The Authors Den

[Reyanna]

VAMPIRES!
(And other demons?but we like the vampires more)


Introduction


Wick was a vampire of about 213 years. Born as a human into nobility in 1700?s England, he felt a great weight upon his shoulders. Most of that weight was placed there by his father. Wick was supposed to be a model young man--a perfect man. But Wick didn?t want it that way.

He wasn't sure exactly what he wanted until 1985 when that song, "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" came out. Replace all the girly stuff with manly things like spitting and writing your name in piss in the street and that song would have suited him perfectly. Wick didn't want responsibilities. He wanted to have fun. He wanted to stay out until all hours of the night, drinking and having as many women as he could.

But "Daddy Dearest" wanted Wick to be a man. Pushk.

So Wick ran away.

He was about 24 when he arrived in Ireland. The year was 1818. For a while, things were going great. He was the life of every pub, had women o'plenty, and nothing to worry about. Until that little bitch came along.

And little she was--a pint sized bitch.

Oh sure, he was grateful now. If it hadn't have been for her, he wouldn't be the badass he was today. But it was the way she had done it that still got to him every now and then.

He had been a little buzzed that night, walking along in his own merry way. He may have stumbled a few times and he knew he had been singing. Though the song couldn't be remembered now. He was happy is the point.

Just as he started skipping to add some bounce to his song, he saw something lying in the middle of the street. It was a girl--a child. And she was hurt. An image like that would have sobered anyone up; she looked so helpless--dead. He ran to her and took her limp body up in his arms, calling for help. She was a beautiful child; porcelain skin and chocolate curls of hair pinned up on her little head. She was maybe 10 or so. And her clothes indicated she belonged to a family of importance. Wick carried her through the street, taking her to where he knew a healer resided. Just in case she wasn't all the way dead.

Turned out she was. Sorta.

Suddenly, the girl's eyes popped wide open and Wick almost dropped her because of the shock. How does a kid go from being lifeless to suddenly wide awake?

"What the bloody hell?!" Wick had yelled.

Tiny fingers shot up and grabbed him around the throat and the little girl pulled herself up, opening her mouth wide. Wick didn't have time to ask her what was going on. He caught a glimpse of her little teeth elongating into fangs and before he could throw the bitch to the ground, she sank them into him. Right into his neck. And she stayed latched on. He tried grabbing her around the waist and swinging her off of him, but that only tore the flesh of his throat more.

Just as he had been starting to feel woozy, she let him go, slapping her tiny palm against his forehead. Then she jumped out of his arms, knocked him to the ground, and ran away. Laughing. Evil little girl. She sounded like one of those hyena things in that lion movie.

Stumbling, half leaning against walls of buildings for support, he made his way back to the tavern he had been staying at. He didn't remember reaching his bed, but he must have because he woke up in it several hours later. His throat had felt dry, parched. He needed a drink. When he stood, he realized that the rest of him felt okay. A new strength had seeped into him overnight.

There had been a steel water pitcher on the table only a few feet away. As he poured himself a drink, he caught a glimpse of the reflection in the pitcher.

"Son of a bitch," he had muttered, touching his forehead. He couldn't feel the letters, but there they were, stamped into his forehead: vampire.

The damn brat had sired him, changed him into a creature of the night.

After a few weeks, the mark disappeared, but he remained undead. A vampire can't walk around with an identity on his forehead. No one would come within yards of him, except to light his ass on fire and send him back to hell. Couldn't have that. Not to mention, having the word "vampire" on one's forehead would make said person look pretty stupid. So the mark never stays. Not in plain sight anyway--it just kind of sinks into the skin.

Wick never saw his pint-sized sire after that. He hoped he never would either. Do you know how embarrassing it is for him to have to tell his vampire buddies that story? Most of the lucky bastards were sired by beautiful lady vampires, with curves. But no, let's let Fate have one last laugh by having Shirley Temple sire Wick.

Ah well. He got over it.