A/N: I wrote this story with Liyorah, who is a very good writer. We equally wrote this first chapter, but from now on she'll be taking care of Victoria and I'll be doing Riley. We're splitting Bree. I urge you to read Liyorah's story, but I simply demand that you read them if you're a Victoria/James fan.
I ducked swiftly through the streets of Seattle, hunting for my prey. The cold air whipped at my face, and I was nothing more than a red blur through the night. For once, I had not planned this attack; it was purely at random. I ducked in to the alleys, going place to place, not slowing down. I was thirsty, emotionally-drained, and in an overall foul mood. As I continued racing through; that was when I heard it. I stopped abruptly, and stared down into the open window. Someone was still in their office…
yes, I know I have Mr. Thompson tomorrow. Mhm… yes, he's
Let me get a pen."
A therapist? I thought, how very interesting; I could certainly toy with this one. The man looked to be in his forties. He was graying, and a bit pudgy. I ducked swiftly into the open window, and pounced onto the couch. The man gasped, and dropped the phone line.
"The… the… the…" he choked, staring at me, "The office is closed!" He seemed annoyed, once getting over his general fear.
"Yes, I do realize that, but I was hoping you could help me with my problem." I sweetly explained; my high soprano tingling like a chime. I smiled warmly, contorting my face from catlike, to doe-like. Dr. Silverman I noted to myself, reading off of his silver-engraved name on his desk.
Silverman pushed his glasses up, and glared at me. "You're going
to have to make an appointment young lady! Now you'll have to
He tried to make his voice harsh and commanding, trying to scare me.
"But we could do this right now. My problem is easy to explain. My mate is dead, and I am very sad; I take my anger out on my prey, you see. I will give you ten seconds to fix my problem, or else I'm going to have to end your life." I sat up, folding my hands in my lap, extremely amused as he began sweating.
"I'm… I'm going to call the police if you don't… don't leave in the next ten seconds!" he stuttered, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. I thought it was quite amusing how he simply changed my words to suit his threat.
"I thought therapists were supposed to be smart…" I mused softly, more to myself than to him. I stood, and walked over, grabbing him and hoisting him up by the collar of his shirt. "Time is up, and my problem is not fixed. Perhaps, since you are no good at your profession, you shouldn't be a therapist." I smiled, this time sad instead of sweet, but I made sure to show him my teeth. His eyes practically bulged from the sockets, stuttering and sweating like a pig.
"I… I…." Dr. Silverman gasped out, and before he could say any more, I dug my teeth into his soft neck. His blood rushed to meet my lips; he tasted rather sour; my lips puckered slightly through my drink. It didn't take long to finish the short, fat man off, and I was soon wiping the blood from my mouth.
Once finished, I sat back down onto the couch, and sighed. The truth of the matter was I was incredibly sad. I missed my mate; I missed my James. He was cold, harsh, patronizing, abusive, vicious, and yet, tender, affectionate, and loving. He was...dead. I trembled, curling up into the cushions, missing his strong arms; possessive and protective; tight around me. I missed him enough, to want revenge. I wanted to end that girl; that Bella. I hated her, and I hated Edward. The Cullen boy had been trying to track me; it was pitiful. He was a terrible tracker, and I had easily avoided him, landing myself here: Seattle. Over the months, I had traveled down to the South, and had found the most interesting thing: armies. Armies of vampires roamed all over, trying to conquer other lands from similar armies. The lands they wanted, come to think of it... it was a bit barbaric. The leaders of these armies used newborns. I would have collected newborns in the South, but then the Cullen boy had started tracking me. I would have to start fresh. I would start here in Seattle. The only thing was, I needed someone to help me- someone to help me control the newborns, but who? The other question was, what would they want in return? I pondered this….
At around seven in the morning, I left the office, leaving no marks behind. I was very good at keeping myself safe; it was my talent. I was an escape artist, a self-preserver, the corresponding piece to the tracker; my love.
Groaning, I moved out of the sofa, and climbed out the window, continuing on my way. I wasn't thirsty anymore; today would be about finding someone to aid me.
I passed through the streets, wearing my new contacts; a piercing, emerald-color, just like my eyes used to be. Today, I decided on going back to school. I hadn't been to school since the 1800s, and that was in boarding school. Chuckling, I walked to the welcome sign; if I could find someone here, then I would be set. Teenagers were the easiest to drink from, and then to resist. Their blood was usually tainted with alcohol or heroine, making it completely repulsive.
smoothed out my shirt, knowing I was perfect. I was changed at the
tender age of nineteen, and since my skin was so flawless, I could
easily pass for a junior. I tied my fiery red hair back into a
ponytail, barely containing the thick mane. I knew it would draw
attention, and that was just my kind of outfit. My new ensemble was
not particularly wild; my hair drew enough eyes anyway, so I did not
need to compensate with sequins and jewelry. I had on a simple green
blouse, a white cardigan, low heels, and a well-worn pair of darkwash
jeans. Already, I outshined all. It was a public school; therefore, I
wouldn't have to talk to any of the teachers. Most of the teachers,
from what I heard about public schools, didn't know most of the
students' names. It wasn't like I was getting a grade card. I
would skip 'homeroom' and go straight into a class, sit in the
back, and observe. If any of my classmates asked, I was an exchange
student from England. This would be too easy; where was the fun?
