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1I walk the dark and dangerous streets of L.A. gangland. Aseemingly helpless young woman with silky blond hair andmagnetic blue eyes. Moving down filth-strewn alleys and streetswhere power is measured in drops of blood spilled by bulletssprayed from adolescent males who haven't learned to drive yet.I am near the housing projects, those archaic hotels of hostilitywhere the checkout fee is always higher than the price of admission. Because of my supernormal senses, I know I amsurrounded by people who would slit my throat as soon as ask the time of day or night. But I am not helpless or afraid,especially in the dark at night, for I am not human. I, Alisa Perneof the twentieth century, Sita of the ancient past. I am fivethousand years old, one of the last of two vampires.But are there only two of us left? I ask myself.Something is terribly wrong in gangland L.A., and it makesme wonder. In the last month the
 Los Angeles Times
has reporteda string of brutal murders that leads me to believe Ray and I arenot the only ones with the special blood that makes usimpervious to aging and most other human ailments. The victimsof these murders have been ripped open, decapitated, and, insome cases, the articles say, drained of blood. It is this last factthat has brought me to Los Angeles. I myself like blood, but I amnot eager to find more vampires. I know what our kind can do,and I know how fast we can multiply once the secret of procrea-tion is known. Any vampire I may find this evening will not liveto see the light of dawn, or perhaps I should say the setting of themoon. I am not crazy about the sun, although I can bear it if Imust.A full moon rides high above me as I step onto ExpositionAvenue and head north, not far from where the last murder 
 
occurred-a sixteen-year-old girl found yesterday in the busheswith both her arms torn off. It is late, after midnight, and eventhough it is mid-December, the temperature is in the midsixties.Winter in Los Angeles is like a moon made of green cheese, a joke. I wear black leather pants, a short-sleeved black top thatshows my sleek midsection. My black boots barely sound as I prowl the uneven sidewalks. I wear my hair pinned up beneath a black cap. I love the color black as much as the color red. I knowI look gorgeous. Cool stainless steel touches my right calf whereI have hidden a six-inch blade, but otherwise I am unarmed.There are many police cars out this fine winter night. One passesme on the left as I lower my head and try to look like I belong.Because I fear being stopped and searched, I do not carry a gun.But it is only for the lives of the police that I fear, and not for myown. A whole S.W.A.T. team couldn't stop me. Certainly, Idecide, a young vampire will be no match for me. And he or shemust be young to be killing so recklessly.But who is this youngster? And who made him or her?Disturbing questions.Three young males wait for me a hundred yards down thestreet. I cross to the other side, but they move to intercept me.One is tall and slim, the other squat as an old stump. The thirdhas the face of a dark angel brought up on the wrong side of the pearly gates. He is clearly the leader. He smiles as he sees metrying to get away from him and his buddies, flexing his powerful biceps as if they were laws unto themselves. I see hecarries a gun under his dirty green coat. The others are unarmed.The three jog toward me as I pause to consider what to do. Of course, I could turn and flee. Even if they were in training for theOlympics, they couldn't catch me. But I don't like to run from afight, and I am suddenly thirsty. The smile of the leader will
 
fade, I know, as he feels the blood drain from his body into mymouth. I decide to wait for them. I don't have long to wait."Hey, babe," the leader says as they surround me in afidgety semicircle. "What you doin' here by your lonesome?Lost?"I appear at ease. "No. I'm just out for a walk. What are youguys up to?"They exchange smirks. They are up to no good. "What'syour name?" the leader asks."Alisa. What's yours?"He grins like the young god he thinks he is. "Paul. Hey,you's one beautiful woman, Alisa, you know that? And Iappreciate beauty when I see it.""I bet you do, Paul. Do you appreciate danger when you seeit, too?"They cackle. I am funny, they think. Paul slaps his leg as helaughs. "Are you saying you're dangerous, Alisa?" he asks. "Youlook like a party babe to me. Me and my stooges, we're going toa party right now. You want to come? It's goin' to be hot."I consider. "Are you three the only ones going to this party?"Paul likes it that I'm sharp. "Maybe. But maybe that's allyou need." He takes a step closer. There is alcohol on his breath-a Coors beer-Marlboro cigarettes in his coat pocket close to hisgun. A brave boy, he puts his right hand on my left shoulder, andhis grin is now more of a leer. He adds, "Or maybe all you needis me, babe. What do you say? Want to party?"I look him in the eye. "No."He blinks suddenly. My gaze has been known to burnmortal pupils when I give it free rein. But I have held somethingin check for Paul, and so he is intrigued, not scared. He
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babipie

was luking 4 this ^^

reply12 / 02 / 2009
vampirechick

best books every i am curently reading the last one im very sad it is ending :(

03 / 28 / 2010
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