I'm re-updating some of my stories. My page breaks went suddenly missing, so I made new ones.

As always I own nothing…


What was the point of Shannon leaving the party; she was having a good time, right? Wrong. She was having a lousy time. Her date was a dud, her friends were all drunk, and her dress was ruined. Someone spilt beer on it, but she never figured out who.

She looked both ways making sure no cars were coming, and then crossed the street cautiously. She was actually surprised there were no cars; New York normally had a few stragglers even at three in the morning. Ignoring that fact-she really didn't care-she stepped onto the curb and continued on her way.

She was halfway down the sidewalk, nearly to her building, when she felt the hairs on her neck and arms stand up. Someone was watching her. She didn't look around, not giving the freak the satisfactory of knowing he got to her. She did speed up, her heels clicking loudly on the cement. She fumbled in her purse, getting her keys out early so she didn't have to look later.

She could see her building, the lights from Mr. 201 a godsend to her. She was actually glad, for once, that the old man suffered insomnia. She sped up, nearly running, when a dark shape landed in front of her. She skidded to a halt, holding in a scream.

"I smell fear," a male's voice muttered and the unmistakable sound of sniffing filled the air. The figure walked toward Shannon, stepping under a flickering streetlight. He was paler than normal, almost like a living ghost. His eyes were purple; not exactly an uncommon color if he was wearing colored contacts. His hair was black, black and thick. He also had fangs…

Fangs, that can't be right, Shannon thought as the light flickered and died. She tried to back away, her left foot in the air, when the guy attacked. Shannon never had time to scream, her throat was ripped out in a flash of fangs.


Mac Taylor strode toward the crime scene, a tense look in his eyes. His least favorite part of his job was looking at the bodies, but someone had to do it. He heard the clicking of a camera, knowing Danny or Lindsay were already there. He spotted Flack standing by a group of people, attempting to get answers. When Flack spotted him he broke away from the specters and walked toward him.

"What have we got?" Mac asked looking down at the sheet covered body.

"Twenty-year-old Shannon Felicity; she was found this morning by her neighbor. The woman had to be taken to the hospital…"

"Why?" Mac gave Flack a curious glance. He looked slightly uncomfortable, his eyes averted from the body.

"Well…" Flack crouched down, pulling the sheet off of Shannon. It took all of Mac's will power not to cringe. He had seen some horrible crime scenes in his time, but none were as bad as this. Shannon's body had been torn to shreds, her insides surrounding her like flesh confetti. Mac was actually surprised they could tell who she was at all.

"Her ID was still on her," Flack said answering his unasked question. He handed over the wallet and her purse, covering the body back up. Mac looked down at the brunette woman. Her eyes were blue, the same color as the sky. She was stunning, with her pale flawless skin and thick eyelashes.

"Who would want her dead?" Flack asked looking at her picture over Mac's shoulder.

"The question isn't who would want her dead; the question is who would want her in pieces," Mac replied closing the wallet.


Dean Winchester had to admit, the apple pie was better than the waitress had said. He wanted to bathe in the pie, that's how good it was. He was about to order another piece, maybe two, when Sam returned from the bathroom, his phone to his ear.

"Are you sure, Bobby?" he asked sitting at the table. Dean licked his fork, getting the last of the apple filling off. He had a feeling he wasn't going to get his second piece of pie. "Okay…" Sam took out a piece of wrinkled paper and a pen, scribbling something down.

"We'll get there and get back to you." Sam hung up, storing his phone in his pocket.

"What is so important?" Dean muttered pushing his plate away from him. He knew any phone call from Bobby ended in some kind of hunt.

"Bobby says there are signs of vampire activity in New York. Four people have been killed; their bodies nearly ripped apart…"

"Kinda sounds like a rouge vampire or a newly created one," Dean said mentally planning for the hunt.

"That's what Bobby said. He wants us to check it out, see what we can figure out. So, pay for you pie, we've got to go." Sam stood up, putting his jacket on.

Once his bill was paid, Dean was back in his car. His precious Impala was one of the three things on the list of things he loved. Sammy and pie the other two. He loved the purr of the engine; it was a sound that was only for him no one else.

"Are you going to go?" Sam questioned his voice breaking into Dean's thoughts. He glared at his brother putting the car in reverse. He backed out of his parking space. He shifted the Impala into drive and peeled out of the lot.

"Your ass is going to get pulled over one day," Sam muttered as he looked over a map. Dean rolled his eyes, knowing for a fact that after driving so many miles, for so long, he knew when to slow down and when not to. He was famous for his cocky attitude and Sammy was a prude.

"Worrying kills you faster, Sammy. Just relax and enjoy the ride." With those words ringing in the air, Dean sped up flipping on his radio. ACDC's Highway to Hell was on. Fitting, Dean thought with a grin.

"Mullet rock, here we go again," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean knew the music drove his brother crazy which was more of an excuse to play it. He started singing, watching his brother roll his eyes. "Come on, Sammy, you know you want to sing."

"No, I want you to watch your speed. Unlike this song, which is unrealistic as it is, there is a speed limit. You happen to be twenty miles over it."

"You are such a wuss, Sam," Dean muttered but slowed down slightly. "Happy?"

"No," his brother replied looking back at his map. With a small smile, Dean continued down the road.