This next story (in case someone missed it in the summary) is an alternate universe vampire fic. I have wanted to do one for so long but never got the courage to do so until now. To my fans who don't usually read vampire fiction, I urge you to give it a shot. If you find it's not your thing you don't have to keep reading it. I think that you could be missing out on a lot of good stories simply because you don't want to stray from the original plot too much. C'mon… pleeeeease!
There will be lemon in this story, though not for a while yet; be patient, and good things will come.
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha... just this plot.
Prologue: To End and Begin
As the haze of unconsciousness lifted from his mind he became increasingly aware of the pain that wracked his frame. Every inch of him ached as though he had been stretched paper thin.
The last thing he recalled was leaving his office after having stayed late to finish some paperwork. He remembered the lot had been deserted; his was the only vehicle in sight. The black Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren sat in his designated parking spot, gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights. He had set his briefcase on the pavement to rifle for his keys… and that was all.
Had he been mugged? A quick hand to the breast pocket of his overcoat revealed that he was still in position of his money clip. So then… what had happened?
His eyelids, feeling akin to cinder blocks, slid open slowly. A veil of sleep coated his lenses in a thick film, and he raised an aching arm to swipe it across his face. Blinking away the remainder of the blurriness he scanned his surroundings. He was still in the car lot. A glance back told him that he was propped against his car; his briefcase sat innocuously next to him.
Perhaps he had fainted? He had been working a lot of extra hours these past few weeks... Maybe the strain of those innumerable sleepless nights had fatigued him to the point of passing out. It would make sense.
As his chin fell to his chest, however, he knew such was not the case. His coat lay open, the taupe grey dress shirt he wore beneath it wet and clinging to his torso. The vibrant contrast of crimson against the pale shade terrified him. There was far too much blood there for it to have been something like a nosebleed. By all rights it looked as though he should be dead.
Worry gripped him, its embrace clammy and unforgiving. He lifted his hands slowly, afraid of what he might find. Long fingers snagged the center of the shirt, tearing it open with a single jerk. A loud rip and the skittering of buttons echoed in the deserted parking lot.
There were no stab wounds; there were no markings of any sort. Dried blood was caked to him in creases, the burgundy lines stark against his fair complexion. Where had it all come from? He did not feel as though he had been injured. There was no stabbing pain, no signs to suggest he had been accosted in some way. His hands traveled the length of his torso, up past his collar to his neck. There was blood there too, though his face seemed to be free of it. This phenomenon just kept growing odder by the second.
He placed a hand on the ground to push himself up, and the other on his Mercedes to steady him. Though there was a deep thrumming sensation throughout his body, it did not hurt to stand; his bones were fine. In fact, the longer he stood the more he came to realize that he felt more than alright; he felt sprier than he had in years. Past the ache and the drumming in his ears he felt incredible. It was almost as if he were seeing the world through a new set of eyes, and what a set of eyes they were!
Everything… everything was hypersensitive. Was this what happened to someone when they had a near death experience? Well, he still wasn't sure what had happened, but whatever it was had his adrenaline pounding full force through his body. He had read somewhere that fear could make a person's senses heighten.
Whatever was bringing all of this on it was rather annoying, he decided. While his body felt undeniably better, his newly attuned senses were bothersome. Surfaces felt filthy and gritty, the enhanced vision gave him a headache, and the smells… well… they were awful.
None of these were the worst, however. Whatever happened had made him unbearably hungry. It was a deep, longing hunger. His taste buds were alit with desperation, seeking to be satiated. The more he thought of it the worse it became. He swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth as he breathed heavily, trying to alleviate that starving need. He did not know what exactly he craved, he simply knew that he needed it, and soon. A lust like this he had never known, and it was driving him mad. He needed to get home and find himself something to eat.
Locating his keys, the pale man snatched his briefcase from the ground and unlocked his vehicle. Tossing the silver case into the passenger seat, he slid into the driver's side and closed the door behind him. The engine purred smoothly, interior light coming on momentarily so that he could find his seatbelt and adjust his mirror. Doing just that, the young man reached over his shoulder and grabbed the belt, sliding it over his chest and clicking it into place in one practiced motion. His large hand moved up to adjust the mirror, but froze along the frame when he caught his reflection.
His eyes, which had been a warm hazel, were brighter, shimmering like molten gold. His hair was opalescent, like a pearl, whereas before it had been platinum blonde. His eyes traveled the expanse of his face, looking for any other changes. His cheeks and nose seemed the same, as did his mouth. Newly dyed orbs skimmed his ears, brows, and chin… and that was when he saw it.
His pupils narrowed into pinpricks before expanding to nearly engulf his amber irises. The breath froze in his lungs as he stared in horror at his throat, the blood that had dried there etched in two defined streaks. At their source were faint twin scars, hovering directly over his artery.
Your feedback means the world to me, so please, be kind…
Also, I need to get this off of my chest because it has been bothering me for a while. If you insist on flaming my stories or criticizing them, would you please do it as a registered member? How do I let you know my reasons for writing the story the way I did? How am I supposed to answer your questions?
In all honesty, I find it very cowardly. I know that not everyone deos it on purpose, but I feel like some people just do it for the sake of insulting someone, but are too afraid to leave some kind of an address in fear that the author might respond with a valid point.
All I want to do is satisfy as many people with my works as I can. I can't win 'em all, obviously, but I do try my best to provide decent reading material. I love all of you who read my fiction, and really appreciate those who take the time to leave some sort of LEGITIMATE feedback.
Thank you! Smiles…:D