Okay - after asking on my other fanfiction, it turns out that apparently this was a good idea, so here goes!

Please no flames, and review so i know whether to continue this story or not!!

Chapter 1

My name is William Dark, and I was sixteen years old when I was turned into a vampire.

I was going to finish high junior year – I was even predicted good grades in my finals! I was going to tell my girlfriend, Steffie, that I loved her. I was going to play captain at the junior football semis. I was going to go up in a year or so time and collect a scroll commemorating my achievements so far in life. As proof; proof of who I am. The only proof I have now that I was sixteen are the scars on my back from the beatings of my sire.

My sire. I hate the word – it rolls around the mouth with a delicious taste; it breathes romance and eternal love... that's not why I was sired. I was sired to kill, and nothing more. I was sired to be a slave to the vampire Victoria, to serve her and bring her vendetta on a plate. I was sired to live a short second life.

But I defied her. I defied my apparent destiny, because I had, and still do have, a lot more to do than kill. I am going to take finals, and I am going to tell someone I love her...

Who am I kidding? Victoria ruined my chances of ever having a normal life.

She killed me in a dank Seattle backstreet, where I was taking a shortcut home from football practise, and my footsteps echoed eerily from the walls. My mom always told me never to walk that way, but did I listen? If I had, I'd still have a mother to go home to. But anyway, reminiscence isn't something I let get to me these days, it hurts too much. Hindsight is a bitch.

I heard her before I saw her – soft steps across the concrete, and a shallow breathing. My heart leapt, and thudded faster than ever before (as though it knew it had only a little time left to beat, before it would be evermore silenced). I turned slowly, my hand sliding inside my bag to pull out my flick knife that my dad gave me for self defence. It had saved me from a mugging once – given me borrowed time. She had knocked my hand sideways before I even saw her, and the bones up my arm snapped with a sickening crack. I sobbed with pain that soon turned to terror as she dragged my head back, forcing me to look at her.

The eyes... I would never forget those eyes... They were deepest red, with black rims and bloodshot whites; I learned a year later that that came from too much feeding.

She knocked me to the ground with a single blow to the shoulder, and wrenched up my hand, pressing her lips to my wrist. I only screamed for a second – then the pain was so blinding that any thoughts of making a sound faded from my mind.

The memories came back as I stumbled down a Forks street four years later. It was the rain that did it – the night I woke up it was raining, and suddenly my eyes could see every colour of the rainbow shining off each droplet.

But today was the day I had to concentrate on... today was the day to do or die. My throat was aching, my eyes jet black, and my bones were clearly visible on my chest – though I covered them with a torn shirt I had found in a dumpster. I was wearing the same torn jeans as I had been when I had been changed; as a vampire, dirt doesn't even go skin deep, it just slides off the surface.

'You can do it, Will, go on!' I hissed to myself, staggering around the corner and following the strong scent. If my heart could beat, I knew it would be banging against my ribcage with fear. I could die today. As I walked down the path to the grand white house, I caught the scent of a deer in the surrounding woods, and I coughed chokily, clenching my fists by my side and deciding not to breathe. 'Stop it,' I snarled, as I took a step towards the wood involuntarily, 'stop it stop it STOP it!'

Shaking my head angrily, I started forwards again, my black eyes fixed on the house. My steps were even shorter now, though I felt slightly encouraged when I smelt only six vampires inside – the other two must be elsewhere. There was werewolf scent too – it made me gag and shudder. I had last smelt it up by the Canadian border during one of my tracking expeditions – there is nothing better to take your mind off things.

When I reached the door, I stopped dead, and allowed the icy rain to pour down my back. The downpour calmed me slightly, as I stood a few inches from the front step, and I blinked my eyes very slowly and deliberately. 'A better way to live. A better way to live,' I chanted my mantra to myself, before raising my hand to ring the bell. For a second, I allowed my fingers to touch the smooth black paint, before I pressed my finger against the bell and flinched backwards. Still time to run... I thought, and I was just about to turn around when the door open, so quickly that it was as though the man had been standing beside it just waiting for the bell to ring – that's vampire speed for you.

'Can I...help?' He asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. I caught a glimpse of messy blonde hair, serious arm muscles and extremely stylish clothes before my eyes hit the floor (not literally, of course). I mumbled something unintelligible even to me, and the guy stepped forwards. Instantly, a wave of calm rushed over me, and I looked up nervously, into the warm amber eyes. 'Do we know you?' He asked, with a velvet voice as soft as flowing water.

'N-no,' I stammered, 'I was just... leaving,' I turned to dash away, but he caught my shoulder. Terror filled my veins – what was he going to do, kill me?

'Come inside,' he said firmly, pulling me into the hall and closing the door behind me. I was very conscious that I was dripping with water. 'What's your name?' He asked, vanishing and reappearing a split second later with a huge towel, which he wrapped gently around my shoulders.

'William,' I mumbled, drying my face on a corner and looking up again.

'Where are you from?' He said, leading me down through an elaborate hallway and into a room off the corridor. There were grand paintings across the walls, but I didn't pay much attention to them, listening instead to the quiet breathing of vampires down the hall.

I coughed slightly, looking up and answering quickly, 'Seattle.' It was amazing how quickly he understood, and he raised his eyebrows a little.

'Victoria changed you.' It was a statement, not a question.

'I shouldn't be here,' I muttered, making to stand up, but he pushed me down with surprising strength for an ordinary vampire against a newborn. 'Sorry,' I said quickly with wide eyes, swallowing loudly.

'You're safe here,' he said calmly.

'I wouldn't... hurt anyone,' I whispered, biting my lip.

'I mean you're safe here,' I looked into his eyes as he said it, and saw a curved scar running along his cheek. It was as though he felt my eyes on it, as he lifted his hand to sweep across his fringe, allowing the hair to fall over the scar. 'I'm Jasper,' he held out a hand, and I shook it weakly, loosening my jaw slightly from its previously stiff freeze frame.

If he hadn't have been shaking my hand, I don't know what would have happened next. I heard the front door open, and a sickly strong scent hit me as badly as the first time I had smelt a human; and the heartbeat...the heartbeat – slightly too fast to be human, slightly too slow to be werewolf... I jerked forwards, and Jasper twisted my wrist back, catching me by the waist and dragging me away from the door. The fight lasted less than five seconds before I realised I had zero chance of overpowering Jasper.

When he finally released me, after I had calmed enough, I turned to see that I had torn his long shirt sleeve, which he hurriedly folded over to hide the mottled skin there. It was a split second before I realised what the pattern was – hundreds, thousands, of crescent shaped scars.

'I have a history of newborn armies,' he said quietly. 'I was turned just like you... though in less of a city.'

'When?' I choked, tensing every particle of my body to try and block out the smell and sound of the human, or whatever it was.

'1863. During the Civil War.'

A spasm of pain rippled through my body as I remembered studying the Civil War at school... Steffie had been wearing a tight fitting purple sweater and black skinny jeans with black high heeled boots... and the little amethyst necklace I had bought her for her birthday the previous year; she had looked beautiful, but I hadn't told her – I thought I'd have all the time in the world to do so.

'Memories?' He asked softly.

'Yeah,' I admitted, scratching the back of my hand, where even my rock hard skin had started to peel. He caught my wrist and gently prised away my fingers. He didn't say anything, though, just lifting his other hand and showing the scars of torn skin on the back of his own hand.

'Do you want to meet the rest of them?' It wasn't a command, it wasn't even persuasive. It was a genuine question that I could say no to.

'Er...yeah... I guess.'

It'll only take a second to tell me if you like it or not!! After all, i'm not sure if to continue this or not :/