Snapping necks won't do us any good!

The plane to Fort Worth landed at the Sycamore Strip airport at 8.45 pm, which made it an hour behind schedule and even then, when I passed through the passport checking and found my luggage, the men supposed to wait for me and take me to Dallas were nowhere to be seen. I checked the whole terminal, the cafés and outside in the parking lot. It was raining, so dashing through the streets would be a bad move, not to mention that the drive to Dallas was at least one hour if not even more. So I decided to wait a little bit then take things into my own hands.

Being the patient woman I am, half an hour later, I'm beyond my breaking point. I really want to snap somebody's neck, or rip out a head….. or only scream in frustration, but none of the scenarios in my head are appropriate for an airport full of people. So as calmly as I can, have in mind that I hadn't slept normally for over 24 hours due to the circumstances, I jump in the first free taxi I spot and tell the taxi driver to get me to Dallas ASAP. The old man, long past his sixties with a bold head and calm grey eyes, looks at me shocked at first but then fires the engine and the little yellow car dashes out of the airport's lands.

I'm reading a book I found in my handbag, probably thrown there by mistake, when the old man's voice brings me out of my trance.

"Are you sure you can afford to pay, miss? It's a long way to go till we reach Dallas. "

I nod. I have money in me, but if the bill's as high as he says I can always use my credit card. So I return to my book only to be brought out of it by his voice for a second time:

"The weather is awful today, don't cha think? It has never been so fuzzy and all…" I raise one of my blonde eyebrows at the word "fuzzy". 'Since when weather can be "fuzzy"?'

"… and the rain pours down so heavily! Never seen such a thing in my life, miss. Have you?"

His question gets me off guard. Usually nobody asks me for my opinion in such plainly matter as weather so I'm not used to giving it. Still I nod, looking out of the blurred window. The sky is dark, cloudless and blank. The deepness of the night's welkin gives up the impression that the little drops of water are coming from a place far away from this dimension. 'They may even be a goddess's tears…' I imagine a beautiful creature with long dark curls, face as white as snow, with peachy-coloured cheeks and cherry-red lips, shedding silent tears while sitting on the edge of space. Her huge hazel eyes with spots in them, now watery, look at us, down on Earth, and the tears keep on falling, even faster, as she sees all the desperation and a primitive type of wrath, settled deep into people's souls.

"Oh, golly!" mutters the driver as the car starts slowing down until it comes to a complete stop.

I try to see what's happening through my window but the water curtain and the thick fog, that actually came out of nowhere, leave no place for contemplation even for my keen eyesight. I turn to the driver only to see that he is halfway out of the cab, shouting something to a woman, a few meters away in a black BMW. His clothes are getting wetter with every second he stays out, but I keep quiet. When he is finally done shouting he gets back in, as wet as he could be, trembling and starts cleaning his glasses with thick frames.

"It looks like we'll be staying here for a while, miss!"

"How much exactly?"

"I dunno, maybe an hour and a half? Who knows?"

I instinctively look at my wrist watch and frown. 'Only 4 hours until sunrise. ' I peek at the old man who is so focused in getting the little wet spots off of his glasses that he totally ignores me until I clear my throat quite insistently. His small body jumps slightly and he turns his attention back to me.

"Isn't there a shortcut or detour. I'm in a hurry, so…"

"Sorry, miss. No detours here!"

With that said he turns his back to me again. My eyes twitch nervously. 'If I don't bring my ass to that nest before sunrise there is a great chance this old punk sees me burn like a goddamn turkey!' I hum mentally, as I look at my phone. I can call one person who will be able to come, but the idea itself sounds quite….unattractive. I gaze at the black hole in which the sky has turned into and start dialling a number that has been carved in my mind for over a century. 'Oh, how I wish I had forgotten it!' I whine to myself. After all calling someone like her is like asking the Devil for a favour! …if not even worse.

Half an hour later a silver Aston Martin AM 310 Vanquish stops just a meter and a half away from the little yellow cab I'm situated in. I open my door, step out into the pouring rain and a wave of high-pitched sounds hits me right in the head. I stumble a little bit but quickly regain my balance and with fast equal steps I near the expensive car. When I stop next to the driver's door the darkened window automatically rolls down. A strong scent of Chanel 5 embraces me. I instinctively take a defensive position, due to the bad memories that scent brings, but the bored yet impervious voice that comes out of the warm coupe stops me from any further action:

"Chill, blonde. I'm not gonna bite 'cha. "

"Don't you dare 'chill' me, you little…! "

"Fussy as always, I see. Are you getting in, or you'd like to stay here?"

I frown. 'I'm really starting to doubt my decision. ' as I look back at the cab and see the old man smoking a cigarette I sigh mentally.

