Murder Capital of The World'.

I grumble as my body, tender from strenuous hours of dance, comes to life once more, lifting my head from Michael's unclothed chest that twitches, his soul immersed in a dream. Momentarily, I rest my forehead embellished with sweat on his chest again, listening intently to the murmurs narrating his equally tempestuous visions that only manifest at night. Knowing the nature of his blustery dreams, I shake him gently until he rouses. He breathes in, just as I do like it is a ritual to ensure we are safe... alive. He then furrows his brow and scratches his forehead gleaming with a humid sweat that has formed from the natural heat and the unnatural dreams. Without even glancing at me, he envelops his muscular arm around my waist and tenderly pulls me to his body where he strokes my tresses like an artist dedicated to his fine work.

Dwayne sends me these quixotic dreams sometimes, just to harass me or to deride my choice. I refuse to allow it to affront me though, that would mean letting him triumph. For now, I ignore them and focus on the person I do love, not a monster who yearns for me to love him.

"Did you have a nightmare, baby?" he croaks, his voice nearly incoherent as he revives himself fully from an outlandish planet we only go to when in a deep slumber.

I nod, snuggling against his neck so his brown curls drape over my forehead, burrowing myself away from the mention of what I had to face minutes ago. I squint my eyes, grunting as a sudden light extends to each corner of this room, annihilating the shadows, and bind my right arm around Michael's lower torso in order to feel more protected, enjoying the respite bestowed as he allocates delicate, pacifying kisses on my forehead, stroking the hair from my face and lightly coiling chaotic strands around his index finger.

"You want me to make you a nice glass of warm milk, princess? Get you back to sleep again?" Michael asks, and I nod again, murmuring a courteous reply. Before he can place a single toe on the plush, beige carpet, I tug on his boxer shorts which instantly earns me a chuckle from Michael accompanied by a lascivious crooked smile. "Wanna watch some TV for a while, Sierra-Bear?"

I beam with glee as he delivers me into his brawny arms, his soothing rhythm as he cradles me nearly causing me to dive into the unforgiving dimension of explicit terrors. I can't venture back to there currently; I'm not prepared to deal with the likes of Dwayne and David just yet. Once I am settled and no longer ponder over how I correlate my past life with my night-time hallucinations, then I can battle them again. Though the battle of blood died two months ago, they haven't stopped.

My field of vision adjusts hastily to the weak light initially attacking my fatigued eyes, my head swivelling around the spotless living room. Due to my past experience of caring solely for Edgar and Alan, I take pride in maintain a pristine home, something Michael helps me with each week. My sights soon land on the country-style coffee table constructed with reclaimed wood sitting sturdily on an iron base - a souvenir from Grandpa Emerson's house as he decided he didn't need it anymore – littered neatly with a stack of magazines that range from fashion to sport, an assortment of candles such as the light brown warm apple pie and cream vanilla, and a framed Polaroid of Michael and I at the beach during summer this year.

1987...so much has occurred in this year. Although my life has been somewhat turbulent, all of the turmoil escalated radically. Everything just fluctuated. Friends ebbed away and contorted into enemies, a sister missing for three years revealed herself, and I found love, all within three months. The months preceding June 1987 were a mild palaver in comparison and I was naively unaware due to being socialized to believe my upbringing was typical of any other child, teenager and young adult. As a teenager, I grew to realize it was not, but I disregarded this truth and persisted to care for my brothers. I had to for their benefit. My mom now lives with them in a different house, away from my father. However, she flees back to him every now and then, despite recent revelations of his egotistic role in David's retribution.

Michael lowers me onto the white and brown plaid couch, sheathing my torso with a fleecy blanket and kisses the top of my head before going over to the visible kitchen adjoined with the living room. I roll over and watch him as he pours the heated up milk into two glasses, bringing it over to me with an amiable smile. I gently clasp onto the glass, thanking him with a pleasant tone, feeling the warmth emitting from it forming a moist mask in the palms of my two hands.

