Amaliya gasped with delight as her body was finally sated. The hunger was gone and she felt

wonderful and strong. Arching her back, she knelt on the bed, running her hands over her bloodsoaked clothing, up over her breasts.

Strong, cold hands gripped her thighs. She gasped as a long tongue trailed up her stomach

before biting one nipple through her top. Those same hands gripped her hair and dragged her

against a strong chest.

Mesmerized, she gazed into the dark blue eyes of the man holding her. His white-blond hair

fell over his brow as he peered down at her.

“I know you,” she whispered softly.

“Yes, you do,” he answered.

Falling back onto the bloody bed, she wrapped her arms around the one who made her. She

clung to him as he hastily undressed her. Her drunken mind struggled to understand, but she

could not fully comprehend this insane, wild dream.

He had made her; she was his.

He was so lovely, with short fair hair, pale skin, and beautiful eyes. He kissed her body, then

bit her neck. His body was so cold when he pushed deep into her, making her drink from him.

This isn't real, she thought.

Her voice was ragged with passion and need as he fucked her senseless. When he finally came

hard into her, she let out a desperate, terrified scream.

Then the darkness came.

* * *

“We are death,” a proper British voice said into her formless dream.

Wakefulness tugged at her eyes. Slowly, she opened them.

What am I doing here?

The room made no sense to her. Her last memory was of meeting Professor Sumner for

coffee. They had been walking back to his car and then-

“It is our instinct, you see. To feed. We need to feed. Especially when we are first reborn, ”

Professor Sumner's voice continued.

Slowly, she sat up. Her body felt oddly refreshed, yet crusty with some vile substance. The

room smelled odd, like copper.

“It is not uncommon for a newly-transformed vampire to be completely mad with the hunger.

Sometimes, they do not ever recover, even after feeding. So, how are you, dear? Are you mad?”

Amaliya looked toward the sound of his voice. He sat in a chair next to the bed. His suit was

completely black, as was the shirt beneath it. His blond hair was swept back from his high

forehead and his keen eyes were resting firmly on her face. For months, he had been her secret

obsession. His every class had been like worship to her. She adored him. When he had asked her

to coffee, all she had wanted to do was rip his clothes off and find out if everything she dreamed

about was true.

For twenty-four she was, at times, incredibly stupid.

“Where am I? What the hell are you talking about?” she said in a low voice.

“You are in a fraternity house on the edge of campus. What the hell I am talking about is

about what you are now. Three nights ago, correction, four nights ago, I killed you and buried

you in the woods.”

Like a slap, the memory of her date with him returned with brutal clarity. He had seduced her

behind the dorm. Shoved her up against the wall and had frenzied sex with her. She remembered

how cold he had been against her. At some point, she had become afraid and tried to push him

off of her. He had not relented and drove his teeth into her.

“You bit me,” she said softly.

“Yes, I did.” His voice, always so melodic and warm, was still mesmerizing, but now it

seemed cruel. “I drank from you as I had for two nights before our little date when you were

sleeping. But this time was much more interesting because you fought me. And this time, you

died.”

Blinking slowly, she remembered how her life drained away. The disbelief she had felt as his

sharp teeth had ravaged her and her blood spilled over her breasts. It had not felt real, yet her

world had grown dark. Her vision had narrowed as her heart became sluggish. Her life had

become a narrow little window of consciousness, a window that had been filled with the

handsome face of her killer.

“As your heart beat slower and slower, I gave you my blood. It doesn't always create the

change. I wasn't too sure if I had actually managed to feed you in time. You died faster than I

thought. Then I took you into the woods and I buried you. And I waited. Waited for you to rise.

And you did, last night.”

“You're my Psychology professor,” she protested.

None of this was making sense, yet it was. Memories of her fight out of her grave filled her

mind. The shower to remove the grime from her body, the strange flashing in and out of reality

her reflection had done in the mirror; she remembered it all.

“And now your Master.”

“I don't understand,” she whispered. Her full lips trembled. Tears hovered on the edges of her

lashes. She was lying. She did understand. She may not truly believe it, but she did understand.

“Now, this is the interesting part. What will you do next? You're in a room full of dead

people. There are exactly thirteen bodies strewn about you. You're naked, covered in dried gore,

full of fresh blood, and just awakening to this life.” He smiled, tilted his head, and settled back in

the chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

She stared at him aghast. His strong aristocratic features seemed so cruel and harsh now. His

beard made him look like a devil. Slowly, she looked around the room to see people lying around

her.

Tears quivered in her eyes. She swallowed hard.

Looking down, she saw that she was covered in dried blood. Flakes of the brown stuff came

off her skin as she drew back the covers.

Slowly, she understood. It all made sense. Her great need last night. Coming here where there

were plenty of people from which to feed. She had hunted last night without realizing it, and

now, they were all dead.