"Let me get my bags."

I get back to the cab and smile at the old driver.

"Everything ok, miss?"

"Yes. A friend of mine came to take me. I'll pay you for the way up to here and for the waiting."

Before he can even protest I shove some money in his hand and rush to the boot. I open it swiftly and get my luggage out of it. Closing it with my elbow I rush to the other car, as gracefully as I can. After all I'm carrying one big black sack, one medium sized suitcase with wheels, my laptop bag and my hand bag. And let's not mention the pouring rain, the suffocating fog and the fucking loud horns of the cars! 'Why, the fuck, do they even bother? If they hit the horn 1.000 times that doesn't mean the queue will move any faster! Fucking retarded bastards!'

I open the boot of the silver Aston Martin and throw my things in. Without bathing an eyelash I close it with a loud crashing sound which results in me getting another set of high-volume horns. My hair is all wet and sticks to my face when I finally get in the car. My clothes are in the same condition and the inside of the car is covered in khaki-coloured skin… oh well. Sable Bitchy Laurel will have to deal with it one way or another!

"Oh, you didn't, you bitch!" she hisses through gritted teeth.

"Actually, I did!" I reply as casually as possible while getting my hair out of my face

Sable squints and 'hmps' but she fires the engine anyway and we leave with that smoke behind us and the 'woooooshhhh!'-ing sound that all the cartoons have.

"Who gave you a driving license?" I whisper-yell to her and buckle up my seat belt as fast as possible. With driving as Sable's it's best to be cautious!

The ride to Dallas takes us two hours but we are finally here! The whole city is cloaked with greyish fog and the streetlights are becoming useless bunch of old rusty poles. There are huge shadows that creep from the dark corners; for a moment they peak from the inside of the thick mist and retreat back to their comfy little nests of moisture and fug. There's not a living soul in sight. 'Is it just me or this place reeks of creepiness? ' I wonder as I continue observing the things we pass by, or the lack of some. Here and there the vapours are so thick that there is just a huge white spot that looks impenetrable.

"As much as I don't want to admit it this place creeps me out!" I whisper as I furrow my brows, staring intensively at the fog, trying to make out something that's actually alive… or partly alive, I don't mind.

"I know whatcha mean, blonde. I hate coming to this hellhole. It reeks of death and bad karma!" her voice sounds distant and empty like she's lost deep into her own thoughts.

I look at my companion. She is tall with the longest legs, spotless ivory skin and the biggest reddish-brownish eyes I have ever seen. Her body is well toned and muscular, but not too much, without any scars or even scratches. The thing she adores most in herself is her hair – long mass of dark chocolate curls reaching her tight ass, always looking shiny and healthy. To sum up – a woman with her looks must have become at least a model by now, right? Well, not Sable. She was never the type of girl that likes the spotlight and the flashes despite her perfect looks. I always wondered what happened to her when she was still human. Her maker, a total son of a bitch who recently went missing, doesn't give up the impression of a good father. He loves to have women around him, falling into his legs and turning into a useless mass of jelly when he decides to spare them a single glance. Sable never did that and I'm sure she never will but their relationship is none of my business so I never ask.

"You do know that staring shows lack of good manners, right?"

I blink a few times, bringing myself out of my thoughts and shift uncomfortably in my seat. I hate when I space out and others see it. Silence settles in the car, the only thing that fills it up is the roar of the engine and the pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting the roof of the Aston Martin. I return to my previous occupation following the little drops of water streaming down the window, which I assume is sun proof. Right before the silence starts to become awkward Sable says:

"We're here, blonde."

I look at her and she nods towards the house on her right. I peek from behind her shoulder and see a big white house with two French windows. The whole construction is a nice blend of white, beige and red… or something that reminds me of red, but with the lack of decent light I can't really tell… maybe it's purple? Before I can stop myself the words "This is it?" slip from my mouth. The brunette only puffs irritated and give me a dirty look.

"What? For a Sheriff's house it isn't big!"

"Just get your blonde ass out of the car, woman!" she hisses lowly, opens her door and gets out gracefully.

I roll my eyes but open my door as well. My high heels touch the pavement and the night's air hits me. It is a strange mixture of foggy fug, fumes from the cars and a freshness that's not supposed to be there, having the fact there isn't even the lightest whiff of wind to move the stale city air. Yet it's not hard or unpleasant to breathe it in, despite the fact that I actually don't need to. With long strides I reach the boot and grab my bags. Sable helps me though, fetching my sack and her bag… wait what?! Why does she have a bag?

"Ahh… are you staying in Dallas or something?" I mutter quietly, just to make sure nobody may overhear something.

