It is a bit like I'd imagined the zombie apocalypse—locked in a dark bedroom with fists beating down the door—but more accurately like I am the last attractive person on Earth and they are all extremely horny. Fists pound against the thick, finished hardwood door until—bang! Crack! There's only a pile of splinters in its wake. All eyes feast on me for a moment before some of the jealous-types lunge for the others. If one good thing is going to come out of this, it is: At least I'd have one more thing to check off my bucket list—starting a riot. Because this is obviously going to end in bloodshed, which isn't a particularly good thing for me, because all the people around me are vampires who are bloodlusting like my mom goes through shoes. Yells and curses hurtles through the air.

"Mine!"

"Don't gaze upon the fair lady so, bastard!"

"ZOMG, fuck you! She is, like, all mine!"

Obviously, all of the vampires were turned in different eras and various time periods—stretching from cavemen times to the Shakespearean era to the Victorian era to early 2014. Some even have a futuristic edge to them. Never has the future been less inviting than a rioting crowd of cold, dead, infatuated bloodsuckers.

Frosty arms hitch against my smooth legs, winching me up bridal-style. I almost let loose a high-pitched mouse-like squeak, but abstain in fright. I take a gander at the face of Damien as he spirits me away from the riot. We narrowly dodge a pair of airborne Prada shoes and someone's pendant nails Damien on the temple. All of them have the hots for me, idolize me, think the world of me, fancy me, carry a torch for me, yet only one cares about my safety?

Note to Self: Subject: Re: Stop looking up synonyms for love in the dictionary

I am kind of pathetic in that regard. My vision shakes as Damien goes like lightning through the shadowy halls of the amazing Volterran castle. I realize I have been wearing the same pair of pink pajamas for three days, consecutively, with an exclamation point burning on the inside of my eyelids! This is torture for a daughter of Aphrodite.

"Uh, Damien," I suggest, sputtering, "Can I get something else to wear?" My request is not timed wisely, however, since at the sound of my voice, all the vampires behind us cease fighting, and hurtle after us, screaming curses at Damien, and recommending styles. Some even go as far, to begin stripping to offer up their own clothes. I decline.

The twelve-year-old, Jane or some shit, uses her power to make Damien drop me into someone else's chalky cold-blooded arms. Damn—I forgot they don't have blood running through their veins but—what? Venom? I make another mental note to self to ask a vampire later. Do they not have veins?

All hiss at the person, and everyone stops in the hall. There's about twenty of them—but how could I be sure? I'm mediocre at best at Math, my best subject. Next to Monster Fighting, of course. Although currently I'm much better at Making Vampires Love While Strategizing or M.V.L.W.S. I'm getting quite a bit of extra credit on that subject at the moment, in fact. Looks like I won't need a tutor this year! What a blessing.

All eyes glower at the other glaring eyes. Hmm... Their eyebrows actually do slant like they do in cartoons when they're angry.

I decide to intervene before another fight breaks out. "So how about those clothes?" I interject. "Because here I am in pink PJs while everyone else looks like they're wearing costumes from a few centuries ago."

Almost everyone smiles felicitously in my direction and many run off to fetch what their beloved desired. I fleetingly wonder if I could get used to this—a castle full of immortal vampire slaves/lovers? My first thought is: What about Paul? And I realize I probably could, but I'd just be moderately content—and what of this cold pain in my chest and ache in my bones from being so far away from him? And as a daughter of Aphrodite it would be hell. Having nobody to set up and break up for all eternity because everyone only has eyes for you and nobody to get with because you know it's all fake—and even if it wasn't, why would anyone want to be with a vampire. Besides, some of these men are married, and all the women suddenly went all Lesbihonest for you!

I know, if I'd ever even kind of thought like a normal person, I'd be fighting them off, not seducing and accepting handfuls of expensive clothes from them. I have this technique of dealing with obstacles on the world's obstacle course: Ignore it, and maybe it will go away.

It usually doesn't so maybe I should see a therapist on that. NO! I can't see a shrink—it's all in the name: THE RAPIST. (Keep in mind this does come from a severely dyslexic and ADHD daughter of Aphrodite, so you should probably just be proud of me for reading it correctly!)

I crawl into the closest room, shut the door, and rifle through the piles of clothes. I frown at everyone's old-fashioned, and quite horny choices. The most conservative things are harlot corsets and short skirts. Weren't they all just defending my honor earlier? I mix and match good choices so I look stunning. I squeeze the knob of the older door, and twist it, pushing forward.

