Irene tossed and turned, tormented by the mental and emotional turmoil of her current transition. Wrapped in her cocoon of bed sheets and a slimy layer of perspiration, she struggled with herself to emerge with grace, rather than to crawl out as some sort of monster. The hours following her reawakening her emotions and thoughts had been tamped down. Finally, she was able to critically look back and realise she ought to be more freaked out. She was now a vampire, the thing she had grown to fear and despise. It was bad enough she was murdered - and she would not think of what Cynthia did as anything but murder - out of joint pettiness and misinformation. But being transformed into her worst enemy was hard to reconcile.

Will I have to learn to kill? Will I never see the sun again? Is Gabriel still going to target me? What about my friends and family? What do I do about them?

The questions buzzed around her head like a swarm of gnats. She lacked the focus to answer any of them satisfactorily, before the questions repeated themselves even stronger, getting darker and darker. The sound of footsteps and sobbing almost didn't register.

However, hearing shuffling and stamping feet, Irene shot straight up. This, she immediately decided, was not a wise move, as it seemed all of her organs threw themselves against the inner wall of her abdomen. The noises grew closer as she retched out dry heaves. Once Irene had suppressed her viscera from fleeing, she focused on the basement door.

Into the room tumbled a woman. Bewildered eyes met a gaze of absolute terror. Time took a brief vacation as the two gazed at each other, each movement, each breath, and each sound passing in slow motion. The moment was glass, shattered by two words.

"Dinner time."

Words were in short supply, as they usually were, for Irene to adequately express the disdain she felt towards a certain vampire. She glared beyond the trembling woman at Cyrus, who was framed by the doorway. Irene's lips became a thin line against a sallow face as she rose from the bed.

"Do you think I can just… just…" Irene threw up her arms, causing the woman to flinch. Cyrus calmly walked into the room and nudged the crouched woman with his foot, causing her to scramble out of his way. There was a menacing click as he locked the door.

"When you're hungry enough, you'll feed."

The woman remained crouched and quivering. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying, which contrasted sharply against the rest of her blanched face. Tears streamed messily down her cheeks red nose.

"P-please don't hurt me; I'll do anything you say!" the trembling victim pleaded.

Irene continued to stare at her in sullen silence. Her anger had burnt away quickly, and now she felt numb again. It wasn't long ago that she had drowned in the fear of being victimised and hunted. She was expected to kill the person she once was. Fangs bared, the nascent vampire turned her gaze towards Cyrus instead. Unflappable as ever, he raised an eyebrow. Flappable, his captive shrieked in response to seeing Irene's fangs.

"None of your mind games."

Cyrus just tilted his head to the side, peering at Irene with his infuriating smug eyes. "Mind games? I don't know what… well, I suppose you have me there. Just drink her blood and get it over with. Discoursing upon the moral dilemma will just waste time and make you cranky."

The woman shot a frightened glance at Cyrus. She stopped shaking, but her face petrified in shock.

"It's cruel!" Irene hissed, but tried to keep her voice low. "I can't kill someone so helpless and afraid!"

Cyrus waved his hand nonchalantly. "Oh please, you weren't like her. You held it together."

Irene stared down at the scared lady, who had curled her knees to her chest and hid her face. "Just because she isn't hiding her fear doesn't mean she deserves this. I don't deserve this."

Cyrus walked over to his victim and squatted down, poking her, only to get flailed at. "Ah, come on, you'll have to get used to terrified prey. This is your life now."

Irene approached the both of them and also knelt down. She glared at Cyrus, and then looked back at the woman. She tried to summon softness and compassion, but she just felt empty instead. That emptiness left her with only hunger.

"I look at her and I see myself. I see Ashley, Katie, and Tina. I can't dehumanize myself; I can't be the monster I've been afraid of all this time," Irene intoned. She believed what she was saying, but something in her felt discordant. Doubts arose, frightening doubts.

"Please..." the woman whimpered. Despite being the topic of discussion, her pleas were ignored.