I've been disregarding this lump enlarging in my throat as a result of wishing so emphatically to veil this need to scream, to release all this perplexity, this ferocity lurking inside of me. There was a time where I felt lost, disconnected from this image of who I believed I was. It was only mere weeks ago. I didn't know what to deem as valid; were they gone or is this just a game? I had been avidly waiting for the next strike, secluding myself from even going out at night until I built up the valor to do so again. The half-vampire has left its scar, an invisible sign that it possesses me still. During all of this was adamant not to embroil Michael and I in that torturous affair again. Restoring peace is more complex than I imagined it would be, but I am unyielding when it comes to doing so.

I am jerked out of this reflection as Michael switches the TV on. Joan Collin's voice wasn't the voice to lug me from this troubled reverie though. It was his commanding advice...

Cry, little sister – you know you want to.

There is a diverse meaning regarding wanting to do something and being coerced into doing something for another's merciless need, especially when the secondary person is a person who never relents to terminate a lethal voyage. It cost him two of his brothers, yet that means nothing to him?

With a heavy sigh that may have a facade of being woeful, I sip some of the thirst-quenching milk, situating it on the coffee table in front of me before tilting my body onto Michael who continues to support me, knowing that our bedroom evokes a disheartening memory...


The morning vividness of the sun hanging in the clear, blue sky burned my eyes, but I had another pain vexing me. This dull contraction in my lower abdomen was antagonizing me, and as I twisted over, I yelped out in nothing but agony. It was a searing slash in slow motion flaring up my back. Vertigo spiralled in my inner thoughts. Never before had I felt something so savage invade my body. The vampire was far from this plaguing affliction. My vision blurred as a crimson blush absorbed my fright. Fresh, snow white bed sheets had been tainted by patches of blood formed in abnormal circular blotches – my blood.

Explosions of pain detonated repeatedly in my stomach, the pain so unbearable that it made every movement distort into bewilderment and every thought a question. What was going on? I managed to plummet to the floor, buckling down in nothing but sheer excruciation.

"Sierra?" his voice was a blur, a dreary blur that I wished so desirably to make crisp and ripe once more. He repeated my name again, and again, and again, growing nearer and nearer, the panic being heard in his voice as his eyes became fixated on the bloodshed. "Shit! Sierra, baby, what's happened?

I told him in slurred weeps that I could not concoct what was going on at that precise moment, my instinct and intellectual ability to distinguish pain between numbness gone. For a moment, I believed it was never going to return to me. Michael picked me up and carried me to the living room and the next thing I heard were disjointed sirens ricocheting around the tunnels of my ears. The questions of the medics seemed eccentric, but the result was all too clear regarding how I had been feeling in the days prior to this moment.

Do you smoke? Occasionally. Have you been eating properly? Yes, three meals a day. Any exposure to radiation or toxic substances? No. Regular exercise? Yes, I'm a dancer. Please could you just tell me what's go – Any recent trauma? A fallout with friends a few months ago.

I deceived them, but I couldn't tell them. Who would believe a girl claiming to have been transformed into a half-vampire by allowing herself to let a drop of pure blood slip past her lips and glide down her throat?

"But that means she was..." The words became silent, "...my kid" All I heard from Michael subsequent to those few word was the following "I don't want anything to happen to her" I glanced at the stained blood on Michael's hand, his fingers laced with mine. That blood instilled so many memories, painful ones and this was another to add. The shock sank in for a moment and I burst out crying, apologizing for the heartbreak. Michael held me, rocked me in his arms, stroked my hair, and later on, he did the same despite his own upset. It was all he could do. I asked David with a scorned tone if he was happy, and his reply terrified and bemused me:

"Why would I be happy?"


"What was your dream?" Michael asks me, bringing me out of that melancholic reminiscence. I snap my head up to look at up, sighing as I shake my head.

"You don't want to know" I yawn, deciding whether to go to sleep again and face them again. I slip my eyes to a close.

I am ready to fight.


Authors Note: Hey everyone! It's been a while, but I've finally got the time to write for this story again. Anyway, Happy New Year! And I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)