Author's Note: June of 2002, after watching Interview With The Vampire, then checking it out from the library, I decided to write a vampire fan fic. Well, I stopped a while later. Then, earlier this month, my friend (Peirin Maxwell) gave me an absolutely *marvelous* picture that nudges me to sit down in front of the computer and start again. So here it is.

Chapter Dedication: Peirin, because she's the one who loved this story, and is the reason why I started again. Plus, she's incredibly talented. Go read her stuff...after this ^_^

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Full Moons, Roses, & Vampire Fangs
By: Mykonos
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The air smelt of fallen-rain and the snapdragon and marigold scent of the setting sun. The late-summer air was fresh, clean making the world seem infinitely larger. Everything around him was absent of the sense of danger.

As one drew nearer to the forest flowing into the mountains, the inescapable scent of dried rose petals grew stronger. Heavy, and sickeningly consuming around the location of its source. Under a full apple tree, curled up in a ball trying to avoid the fading sun, was a female figure, who's black dress contradicted her ghostly white skin and golden hair.

Meanwhile, a seventeen-year-old, lavender-haired boy walked out of the damp forest with his muscular arms filled with firewood. His loving, gray and white horse followed behind him, saddle carrying assorted wild berries, apples, and other kinds of food.

Trunks entered his large home just outside of the village. He greeted his mother with a big, childish grin and "I'm home!" His mother laughed as she reached up and rubbed smudges of dirt off his nose and cheek. He let his arms unhinge and the wood noisily tumbled to the ground.

Bulma sighed loudly. "Son, you know if you do that, it'll just longer for me to clean up, and dinner will be delayed." Trunks' bright blue eyes grew into a sad expression, and with a defeated sigh, he began to clean up the wood, chips, and dirt that had been scattered all over the elegant entrance.

At supper, Trunks probably ate enough to comfortably feed all the peasants in the rugged village. The night had come around the corner, and now seeped in darkly through all the windows. It seemed to smell different crawling towards his chamber. Trunks found his way down the firelight hallways to his bedroom, where his lips were almost immediately met with others.

A sharp pain seared through his lips as he felt fangs go through them slightly, and he was pushed down onto his bed. Blood started to flow through the tiny little wounds, and the unknown's tongue ran over to lap up the blood. Trunks was having trouble breathing by the scent of dead, graveyard roses being pressed down heavily on him. The shadow figure sat up on Trunks' stomach allowing him to catch his breath. He coughed every now and then, as his lungs rapidly inhaled and exhaled.

His blue eyes squinted trying to make out the being, which was now lowering itself back down onto him. His breath stopped momentarily when he saw a female face with extremely pale sapphire eyes, and colorless skin. "Who *are* you?" Was all Trunks could say, before the girl pressed her red painted lips on his. Her fingers laced with his, and she played with the golden, engagement band on his calloused finger. It slipped off so easily, and landed on the floor with a quiet chime.

Trunks reflexively tipped his head to the side as he felt the stranger's mouth start to trail kisses down his neck. It seemed as though he screamed, although no sound emitted when the fangs bit into his neck. And then drifted into a black sleep.

He awoke as the sun shone brightly outside, looked at his bloodstained pillow, and stumbled hurriedly to the water basin. He washed his face and neck, only adding to his fear, when he saw the water in his hands was stained with dried blood. 'It hadn't been a dream' he nervously thought. But another thought played to his amusement, 'vampires *do* exist.' He wasn't crazy. The villagers were convinced he was when he wouldn't stop talking on how his father died by vampire hands.

Halfway down the stone stairs to tell his mother, Trunks stopped. How in hell would he explain last night's events to her? He'll wait; he can handle it on his own. Just wait; wait for the she-vampire to return. Trunks then went down to the stable to retrieve his sword off his horse's saddle.

Halfway out the door, Bulma stopped him. With both delicate hands on her hips, she asked seriously, but with the slight invasion of a laugh "where are you going at this hour? Skipping out on breakfast?" Always teasing him about the food. 'Don't tell her, it's too soon' the little voice in the back of his handsome head nagged Trunks.

The day kept him busy with work, mainly tending to the fields, taking care of the numerous animals, and visiting the humble marketplace. Eventually the sky was again taken over by a black night. Trunks snuck quietly outside to the stable.

He suited up the horse, making sure his jewel-encrusted sword was by his side, ready for a quick withdrawal at a pin drop. The horse seemed a little edged by something outside, and kept turning back about something. "It's the vampire..." Trunks smirked as the haunting smell arose again.

He eventually got the horse to calm down and rode off into the murky forest. Leaves crunched under the hooves and the trees arched above their heads. The vampire was sitting under the exact tree, that they stopped under when tried to gain control of his horse. It bucked Trunks, and ran off wildly towards home. Trunks hit the tree with a sickening thud and a groan. A flicker of a cape and he knew that she was here. She appeared suddenly in front of him, smirking, in a figure-flattering dress, and a cape falling light off her shoulders.

"Hello, love." Her voice sounded like a haunting, bittersweet song. His stomach familiarly reeled and gagged at the overpowering smell. She picked him up by his white shirt, but kept him against the tree, and then kissed him deeply, again with her fangs going into his bottom lip.

She again trailed down kisses to his neck, and bit him. After drinking for a bit, he grew lightheaded and his knees grew weak. She let him go and as he slid down the tree back to the moss and dirt covered ground, she slit her wrist. "Drink, my dear." She held her wrist to his mouth. "Drink, dear, or suffer the same fate that your father did when he refused me."