Laughing aloud this time, I walked on the pathway to the main doors.
For the humans, it was freezing out. For me, it was hardly even
Seattle Day School, what a very creative name, I thought sarcastically. Rolling my eyes, I moved up the steps, already drawing attention of the other teens walking towards the building. I ducked my head, keeping my eyes demurely to the ground. For once, I felt very awkward; I didn't talk much. Laurent was the most civil of our small coven, and therefore did most of the talking, while James had his arm constantly around my small waist. I didn't feel like starting up a conversation so early in the day; even as a child, I always hated people.
I moved inside, my newly-green eyes saw them: the obvious popular
crowd. There was the main 'it' boy, and his cheerleader girlfriend,
surrounded by their friends. Most of them were already paired off.
The main boy was very…handsome. For a human, that is. It was
nothing compared to how my James had been. No- this was a boyish
handsome; blonde, blue eyes, kind face. I didn't get a long enough
look to describe him. I barely even noticed the raven-haired girl
clinging to his elbow.
"How cliché," I muttered aloud, pushing through the glass doors. I had barely gotten inside when I heard a small chuckle. I could practically smell the surprise of the under classmen, and one of them was interested in me. So soon? Did these children have no control, whatsoever, over their hormones?
"Hey, Ginger," I heard a male say, trying to sound charming. I raised my
head barely acknowledging him. It wasn't hard to guess that he was the best friend of the first boy. It was so cliché, I felt like gagging. The whole crowd seemed to stop talking, just to stare at me. I raised my eyebrow, and he grinned cockily. "You new?" I cast him my most captivating smile.
"Sort of," I replied mysteriously, throwing in a sly wink for effect. The boy froze, his dull brown eyes widening with excitement. I could tell that he was proud to be the first one to talk to me. His blonde friend, the clear leader, was watching with withdrawn admiration, absent-mindedly allowing his girlfriend to kiss his cheek. For my own amusement, I tossed him a smirk, daring him to acknowledge me. I could see him clench his fist, forcing himself to turn back to his scrawny girlfriend.
"'Sort of'?" the other boy repeated skeptically, tossing his shaggy brown hair out of his face in a vain attempt at nonchalance. I laughed softly, playing along with his foolish effort at flirting.
"Well, what do you mean by 'new'?" I challenged, surprised at how easy it was to resist this boy's scent. Yes… there was definitely the faint trace of marijuana, maybe even some sherry.
"Are you new here," the boy clarified. "Because in that case, I could gladly show you around. I'd show you to your next class, if you want. Or… I could show you somewhere… else." He grinned, his voice thick with implications.
"I don't know," I replied slowly, toying with his emotions. "Your friend is kind of cute." I jerked my head towards the blonde boy, just to repel the cocky brown-eyed boy from future advances. The boy froze, his smile wiping off of his face as though I had slapped him.
"My- my friend?" he repeated dubiously. I nodded, batting my eyelashes.
"Yes, the one with that girl over there," I persisted. The brunette followed my gaze, landing on the blonde. Comprehension hit.
"Oh," he murmured, shaking his head in bemusement. "That's Riley. Don't even try. That little girl is a bitch." I laughed, sure that nothing that the girl said or did would faze me.
"I'm sure I can handle it," I pointed out. The boy shrugged, doing that stupid hair-toss again. I stiffened, thrown off of my guard by the scent.
"Let's put it this way," he mused. "Riley's been my friend since kindergarten. And the girl- she's Bree McCoy. She's been with him for a year now. How should I put this… Bree is the head cheerleader and Riley's the captain of the basketball team." Clearly, this was supposed to mean something.
"Should that concern me?" I responded, widening my eyes with fake distress. The boy laughed loudly, clearly wanting to draw attention to the conversation that we were having.
"You got balls, Ginger," he chuckled. "Riley… if he's nothing else, he's loyal." I smirked, pulling my hair clip out of my curls and letting my locks tumble down around my shoulders.
"He doesn't look so loyal to me," I pointed out, smiling slyly at the blonde. He stumbled backwards, accidentally letting his girlfriend slide into a water fountain. I laughed audibly, widening my eyes at the brunette as if I had proven a point.
His words had been childish and stereotypical, but they had intrigued me. Loyal. I did need a second-man, a beta, an assistant. And in my opinion, this Riley boy was knocking out all of the competition.