Her reddish orbs stare back at me and a chocolate eyebrow is raised in my direction. It's quite funny actually. The pouring rain has made her hair stick to her head and curl even more at the ends; her clothes are like they were just fetched from the laundry, all creased and wet. Her makeup, on the other hand is flawless – her mascara is waterproof and I don't see any colourful drops running down her face. So she isn't looking like a wet chicken… yet she gives up that ridiculous expression of a furry wet cat that's about to bite you…

"Should I ask for your permission or something? It's still ok to stay for a few days in a cousin's house, right?" her irritated voice makes me roll my eyes.

"It was just a question, but sue me!" I whisper to myself as I start walking towards the house.

It's quite the house, actually. When you near it you see its real beauty. Not to mention the strange feeling that makes your stomach turn into a ball of nerves. The curtains are drawn so I can't see who is inside, but I'm guessing there are at least 10 people in there. 'Shit's about to get real!'

When we near the mahogany door I look at Sable and she looks back at me… somebody needs to knock after all.

"Well…. Knock, blonde! That damn door ain't gonna open itself!" she hisses at me while observing the surrounding. We definitely don't want a bunch of territorial vamps twice as old as us at our asses, so looking behind our backs every once in a while won't snap our necks. I sigh and knock three times. Silence. I do not hear anybody coming.

"Knock again. It was too quiet."

"Do you wanna knock?" I hiss-yell at her.

She glares at me and nods towards the door. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a fraction of the second. 'Here goes nothing….' Without blinking I particularly bang at the door. I may have used a little bit more strength then necessary, though, as the massive door vibrates for a few seconds.

A minute passes by and the freezing rain is still hitting on us and the wind that came from God knows where is blowing our hair in our eyes and mouths. I look at Sable and by the expression on her face I know we are on the same page here – smashing that fucking door down that is!

"They are either deaf or are ignoring us! Sons of~ "

Sable's speech is cut short by the sudden opening of the door. A man, at least two meters tall, dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans with a grim expression on his face, stares at us like we are some kind of dirt on his new leather Steve Madden boots.

"What!?" he grunts at us.

Usually for such an inappropriate way of talking to a lady, let alone myself, I would have snapped his neck or ripped his tongue of, but being in my current state I am in no way to dispense justice. Miss Laurel, on the other hand, is having none of this shit. Before I can even grab her, not that I want to, she speeds towards the man-rock and kicks him so hard in the nuts that I bite my inner cheek in order to keep my poker face and not burst in laughter right on the spot. The poor fella, thrown halfway down the hall with his face hitting the ground, grabs his crotch and howls in pain. Sable only glares at him and turns to me. She's about to tell me something when a pair of long womanly hands with red nails fly to her neck and grip it with the intention to brake it any moment. Without thinking I rush next to her and grab the attacker by the hair gripping and pulling hard. I stop myself from ripping off though, as I bring her head under my armpit and press hard using my muscles. She struggles to escape but it's no use – my grip is so strong that if I only put a little more pressure on her, her black-haired head will definitely pop like the cork of champagne on New Year's Eve.

"I think it will be best if you let her go, you blonde bitch!" a male's voice snarls.

I look up and see the man-rock gripping my friend by the neck so hard that if she was a breather, she'll be dead by now. I glare at him but do not release the woman who is still struggling to get free. 'I can snap her neck fast enough but he'll snap Sable's! What should I do?' I ask myself but there is no answer. The man-rock is still gripping Sable, who is using, as she calls it 'vocabulaire de jurons' which translated from French means "dictionary of profanity", that can make even an old salesman turn red in the face from shame.

"Let go of her and I'll let your little bitchy friend." He roars at me, his voice still a little bit hoarse from Sable' hit in his manhood.

I look at the French brunette and without debating I release the dark-haired woman from my grip and push her towards the man-rock. He releases Sable and she rushes to my side, baring her fangs at him, while rubbing her sore throat. And then I feel it – a rush of warning passes through me. Before I can even warn Sable about the danger we are both pinned to the wall without any chance of escaping any time soon.

"What's happening here!" another male voice hisses angrily.

"Those two barged in here and attacked us!" the man-rock said.

"WHAT! You little~" yet again the brunette's protests are silenced by quite a hard smash at the wall.

"Watch your tongue, you whore. It's not your whorish friend you are talking to!" the man-rock growls while applying even more strength on her.

"Who do you call a whore, you piece of dead shit!" she yells, now completely pissed. 'Oh boy…' I think as I try to say something but the man-rock's voice stops me.

"To you and the fucking friend of yours! You sluts!"

'Okay, now it's personal!' I glare at that bastard who is yelling at my friend and decide it's time to take matters into my own hands.

With the slightest push I slip from my attacker's grip, who is so consumed by the quarrel that totally forgets that I am here. I duck under his elbow and grab him by the hair, smashing his head hard in the wall. Then I rush at the man-rock and grab him by the throat, lifting him a span from the floor.