“Ah, I see you understand. You're awakening to the reality. Yes, last night you rose as I

watched you. I followed you to see what you would do. I have to say you have reacted better

than some of the others I have created. You went home, cleaned up, and then you hunted. Look

at the wonders you found yourself. A secret orgy. Perfection.”

She tilted her head to regard the professor with growing horror. “What did you do to me?”

“Why do you ask if you already know the answer?”

“What did you do to me?” Her voice was shrill.

He stood and brushed off his clothes. “Now to see what you will do. You know what you are.

You are fully transformed now that you have fed. You are just at the beginning of your new

existence. But, you have difficulties. Such as the room full of bodies and the inability to venture

out in the sunlight.”

“It's night time,” she said, her dull reply automatic. She wasn't sure how she knew this, but

she did.

He smiled slowly. “Yes, it is. Frankly, I am curious to see what you will do. Will you try to

hold onto your old life as so many of my former children have? Or will you strike out on your

own?”

Amaliya slid off the bed and looked around for her clothes. To her dismay, she saw they were

soaked in blood. “Give me your jacket.”

“What?”

“Your jacket. Now.”

With a little smile, he slid it off and handed it to her. “Just this one time of assistance. No

more.”

“Fuck you,” she answered. She pulled it on. Trying not to panic, she stepped over the bodies

until she found her shoes. They were black, so blood was not immediately noticeable on them.

“You're not like them, you know? It's not the tattoos, the piercing or your rocker girl persona;

it's your strength. How old were you when your mother died and your father married your

cousin? Ten, was it? Living in a house full of boys and knowing that your father was fucking

your cousin while your mother lay dying of cancer.”

“Shut up,” she growled. She had to escape this nightmare right now. Her thoughts were

jumbled. She needed to get away to think.

“You went to work at what age? Thirteen, wasn't it? Saving for college. But everyone made

fun of you. That wasn't what the daughter of Samuel Vezorak was supposed to do, was it? No,

no; you were supposed to get married and have babies. School grades were sufficient, but not

enough to get you a scholarship. Yet you managed to get one through your drumming. Off you

went to Austin, to the University of Texas, where you dyed your blond hair black, got a few nifty

tattoos, and learned how to rock with the best of them.”

Buttoning up the coat, she brushed past him. She ignored the ache between her thighs. It was

hard to forget how insanely good he had felt inside of her. Being around him made her feel weak

and wanting.

She had to get out of here. Away from him and this room of -

She stopped in her tracks.

“They're dead,” she whispered in shock. “I killed them.”

“It was when your younger sister—half-sister really—got the terrible cancer, just like your

poor mother, that you gave up your scholarship and went home. Now, years later, you are at a

second rate college in East Texas, hoping to God it isn't too late to claw your way out of your

bayou existence.”

Whirling around, Amaliya screamed, “Shut the fuck up!”

“You see, fate had other plans for you. I have never made a child with your background. I

honestly have no idea how you will fare, though I’m absolutely excited to see what you will do.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Oh, I intend to. And that is the reality of it now, you see. You are on your own.” His fiendish

smile made his attractive face much crueler.

How could bagging a hot professor end up this badly?

“I don't need you,” Amaliya snapped, pushing past him.

“We'll see,” he said in a mocking tone.

Not looking back, Amaliya whipped open the door and ran out.

The professor smiled with satisfaction, tucked his hands behind his back, and followed.

* * *

Amaliya struggled across the vast lawn that led to her dorm. She stumbled every few steps as

her heels sunk into the moist, dew-drenched soil. When she reached the nearly-empty employee

parking lot, her foot got caught in a small pothole and she tripped. She hit the asphalt on all

fours. Grimacing at the pain, she pushed herself up on her battered hands. She managed to get

her feet under her with a little difficulty. Brushing the grit off her bloodied knees, she began to

run again.

The stinging in her hands and knees faded. Glancing down, she realized she had already

healed. Only gravel and smears of blood remained on the smooth heels of her hands. The sight of

her restored flesh horrified her. A quivering moan of despair fell from her lips. Her mind felt

incapable of understanding what was happening to her.

Behind her, she heard a car door open.

“Amaliya,” Professor Sumner's voice rang out.

Despite herself, she turned toward him. Her black hair flowed around her pale face. She stood

trembling, hands held up before her. She dropped the bloodied clothes she had tucked under her

arm. Her murderer was perfectly framed between her healed hands, and she clenched them into

hard fists.

“Good luck,” he said with a rakish smile.

“Fuck off!” She gave him the finger to emphasize her words, then turned away.

His laughter tormented her as she snatched up her clothes. She darted behind a building and

tried to put as much space between them as possible.