The door swings open, and I'm in the plain view of like twenty horny vamps. Their eyes superglue to my hourglass figure in awe. Well, no, my figure ain't exactly hourglass. I mean, I have a nice rack and my hips/butt's a nice size, so I'm curvy in all the right places, but I'm a bit slenderer, like a supermodel. Superwoman! Superglue! Supermodel! Anyway...

"You look..." starts Damien, and he shakes his head, looking for the right word. Hopefully not edible, appetizing...etc. I pray.

"Dazzling? Sultry? Captivating?" offers an unknown.

MIB adds, "Fetching? Charming?"

"Irresistible," moans Jane, who has just taken to rubbing herself through her robe down there, eyes lolled back. Her mouth is ajar in ecstasy. Has she even done that before? She's like twelve! Plus a few centuries. But her body is twelve. And she's masturbating in public? I try not to display my disgust, and if anyone notices it, they don't mention it. I've come across rotting bodies that are less offensive than her.

"Tempting," agrees Chalky-Faced-Vamp-Who-Looks-Like-Jane-The-Twelve-Year-Old, attempting to sound seductive. (And failing miserably). I presume they are twins, because I see come on his robe. (So they must be related!) My face turns a shade greener at the sight. And he didn't last very long.

A few catcalls and wolf whistles echo the halls, as well as smacks upside the head subsequent to the offending noises. Please somebody smack Jane!

"Enticing? You look positively alluring," says another unknown leech, huskily, "Absolutely ravishing, as well."

"Tantalizing," Damien continues.

What is this—a contest on who knew the best adjectives? Actually, it probably is. Of course, they'd be a little competitive. There's me as a prize! A light bulb flashes in my brain, and my eyes light up. Just as another vampire begins to offer up their -licious adjective (Foxy? Enchanting? Bewitching?), I once again interrupt their war on words. "Thank you," I credit graciously. All beam down on me more brightly than Apollo's sun chariot. Did I mention every single one of them is taller than me, too? Even the twelve-year-old twins!

Jane orgasms with a loud groan. *shudder*

I feign ignorance. Even some vampires exchange looks of disgust, but some have understanding expressions on their faces. I lean against the doorway to keep from fainting in disgust, and embark on preaching my epiphany. "So everyone here likes me, like, a whole lot." They exchange looks like 'Understatement of the Century' and I smirk snarkily, like 'You would know.'

I continue, "So, I've decided the best way for me to choose which one of you I like best, and to get to know you better, is a contest!" Cue exchanged glances of terror. "You get to prepare what ever you so desire that you think would get me to pick YOU as my mate, and you have a few hours to do that..." Terrorized looks, mix with smug expressions and even more petrified features. "How do you feel about that?"

I don't give them a chance to object, and say, "I am the judge, and the rules would be that you cannot use your powers on me or hurt any other contests or you are disqualified." A few hopeful faces fell. "I was also wondering if anyone had a phone... because I've been really really missing my mum and I don't know when I'd see her again and I wanted her to know I'm not dead yet because she really really really worries about me and I really really want to talk to her." I focus on pulling a downcast expression and my tone simply oozes with fake-hurt or whatever the Hades girls feel when they're yearning for their parents. I lace in sweetness to my tone, too, like Drew does when she's using her Charmspeaking. I don't know why I did—wishful thinking or something.

MIB nods. Good. This stupid plan might actually be working. Now if the contest ends before I actually have a chance to think up another plan, I'll just say I need more time, because I like all of them... or say that they can all take me on dates before I decide. Oh good. That'll be at least twenty more days. Hope the enchantment lasts that long.

On the promenade to the phone, the guard Demitri saunters ahead, chipperly chattering at vampire speed about how gorgeous I am and how he couldn't possibly ever exist without me, and he's... looking forward to wet dreams about this very walk for centuries to cum. (Get my pun?)

In other words, he's very happy, elated, even, I chose him to usher me to the front desk, where the human secretary/receptionist is working on paperwork with a phone on her desk. He grins at me, and I pick up the phone and carefully dial Emily's number, punching the digits into the phone carefully the moment I heard the dial tone. (***)***—***

What? You thought I would actually call my parents? Ha! My mommy's playing hide and seek from the demigods on the six hundredth floor of the Empire State Building all the way across the pond in Manhattan, New York, and my Pop's playing tonsil hockey with the stepwitch while her son watches with his pathetic spider. Guess they're both children at heart, playing games like that.

The phone is picked up and Emily's voice answers hollowly, "Uley Residence, Emily speaking."

I force a smile on my face still. "Hi, Emily. It's Alex. Do you know if my mom's there? Or can you take a message?"

An audible gasp hitches in her throat through the line. "Alex? Where the hell are you? And your mom? You mean-"

I cut off her familiar, sweet voice. "Well, if she isn't there, can you give her a message? I'm somewhere in Europe—Italy or France."