"Who do you think you are calling sluts, you piece of nothing!" I say calmly, throwing him across the room while offering my other hand to the fallen Sable. She takes it and gets up and now we both are looking at the little audience we gathered and most precisely the man-rock.

"And who do you think you are!?" he hisses as he gets up.

"Does the name Sable Stanislavova Laurel ring a fucking bell, asshole?" she hisses back.

"Or maybe Sookie Vallion Starcrom does?" I ask calmly.

The silence that fills the hall is unsettling and awkward. The man-rock gapes at us and then starts laughing. I raise my eyebrow at him and tilt my head slightly.

"Is there something amusing you?" my voice is low and drips with venom and dread. No one in my whole existence ever dared to laugh at the name my maker gave me, and that asshole is even gripping his stomach from laughter!

"I suggest you stop, Stan, or Miss Starcrom and Miss Laurel here will gladly rip you apart." The calm voice that comes from the room makes all the gorillas and gothic bitches look back and then look at us. Without a word said two men grab our bags and go upstairs, one closes the door and the others go back in the room without even looking at us. Sable and I only stare at each other and follow them, embracing ourselves for the storm that's about to come.

The room we enter is huge and blindingly white. The furniture is scarce, consisting of two leather couches, one glass coffee table with a vase on it and a whole wall covered in books. Somehow with no more than twelve vampires, it still looks worryingly and claustrophobically full. All the eyes are on us, observing and judging our clothes, looks, movements…. I can feel Sable twitching nervously next to me as we stop in the middle of the room. The silence drags on for too long and after a few more pregnant seconds Sable scoffs:

"I don't want to be rude or anything, but we are wet and tired. I hope you don't mind if we take a seat?"

To my amusement despite the unhidden irritation in her voice she sounds polite and decent. 'Well that's a new! Since when can Miss Drama Queen be so… well' I'm left quite speechless as her usual cockiness and rudeness are nowhere to be seen now.

I follow her gaze to the personas sitting on the couches. At first I stop my gaze at the taller figure of a man in his twenties and almost at once I sense that he is actually nowhere near twenty… maybe one thousand suits him better… His dirty blondish hair is cut short and gives him some kind of aristocracy. His jaw is square and tightly clenched thanks to my friend's request. His eyes are the most intense blue I have ever seen and surely the coldest ones. In the position he is now I can't tell how tall he is, but my guess is at least two meters. And with all those muscles he is surely not the Sheriff here. Don't get me wrong – he is a Sheriff for sure, but the man I'm looking for was described to me as… well less a Playgirl magazine model.

Then I move my eyes to the other male sitting on the couch, a lot more normal in his physical structure. His hair is short as well but its colour reminds me of a chestnut. His pale face looks emotionless but not in that I-don't-give-a-fuck way. Before I have any chance to look at him any better Sable puffs and elbows me. I take a peek at her and then look back at the one who is called Stan. He is smirking at us like that bitch ones the whole world!

"Of course! Would'cha like a drink? " he mocks us.

I take a deep breath and then exhale. My nerves are so tightly stretched that if that bull of a man gives me another dirty look I'll definitely throw him in the fire and watch him burn like a freaking torch!

"I really suggest you stop that immediately Stan. After all Miss Starcrom is our new nest mate. "

And then there is that major taking of unnecessary breath like he had said I was God and I have come to punish them. I mean what? Did nobody tell them I was coming?

"Well isn't it quite rude to forget your newest addition on the airport, sir?" Sable adds innocently in that sugary –coated voice she uses when she feels the victory in an argument is hers but still wants to make you feel like you have any chance.

The brunette male raises his eyebrow at us them looks at that Stan dude. Busted!

"I hope that you have a pretty good explanation why you left my gest at the airport Stan?" the calmness in his voice scares the shit out of everybody more than if he had yelled the question in that cowboy's face.

Stan is left quite speechless and looks away in shame. Serves him right! Nobody dares to make a move or stand up for him in front of the Sheriff and that gives me quite an impression. 'So he keeps the strap firmly fastened? Not bad…' I chuckle. There still is at least one Sheriff that keeps his weaklings in check! How ironic actually. After all if it wasn't for that little stunt we pulled in San Diego, showing lack of discipline and self-control, I wouldn't be here in the first place!

"The sun is about to rise, so we shall leave this matter for more appropriate time. Until then I expect all of you to be nice towards our nest mate and her guest. No fooling around is permitted." It looks like that asshole will slip for now but that does not concern me as there are more important things in my mind like the fact that I am supposed to give my vow of obedience to my new master. And that thought itself sends cold shivers down my spine.