The dorm windows were completely dark when she skirted around the building to the side

entrance. Fishing her keys out of her blood- encrusted jeans, she bit her bottom lip. She rubbed

the back of her hand over her eyes to wipe away her tears, fighting back a desperate sob of

despair.

“Stay calm,” she whispered.

Her fingers shook as she tried to fit the key into the lock. She failed to line it up with the

keyhole. Exasperated, she leaned her forehead against the door.

“Stay calm,” she uttered again, her hands steadying. She pushed the key toward the tiny slot

again.

The key slid into the lock. The knob turned.

She entered the dorm through the entrance under the stairs. It was empty and dark, with no

sign of any of the other girls who inhabited the long, squat building. Quickly, she sprinted up the

cement steps, her heels making a dreadful clunking noise the whole way up. Reaching the second

floor, she turned and ran down the hall, hoping to God no one would open their door to see what

the noise was about.

It's Easter weekend, she thought. No one is here.

Shit!

She was supposed to have gone home Saturday night to attend services with her family on

Sunday morning.

After unlocking her door and slipping into her room, she steadied herself with one hand

against the wall. The room was still a mess, but now she saw the mud and gunk she had left

behind the night before.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving down the narrow hallway into her bedroom.

Dirt littered the floor and bits of foliage skittered in front of her. It had really happened. She

had crawled out of her own forest grave. Slowly, her gaze descended to her body. She unfastened

the jacket with quivering fingers. Beneath the black fabric, her pale skin was caked with blood.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. She had killed tonight. Hunted

down and killed people for blood. She had done that.

Sinking to the floor, she whimpered as the tears that she had tried so hard to hold back began

to fall.

The phone rang near the bed. She ignored it as she fell over onto her side and curled up into a

tight little ball. The harsh sound of the ringing phone made her head hurt. She covered her ears

with her hands.

Finally, the archaic answering machine clicked on.

“You've reached Amaliya Vezorak. I can't come to the phone right now. So leave a message

and if I feel like it, I'll call you back. And if this is you, Jimmy, you owe me twenty bucks.” Her

voice sounded rough and a little slurred. She had recorded it drunk and just left it as it was.

“Amal, it's your Daddy. Where the hell are you? We waited all day for you. Your Grandmama

is not happy about you not showing up for church. I'm not happy about you not getting my truck

back here. Our agreement was that you could borrow it until you got your student loan. You got

your damn money so buy your own clunker and get mine back here, girl. Where the hell are you?

If this is your attempt to get me to buy you one of those damn cell phones-”

The machine, thankfully, cut off the rest of his message.

Pushing herself up, Amaliya's hot tears returned. As far as her father was concerned, she was

a fuck up. She laughed bitterly as she realized she was now an undead fuck up. He would just

love that.

Getting to her feet, she managed to get herself into the bathroom. The bathtub was ringed with

grit. Stripping naked, she got into the shower and turned on the water. It hit her icy cold, but she

didn't care anymore. She just wanted the dark brown blood off her body. Bracing her hands

against the cold, scummy tiles, she wept as the water washed over her.

How had it come to this? How had her life spiraled so out of control? Sliding her fingers

through her caked hair, she felt the matted strands give way with a painful tug. All she had

wanted, her whole life, was to find her own path, to walk to the beat of her own drum, to live a

life of adventure. But that had been continuously sidetracked by death, family drama and the

severe lack of money. Nothing she had done to get her life out of the hole it was in had ever

worked. She seemed forever doomed to just barely make it by.

Her fingers traced down her sternum. She drew in a quivering breath she wasn't even sure she

needed as she sought out the beating of a living heart. Tears flowed down her face as she felt

nothing for a terrible, panicking moment, and then she felt a thump.

“Oh, God,” she gasped with relief, falling back against the cold tiles. Both hands pressed

tightly between her breasts, she both heard and felt the steady, slow beating of her heart.

Swallowing hard, cold tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the hot water. Looking down,

she saw that her tears were turning the water a slight pinkish color. Frightened, she rubbed her

fingertips under one eye and drew them back from her face. They were tinged with what looked

like blood before the hot water washed it away.

Crying out with the sheer terror, she fell to her knees and laid her forehead against the stained

bottom of the tub. The hot water beat down on her as she gave in to the overwhelming despair

inside of her.

* * *

The mirror was empty. Not a whisper of reflection was there.

Amaliya blinked slowly. She stared into the empty mirror, willing herself to see her image.

But there was nothing, just the empty shower behind her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand

firmly to the fogged surface.

Nothing. Not a flicker.

She pushed harder, as if she could literally shove her reflection into the silvered glass, but

nothing happened. Her hand remained against the empty mirror without a doppelgänger’s hand

pressing against her own.