"When can you come back?" she inquired, throaty. I wonder if she understands what I'm doing. My legs ache from standing. I look up at the receptionist, motioning as if to ask her if I could sit on her spinny chair. She politely stands, and allows me to collapse on it. I twirl around as I ponder whether even I understand what I'm trying to do.

Because I usually don't. "I don't know," I answer with candor, "I honestly don't know. I hope it'll be soon, because I already miss everyone. Tell-"my voice broke, mewling. Hot tears well up in my twin pools. My eyelashes flutter at their own will. "-tell Pau-I mean, tell everyone... that I love them. 'Kay, Emily?"

"They already know," she replies, with a tremor in her tone. "We love you, too." I know what she's trying to say- that Paul loves me, even if it's been such a short amount of time. Two weeks, I realize, is a decent amount of time to fall in love. At least, considering how many vampires in Volterra fell head over heels for me before they even saw me—and just because of a tsunami wave of love I shot out as a last ditch effort not to touch that extremely wrinkly white worm hand.

At least the imprint was natural. And besides—who else is in love with Paul LaHote that I could hurt? I should probably stop fighting before I end up like Emily was- with scars running down the length of my body. I could actually heal those the second I stopped freaking out about the pain, as well. Everything would turn out okay. If I got out of here, a daughter of the love goddess might have a happy ending for once.

For once.

Once upon a time.

"Bye, Em. Maybe you could come visit."

A pause. "Bye, Alexandra."

Demitri grins at me.

Only later, do I realize how incredibly dense I am.

I could have called camp but they would have been overrun—oh (insert colorful swear word of preference) Hades!

Yeah.

I hereby declare Alexandra Nicolau, daughter of Aphrodite, lady of doves, blah blah blah, the most half-witted, vapid, simple minded, doltish demigod to make it to high school. How she did it is a mystery to all, even the all-knowing Fates n' shit.

Demigods aren't supposed to use phones. I must have given the speech half a dozen times to new campers and I, being the ever-lovable moron I am, totally forgot. It just slipped my mind that using a half-blood wielding a cellphone is SUICIDE.

'Hello, this is the Suicide Hotline. Is there anything we can do to help?' Uh, yeah, could you tell all the other demigods to get therapists instead of calling here, because if they're on the phone, it's like they're sending a flare that tells everyone who wants to eat them where they are. 'I'm sorry, I'll have to redirect you to 1800-PARANOIA' Oh. Okay. Gah! Monsters!

Just another field trip into my mind.

The first act is an hour monologue by MIB—or Aro, as his name apparently is. Something about a Romanian coven? Involuntarily, I open my mouth widely and inhale deeply. What time is it? Morning still? It's impossible to tell here, since I haven't counted a single window yet. And I'm like their queen right now, perching on the middle stone throne, with all my subjects sitting criss cross applesauce in the rear of the chamber, leaving a stage area for contestants to entertain me.

I. AM. NOT. ENTERTAINED.

The pale, almost translucent, 5'10 leech pauses and gazes upon me with milky red eyes. "Are you weary, darling?" I don't mind you talking so much as long as you don't mind me not listening.

I wave my hand, "No, no. Keep talking," I force myself to say. My mouth opens with a mind of its own and blurts out, "I always yawn when I'm interested."

All fail to detect sarcasm in that statement. "Of course, dear." Aro continues for ten more agonizing minutes, and as soon as he bows, I go crazy clapping. Everyone looks green with envy at my elated look. They have next to no idea what it's really for. He's done! YES! Fist pump! What's next? Poetry?

This is a stupid idea.

"Love is the greatest feeling," Jane pronounces. "Love is like a play, Love is what I feel for you, Each and every day." She pauses to grin maniacally. "Love is like a smile, Love is like a song, Love is a great emotion, That keeps us going strong." I try to smile at the twelve-year-old. "I love you with my heart," What else would you love me with? Your vagina? Oh yeah, you cleared out the cobwebs from there, earlier today. "My body and my soul, I love the way I keep loving, Like a love I can't control, So remember when your eyes meet mine, I love you with all my heart, And I have poured my entire soul into you, Right from the very start."

I begin to applaud, but she puts her hand up. "I'm not done yet, my dear." Oh Hades. Couldn't I have told them to go jump off a cliff to prove their love to me?She continues to recite "Love Defined" and every other poem on lovepoemsandquotes . com.

I try not to say: 'Anyone who told you to be yourself couldn't have given you any worse advice.' I manage to suppress it by the time Aro's wife Sulpicia is up. I foresee them getting a divorce pretty quickly.

