Shadow Land

Prologue

Hi Wattpaders, this is the author speaking!

Okay, thanks so much for reading. I'm currently editting this part and trying to dicide which prologue to use, so I've put in both! Let me know what you think, please. Pretty please!

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            Miranda woke up with a start, and then blinked hoping that she had just not yet opened her eyes. No such luck. Where ever she had been put while she slept, it was pitch black with no light anywhere.

                Panic rose in her chest, threatening to enclose her completely, but she forced it down. Panicking would not help. The kept her eyes open, even though there was not point, and took stock of her body. She was uninjured, luckily, but she did feel the familiar aching from the power she had stolen seeping away. What had she used her power for? What power had she stolen, or, more importantly, from who?

She had been lain on her back with her feet together and her hands lying on either side. What was this? Surrounding her completely was a waxy fabric with a zip at the top that was lying on her face. Carefully, she inched her hands to the sides, stretching the waxy fabric out, but they didn’t get far. She had been put in a metal box just a couple inches wider than she was. Further investigation with her hands showed that she was on a tray within the box that was also very thin, and the box was only a little taller than she was wide. She stretched her toes out but couldn’t reach the end.

            What kind of place was this? She could only think of one thing that matched this description; a draw in a morgue. But why would she be in one of them?

                Suddenly, all the memories hit her. They thought she was dead. Shad had died, but the power she had stolen was enough to save her. But why?

            Oh, yeah. That was why.

            And Alex! Damien’s words rang out in her head, He’s dead, Miranda. He tried to protect you and…he got violent. It took a dozen men to finally stop him and…well we couldn’t risk it. She had then seen a video of his last moments of consciousness, fighting all the men the government had sent after them to protect her unconscious body. He had been surrounded from all sides and while he was fighting most of them, a man from behind struck him on the head, knocking him over. That was it, they had done something to him to keep him unconscious, Stripped him, and then killed him without any further thought.

            Tears threatened to appear in Miranda’s eyes, but she forced them down. He was gone, he was really gone. And it was because of her.

            She had to escape, she had to live on for Alex, and avenge his death.

            There was a scream from somewhere above her head and then the sound of a body hitting the floor. That was followed by the sound of locks being undone just above her followed by the sensation of movement. Now light was trickling through the teeth of the zip over her face. What was happening?

            The zip was undone to reveal a blinding light compared to the darkness she had been in. Once her eyes adjusted, Miranda saw a pale face smiling at her with pointed teeth and completely black eyes. It was a face right out of nightmares, but right now it looked like the man did not want to kill her like everyone else did.

            “You look well for someone who’s dead,” The man observed.

            Miranda blinked, trying to focus, but the lethal injection they had given her was clouding up her head. “What?”

            The man’s smiled lessened in intensity, hiding his terrifying teeth, “Come on, we should be leaving,” He instructed, offering her a hand.

            She stared at the hand for the briefest of moment before taking it and falling off the shelf into the man’s arms. She looked back, she had been indeed been in one of the body draws in a morgue, there were three bodies lying in the drawers below her. She had dealt with death before, even caused quite a few, but the sheer clinical-ness of this just unnerved her.

            She glanced up at her savoir and said the first thing that came to mind, “You shouldn’t exist. I thought we killed your kind.”

            The Dark Vampire chuckled, “Not all of us. Come on, there is a lot you and I need to talk about.”

I know what I am, but most people don’t. I keep it hidden very well. Those who know of my kind say we are dead, but we are not. We are very much alive. Just because blood does not flow through our veins does not mean that we are dead, it simply means that we have a different kind of life.

This different kind of life has very few benefits. We do live indefinitely, which is both a blessing and a curse, for obvious reasons. Then there are the abilities, gifts that we are given upon turning. These are so variable they seem impossible to comprehend. We also have the ability to access the Connection, The psychic link that runs between all living beings, no matter what kind of life they have. Most of my kind can ‘Call’ others through the Connection, but some can do more, with training.

It comes with many disadvantages, however. One being caused by the vision, there a things that only we can see, like Shadows. Monsters from another realm that come out at night and cause mayhem. We are the thin line that stops them from crossing into the day-lit world and winning, we are the ones that stop them when they must be stopped, which seems to be all the time. That is why people think we cannot go out in the day since we are always out at night and often too tired or wounded to see the day-lit world that we protect. Then there is the isolation, there are always those of my kind that say we should band together, but they ultimately fail. I have seen this played out many times over. The tension seems to build up over the centuries, however, particularly with the Dark Kind rising in secret and building strength, but that is a discussion for later.

The last, and more drastic is the desire. The burning desire for a life of our own, and the liquid that gives life. Yes, every time there is a quiet in my life, my throat burns and my eyes water with thirst, but it is a thirst that can never be quenched. For to quench that thirst would be to pull someone into my world of darkness, and to pull myself out. I would be trapped in a slowly decaying body after that, and forever would change to a matter of years. I hate the idea of putting someone else, some poor, innocent human into my evil world.

That is a sentiment that is shared with me by another of my kind. A young, or at lease young in years compared to me, boy. His name is Alexander Vallier, and this is his story.