Closing her eyes, she lowered her hand and slowly took hold of the sink. Her whole body

trembled as she tried to gather her wits about her. The horror of her new reality washed over her,

fresh and terrible. Opening her eyes, for a moment, she thought she saw her reflection. A brief,

stark image of a woman with dyed black hair laying heavy and wet against her neck and

shoulders, staring with desperate need into nothingness. The image flashed out of existence. She

reached out a desperate hand. The mirror shattered as her fingers slammed into the reflective

surface. The shards tinkled into the sink. Sobbing, she sat sharply on the edge of the tub.

She ran a hand through her wet hair as she sat in silence, her lips quivering. She could just go

to bed and go to sleep. This wasn't real. None of it was real. She was sick. Maybe she had the flu.

It was all a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. There were no such things as vampires. She didn't

even have sharp teeth! She couldn't be a murdering, bloodsucking fiend! Vampires didn't exist.

Shoving her fingers into her mouth, she ran the tips over her teeth, fearfully searching for

sharp little teeth. Nothing. She felt nothing. Just the smooth edges she should feel.

“I just need to go to bed and wake up,” she decided.

Pulling a towel securely around her body, she walked into her messy room and sprawled

across the narrow twin bed. The alarm clock lay right in her view. Its bright red numbers stated it

was nine o'clock.

Red like blood, she thought idly, then shoved the terrible allegory away from her thoughts.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the poster over her bed. Trent Reznor of Nine Inch

Nails glowered down at her in all his dark beauty. Closing her eyes, she lay her hand over her

face and willed herself to sleep. If she slept this would all go away. She would wake up and...

What?

She would suddenly not be living dead? Her battle to be out of the grave would suddenly not

exist? Her blood-soaked clothes wouldn't lie in a heap on the floor?

“Dammit!” She sat up and shook her head.

Drops of water splattered over the wall and clock as her wet hair fanned around her. Gripping

her hair with both her hands, she pulled it over her shoulders and held onto it as she rocked back

and forth. She could not stay here. She knew it. Too many questions would be asked. They

would find the bodies. For all she knew, they would be able to track her to the scene. The police

had all sorts of fancy ways of tracking down killers nowadays.

Oh, God, she was a killer. Her teeth had torn into the flesh of humans and she had drunk

blood.

Blood!

The memory of that first bite filled her thoughts. Instead of repulsion, she felt the sting of

pleasure. It had been exquisite. An erotic pulse of power rippled through her as she leaned back

slowly on her bed. The lovely sensations she had felt as she had fed overwhelmed her senses.

Her panic faded away. She relished the memory of the blood, the fear, the power; it had been

delicious and wonderful.

Her tongue scraped against something sharp in her mouth. She bolted upright. She shoved her

fingertips into her mouth again. She gasped as something sharp tore them open. Staring at her

bloodied fingers, she ran her tongue slowly along her teeth. Amaliya shivered as the tip of it

discovered two sharp teeth pressing down on either side of her mouth.

“Fuck,” she blurted, launching herself off the bed.

What had just happened to her? She had lost herself in the memory of her feeding. Dammit,

she had enjoyed killing and she knew it. Looking back at the event through the bloody pleasure

of her need, she felt no remorse. Panicking, she pulled deep inside of herself to find guilt and

fear. She mentally shoved away the part of her that had relished her killing bites.

“I have to get the hell out of here,” she muttered.

In a frenzy, she shoved clothes, underwear, shoes, and anything else that looked remotely

useful into her large duffel bag. Realizing she was naked, she dropped the bag. She snagged a

clean pair of jeans and a tank top from the laundry basket. She looked around the room, trying to

collect her thoughts into a workable plan. As she slid her tank top on, she abruptly remembered

her father's phone call. Her student loan had come in!

“Oh, yeah,” Amaliya breathed.

She fell to her knees beside the dresser. Pulling out a drawer, she felt under it for the envelope

that she had duct taped under it. Her searching fingers found it and yanked it off with a sharp

tearing sound. Inside the little envelope was over $5,000 of student loan money. It was all the

money she had in the world. In her bank account was just a few dollars. Her paycheck from her

work-study wouldn't hit until tomorrow.

Opening the envelope, she quickly recounted the money, then thrust it into her jeans. It would

have to do for now.

Shoving a few more pairs of thong underwear into her bag, her gaze swept over the room one

last time. The bloodied clothes and forest grime lay at her feet. She started to reach down, then

hesitated. Unsure, her hand hovered over the bundle.

She was a vampire now. Fuck it. Let them come after her. She must have some sort of

superpowers. Besides, maybe if she left her clothes here, they would think she was dead.

Tears were threatening again, but she fought them.

Time to go home. Time to get help. Time toShe hesitated as she picked up her keys.

“Time to sort this shit out,” she decided, heaving the bag over her shoulder.

She walked out of her dorm room for the last time.