"What are you going to be doing?" I ask, cordially and tactfully. This is getting boring, but I mask my boredom well.

"I'll be singing "A Thousand Years" my enticing goddess," she sings in a sing-song voice. Okay...? But you have no idea how close you are. Or nah... I give the go ahead gesture.

"Heart beats fast, Colors and promises, How to be brave? How can I love when I'm afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone, All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer..." she warbles like a dying bird.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"I have died every day waiting for you, Darling, don't be afraid I have loved you, For a thousand years, I'll love you for a thousand more," she bleats like an angry satyr that just got dubbed a donkey. "Time stands still, Beauty in all she is," her blood-red eyes meet mine passionately. I almost flinch. "I will be brave, I will not let anything take away, What's standing in front of me, Every breath, Every hour has come to this, One step closer..."

At least her voice is neutral. Ish. So far it's the best! I clap graciously. "I like you. People say I have no taste, but I like you." She beams like the sun chariot's UV rays, and if she could blush, she'd be a human version of Apollo's cattle: Slow, dumb, and bright red. The majority of the room glowers viciously at her.

Next comes Heidi who plays piano and Rosaline who does some weird dance routine. Ten more stupid acts, and it's Damien's turn. I do not have high hopes whatsoever. Damien surpasses my expectations—by effecting the average score negatively.

"But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." Damien preaches, "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear." I sigh. "How fares my Juliet? that I ask again; For nothing can be ill, if she be well." That's great. Hasn't anyone ever told you I think Romeo should have just dumped her—she was, like, thirteen, and he was seventeen, and everyone hated them together... and then they died, which is the ending for practically every famous love story. I only like the ones with happy endings!

I tune him out... until: "Thus with a kiss I die." Thank Hades! Er, Thanatos.

I applaud gently. I force my lips closed so I don't comment that: 'He grows on people. Like cancer.'

"Good job, everyone!" I chirp, a fake smile plastered on my face. "Part one of the contest is done. I have eliminated several people." Everyone. "But they still have a chance to do the rest, to chance my mind. I'll say what the second part is tomorrow."

I have not accomplished anything yet.

They bring me dinner. Next up: SLEEEEEEEEP.

I dream of Paul.

Paul's eyes harden at the compromising position my body's sprawled in- old fashioned frisky femme black and red corset with an underbra adorning my fit torso and silken ebony and red lingerie hanging delicately on my core, ankles fastened harshly to the bed posts, arms wrapped unyeildingly around a cold body, and mouth overflowing with a surplus of delectable white substance dribbling down my chin. I realize the body is dead all too late- because I am focused on the sweet marshmallow fluff- and Paul's eyes are burning the vampire with enough fury to make the Queen Fury, Alecto, flinch, emitting Superman-esque laser beam vision just oozing with hatred. The moment the dead man under me speaks, Paul's form blurs into a giant, vicious, silver puppy. Paul's fur glitters in the daybreak indigo light and mist sweeps the ground around his silver paws.

"Mutt," the leech mutters, condescending turned possessive, "She's MINE!"

This is the second time I've ever hated being a daughter of Aphrodite (and twice in one month). Uh, Mommy, a little help here? Aphrodite isn't the most helpful of of the gods to her children. She loves them, as she ought to, and makes it her life goal to see them starry-eyed at least once, but does nothing when it turns star-crossed. She simply sits back and enjoys the show.

The silver wolf bears it's razor blade teeth menacingly, whether focused on moi or the bloodsucker, I am unsure. Both of us get the message, however. I squeeze my eyelids shut, blocking the easy flow of streaming tears and ignoring the facts swimming to the forefront of my mind's tropical beach, about how to avoid wrinkles. Lightning crackles overhead and I think, Figures the oh so dramatic lord of theatre is having a field day over this! Storm clouds pelt my uncovered skin with freezing raindrops.

The leech keeps me in an even tighter wrist lock. Damien grins at me eerily. I shiver. And how exactly am I on first name basis with a vampire? That's part of the reason Paul may or may not be growling at me. Probably not, since I'm his soul mate. Or some shit.

Paul snarls. And all Hades breaks loose.

Hello all. Four chapters-I haven't gotten any reviews. I (obviously) continue writing even without 'em, but it's discouraging when it's been forty two reviews since chapter 11.

Two of them were mine, so only forty.

Why? Is this not good enough for you? What would you like me to fix?

I always spellcheck and revise, except chapter 12, because I don't want to change word count. I may have an obsession with that. I need five hundred more words right now.

"Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go

So make the best of this test, and don't ask why

it's not a question, but a lesson learned in time"