Death Wish: Book I (The Vamp Saga)

No one could understand how they accomplished it, but they did. There they were, the twenty dead motherfuckers who make up The International Vampire Council, smiling with the President of the United States of America (this was before we joined the Anglophone Union due to trade issues, a crippled U.S. economy and immigration from “less desirable nations”) as he signed the bill into law. They looked so odd, with their waxy skin and slightly elongated canines. You could almost imagine their fangs unsheathed, almost see all of the blood they must have shed over the centuries. Oh, it was disgusting, but like a car crash, or an old episode of The X-Factor, you were transfixed, or at least I was.

So, what is my beef with vamps, you ask?

They are sexy, aren’t they? They’ve been airing the same tired propaganda about themselves since Anne Rice, Stephenie Meyer, Charlaine Harris and Amanda Hocking, among others, have been writing books. We’ve seen the movies and the television shows, we know what they are and all about their plight. We understand their issues with us and we know their legends, and how grotesquely old they can become. We know they aren’t all killers; that they can decide to feed on us and allow us to live. We know all about their skills of persuasion, how they can hypnotize us to make us do what they want, or make us forget we have been bitten at all. We know vampire concubines take Vitamin B-12 and hope and pray their blood isn’t so sweet or alluring that a vamp accidentally kills them one night in the middle of a sex act.

I admit it: I am a live-and-let-live type. I wouldn’t have shit against the bloodsucking undead if they hadn’t killed my father and kidnapped my mother. Yeah, she is now one of the undead, too. She was very valuable. Besides being a witch, she knew a lot of shit about vampires. She was also a cold-hearted bitch who was fucking a vampire on the side while still with our father. We weren’t sure exactly what happened to our father. Her lover was sent to ground for murdering a very “valuable” human and my mom was made into a vampire for her troubles. Unfortunately, she couldn’t take us with her, so my brother and I became orphans at the age of ten.

A nice set up, eh?

Nico and I kept in contact, despite what happened to us once we were taken in by the system, also known as the Children’s Protection Agency. My brother was good-looking, innocuous and charismatic—he was adopted immediately. Me? I was mouthy with an attitude, plus I looked too “ethnic.” I stayed in the system. Nicolas was a child prodigy with a photographic memory and an IQ of nearly 200, and thus provided a very good education and graduated from Stanford Business School. I wasn’t so lucky; for True Blood fans, I’m the Jason Stackhouse to my brother’s Sookie.

Don’t get me wrong, I am considered good-looking, sexy, and get my fair share of complimentary looks from both sides of the sexual aisle. I might have looked too ethnic growing up, but as an adult it turns out I am pretty desirable after all. I have skin the color of caramel, a perpetual tan that never fades and only darkens if I am in the sun. My eyes are dark and my sable-brown, cherry highlighted hair is curly—a flat iron is my best friend. It is probably one of my most arresting traits; I like my hair because I can change it to look like a white girl with a deep tan, or I can keep it curly and instantly look like the mulatto I am. I inherited my father’s French nose and fine bone structure, along with my mother’s blend of African, Native American and Irish features, blessing me with high cheekbones and bee-stung lips.

My brother could be a dead ringer for a young Vin Diesel. He has a full head of beautiful dark brown hair that he chooses to shave off. He looks yummy as a baldy, but I would prefer him with hair. His eyes are his most alluring trait—gray-green, they complement his masculine nose, etched facial structure, and generous mouth. He is tall, almost 6’2, and slim yet athletic at one hundred and eighty-five pounds.