My body knows no bounds, no limits. I no longer feel exhaustion or fatigue; I sprint relentlessly through the tresses of trees.

Each crunch of my steps is now a drum in my ears.

I twist and turn as my legs carry me rapidly throughout the forest. They must know where I am. They are everywhere. Watching. Waiting.

I haven't just crossed a line tonight.

I have devoured it.

That poor girl. How could I take an innocent life? My greed has consumed me.

I never thought I could want something so carnally, for my veins to throb for it.

I tried to stay home, I truly did.

When I reach my door I quickly slam it behind me, causing it to groan under the force of my hand. I fall against it, as guilt circulates me. My memories were so vivid now, each event playing like a motion picture in my mind.

However much I tried to erase them from my head, they persisted.

I was always quite a sheltered person. On no particular Friday night, I decided to change that and accept my best friend’s invitation to a party. Jazz. She was everything to me, especially after my parents passed.

I left that night tipsy, assuring Jazz I was fine to walk home as it was only ten minutes.

Elmsreach village was a quaint place, crime was second to none. And so when I stumbled home that night, I’d never anticipated what would happen next.

It was the pain I felt first, the searing sharpness of teeth in my neck.

And then followed, what I now know to be venom. It was an unforgettable sensation. One I don’t ever wish to feel again.

My attacker drained me of my life source, and my body swiftly met the cold damp leaves of the woods.

At first, I felt nothing but confusion and fear for what had happened.

That was until I attempted to open my blinds.

It was not long after that he arrived, Roman Vantouri, how he found me I can’t be sure.

He told me there were few of us, and told me he would guide me through the process.

Help me hunt.

Of course, I laughed in his face, furious he had barged into my house.

He then proceeded to show me his true face, and his _abilities._

It was then that I realised the severity of my situation. Today was my seventh day, with the ‘dark gift’.

I still wake up each day, forgetting I don’t need oxygen anymore.

I pick myself up from my hardwood floors and light a few dozen candles. I love the warm glow as opposed to the clinical white light of a bulb. I inherited this place two years ago when my parents passed.

Twenty didn’t feel old enough to have my own place, despite what I was told. My uncle still checks in, thankfully infrequently.

My hands still shake as I begin to process what I’ve done. My blood warms with hers, I didn’t want my first kill to be a woman, but she smelt so **good**. Molten honey and fudge. I didn't leave a drop.

Roman warned me this would happen if I didn’t hunt frequently, that the hunger would become unbearable.

_You should always leave them warm_, he told me.

Bite and erase.

But the hunger surpassed the guilt tonight. The cravings are becoming too strong. Deer can only satiate you for so long.

I decide I need a distraction from my unrelenting mind. I stumble to the kitchen browsing my mother's wine rack. She had the house passed down from her mother, as far I knew it went back about six generations, I adored the place. Victorian gothic is how I would describe it, though as a girl I hated the place.

They say when you’re young you’re more susceptible to spirits. I wasn’t the exception, headless apirations would stand at the end of my bed, or peek behind my shower curtain. As I got older I came to like them, they seemed to respect you if you didn’t fear them, and some even spoke to me.

I knock back my second glass, allowing the smooth liquid to coat my tongue. I almost choke when the staircase thuds.

I had a feeling this wasn’t my transparent companions.

Is it them? Will I meet my end tonight?

The absence of noise worsens my panic, my breathing turns shallow. I force my feet forward, one foot in front of the other. My steps are light as I inch toward my front door. I survey the area. Nothing. No fallen candle. No pitchforks ablaze.

I wait a few moments longer before deciding to retire to my bedroom, sick of the constant state of terror.

When I turn toward my bedroom, a knock sounds throughout the house. The sound settles uncomfortably on my chest, rendering me frozen. I would be a fool to answer. Every cell in my body commands me not to.

The knock repeats itself, more insistent this time, angrier.

I can’t sleep like this. I need to just face it.

With hesitant steps, I walk toward my front door. It’s then when I reach my door that I realise who my caller is.

The steady thrum of his breathing greets me. Calm and assured.

My blood vibrates to be within his presence.

I eventually slide my deadbolt across, meeting a sight that chills me. It takes effort to steady my breathing.

His appearance was nothing to be taken lightly.

He couldn’t be described as handsome.

