My Dad's A Vampire And The Boy Who Hates Me Is My Prince!

Chapter 1: New Term  

"NO!"  

I thrashed around under the bed covers. Something warm and rough licked the end of my nose. My eyes flew open.  

"Aargh!" I hit the floor with a thud. "Ow,"  

My one-year-old St. Bernard, Buddy, jumped off the bed, bounded over to me, and gave me a wet kiss on the end of  

my nose. It was his little way of asking if I was okay.  

"Sorry, boy," I breathed heavily. "It was just a bad dream,"  

I snuggled my face into his warm neck. His tail wagged at the sound of my voice.  

Buddy and I had a strong bond. I got him last year for my sixteenth birthday. I kissed his forehead and quickly picked myself up off the floor. My left hand rubbed the lower of my back. I put my hand shakily over my throbbing heart; it felt like it was going to explode from my chest. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, I was fine, and I was in my room, safe. I tried to calm myself.  

I had the strangest of dreams last night. I had dreamt that I was running in the forest. I stumbled over the roots of a dead tree sticking out of the ground. I frantically picked myself up again, raising my arms over my face, protecting it from the branches whipping in my face. Suddenly something lunged for me, taking us both to the floor. That's when I woke up covered in sweat and breathing hard.  

I looked at Buddy. He was mostly chocolate brown, a darker brown face, white legs, white tail tip, a white snout and a white diamond shape on his forehead. He wore a silver collar. I remembered giving him it a few days after my birthday. Buddy playfully nudged my leg and climbed back up on the bed. He curled into a ball, his nose touching his tail and closed his eyes. I smiled and went to open my purple curtains, wincing as the light blinded my eyes momentarily. I stretched looking out of the window after I gained my sight back. Millions of little white specks were flowing widely around in the wind. I squinted though the thick, flaky snowflakes that were almost the size of cotton balls. A white blanket of the cold slush covered every inch of the street. My eyes wandered to the house across the street with a "For Sale" sign on the front lawn and started wondering who my new neighbours would be. Gossip on the street said they would be moving in sometime next week.  

My thoughts turned back to the snow. I looked down at the undisturbed cotton covering the garden. I looked over all the houses and saw the beach; it looked slushy because the tide was coming in and I saw a boat floating over the horizon (My house was just a two-minute walk from the  

city centre and the beach). "Snowing in early September?" I wondered out loud. I wasn't surprised. "How strange," I said, sarcastically.  

I lived in Four Seasons. The weather there was unpredictable. One minute it was raining, the next it was blistering hot. I lived in a four-bedroom house with my parents Mark and Kathy. I had a five year old little sister named Caitlin and my six-month-old baby brother named Sean. I was going into my last year of school; I also worked at Four Seasons local dance studio every Saturday, teaching the local kids to dance. I also taught adults to dance - especially couples who were getting married and their partners had two left feet. I turned and looked around my room. It was one of the biggest bedrooms in the house. My walls were painted purple, and I had light brown laminate flooring. My black four-poster, double bed with lilac curtains that wrapped around the black poles, my lilac covers rumpled on the floor, my lilac wardrobe in the far corner of the room. My computer with my bookshelf stacked on the wall behind it. My TV hung on the wall facing my bed and my stereo was directly down on top of my dark wardrobe. I had a lilac fluffy chair that sat in the corner next to the door. My favourite colour was purple. The silver clock on the wall told me it was seven-thirty in the morning. My favourite feature of my room was that I had (it seemed like) a million pictures, posters, clippings, and drawings of white tigers, pinned up on it (I have adored white tigers ever since I was little. Somehow, I felt I had a connection to them. I often dreamed of me being a white tiger, hunting majestically as my claws latched onto my prey). My room was my only closure of the outside world. It was somewhere where I didn't have to pretend to be someone I wasn't. I could sing if I felt like singing. I could dance if I wanted to dance and I could cry if I wanted to cry.