The word wouldn’t serve up to him. He was deadly, chilling. Both of our encounters were brief. Both times he had shown up, unannounced, appearing in my hallway.

For him to knock somehow seemed far stranger to me. He never spoke much, which made his already domineering presence, far more intense.

“You ran rather fast.” He stated, not moving from his spot on my porch.

I leaned onto my door frame with every pound I weighed. His gaze burned me.

“I panicked,” I responded. I struggled to find words in his presence. He radiated authority.

“That seems to be habitual for you, Selene.” He commented, taking a step toward me.

God no. He’ll surely smell her on me.

I don’t voice my reluctance and allow him to walk into my house.

His fawn eyes were menacing under the dim lighting of my hallway. Unforgiving.

“Will they come for me?” I ask, unable to hide the quiver the sheer mention of them causes.

‘They’, were the hunters, they knew of our existence and would stop at nothing to put an end to us.

He studies my house, taking in every patterned swirl that sits on my walls. His penetrating gaze returns to me.

”Does that scare you?” He turns to me, taking a step closer. The sound of his polished shoes is the only evidence that he moved.

I don’t understand him. Is he mocking me? Testing me?

“No, I’d just like to know, a heads up would be nice,” I say, my shallow breathing betraying me.

His gaze intensifies. I wish I could hear his thoughts, and understand his motivations.

That gift came with seniority.

He responds after a few moments pass, forcing me to sit in the uncomfortable energy of his presence. “They are searching for you. They know another human has been turned by the increase in animal deaths. If they find you, you act accordingly.”

I am a fledging, how can he expect me to simply, ’act accordingly’

It’s been a week. I can hardly fight a rabbit off.

Let alone grown men, with weapons.

“How? I can’t fight. I can’t defend myself. I can hardly walk into church without wanting to sink my teeth into the priest. This is not good for me. I do not do well with stress. You promised you would help me.” I say, my voice croaking, trembling with a mix of frustration and anxiety.

His lips twitch, out of anger or amusement, I couldn’t be certain.

”Patience. And I keep my promises, Selene. I intend to see it through. How did you manage stress when you were human?” He inquires, his words confuse me.

Out of our two interactions he never once took an interest in me, his questions were always distanced and generalised.

“I didn’t, I was a very anxious person. So this heightened emotions thing, really isn’t working for me,” I cross my arms, my muscles tighten.

His withdraws his lips, his fangs biting at them, ”How you didn’t die earlier I don’t know. I need you to do as I say, Selene, that’s all I ask.” He says, his voice taking on a more severe tone.

I contemplate his words. I don’t have a choice but to trust him. I had no one else to turn to, not a single other soul knew me, truly. How incredibly lonely.

“Have you been drinking?” He asks, his tone unaccusing, but unimpressed.

I roll my lips, contemplating whether to tell him or not. Oh. Of course. He can smell it.

“Yes,” I reply, feeling slightly like a scolded child.

“Wine?” he asks, his gaze drawing to my lips.

“Yes.” where is he going with this?

He moves a step closer to my position against the door, his arms hanging loosely. His shirt, constricts him, curving to the muscles of his arms and abdomen. I swallow. I’d never seen his jacket unbuttoned until tonight.

“One will help with the stress, any more will have the opposite effect.” He says.

“I think I can handle myself, thanks,” I respond, uncomfortable with his closeness.

Why does he smell like that?

The scent is woody, heady. Him.

And with the way his eyes darkened, had me questioning whether maybe I did need oxygen.

He continues to stare, unashamed as he does so. “you’re aware I can hear your thoughts, aren’t you?”

I’m once again reminded he can do such and internally kick myself for every single thought I’ve had of him since he knocked on my door.

“Yes,” my voice is breathy. My nerves ramp up when he doesn't respond, paired with the nearness of his face to mine.

He doesn’t address my confession, instead, he responds with, “1952, Merlot”

My mouth parts in surprise at his accuracy.

“You guessed that from simply smelling it?” I ask.

His eyes darken, and for the first time, he appears amused. “That, and the fact it has stained your lips, only Merlot settles like that. I’m surprised, I thought you’d go for something sweeter.” He muses to himself.

What does he mean by that?

“Oh? Is it there still?” I lick my lips thoroughly, biting and sucking until the wine is gone.

His eyes lock onto the movement, he becomes incredibly still. “Don’t remove it, leave it like that.” His tone is rough and severe.

Oh.