Cyrus tilted his head. "You're just going to drink her blood. You're not going to torture her, are you?" Irene shook her head vehemently. "No, I didn't think so."

The damsel in distress dared to poke her head out of her arm nest and peer at the two vampires. The way she was staring at her made Irene uncomfortable. It was as if she did not see people, but just two mindless beasts. After being so kind before, why is he doing this to me now?

"I'm not going to hurt her, and that is final." Irene turned to the woman, reaching out a hand with the palm up. Cyrus arched an eyebrow and watched. The open hand was furiously slapped by the frightened lady. "Hey. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Get away from me!" she said in a low, shaky voice. Irene tried to maintain her patience as she opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off. "Get away you monsters! GET AWAY!" The woman threw her hands over her head and returned to sobbing.

"Listen!" Irene snapped to break through the barrier of whimpers. "I am not a monster! I know what it's like to be a victim. I won't hurt you!" More sobbing was the only response she received. She frowned, and then finally shot a glance over at Cyrus. "What did you do to her?"

"What do you think? If I were just hunting for myself she'd be off in la-la land already."

Irene sighed, looking back at the woman, who had moved her hand slightly and was peering out at Irene. "He's terrible, I know. But I'm not like him. I won't hurt you," Irene repeated.

"W-why should I believe you? Y-your clothes are covered in blood…" Irene glanced down, realizing that she hadn't changed, "…and your t-teeth! I saw them… they aren't human!"

"That's my blood."

"I don't believe you! You just want me to trust you! I won't! Get away, demon!" accused the woman as she pointed a shaky finger at Irene. Irene quickly sprang to her feet, causing the quivering lady to pull back.

"Boy oh boy, now you know what it's like," Cyrus teased. "Try to help someone, and explain to them you have no intention of really hurting them, and they shut you down and scream nasty insults like 'monster' or 'demon'."

"But you have every intention of hurting her!" Irene countered, her voice rising a few pitches in her frustration.

"So? You don't. And she won't give you the benefit of the doubt."

Irene perched her hands on her waist, glowering at the other vampire. "I thought you weren't going to gloat over this!"

"Where did you get that silly idea?" Cyrus held up his hands. "Even so, I'm not gloating. I'm sharing an experience with you. It's frustrating, isn't it?"

"YOU are frustrating. You-" Irene cut her sentence short with a sharp gasp. Her hand went to her stomach as a sharp reminder shot through her abdomen. A gnawing echo of pain followed. She got down on her knees, curling up and leaning forward, cradling her afflicted body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the woman spring to action, lunging for the door. The attempt to flee was short lived, as it came to a sudden halt. The escapist dangled, her toes just barely touching the ground as Cyrus held her up by the throat. Irene tried to say something, but a groan was all she could muster.

Cyrus glanced away from the woman's face to look at Irene. "You alright?" Irene shook her head. He looked back at his quarry, who struggled in his grip. "Irene, everyone dies, and it doesn't actually matter how. Might as well feed when the blood is fresh," he lectured while the woman gasped and flailed. He slowly lowered the victim so that her feet were flat against the ground. He furrowed his eyebrows, putting on a grim frown. "Brutality is necessary to survive." With that, he brought his other hand around to squeeze the back of her neck. Eventually her eyes rolled and she collapsed.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Irene stared at the crumpled form, still and quiet, but a heartbeat was still detectable. The slowed throbbing of another fleeting life was filling every cavity of her mind and body.

"You'll feel better once you drink, so do it."

Irene sighed, crawling over to the woman. She was beaten, and she knew that even if she refused, Cyrus would kill the lady. She stared at the unconscious woman's neck. Nope. Can't do it.

Cyrus caught Irene's gaze and knelt down, picking up a limp arm. "Drink from her wrist."

Irene held the warm hand. Am I really doing this? She stared at the exposed wrist. Slowly, she brought it closer, shutting her eyes tight. The skin touched her lips. Irene shivered. Her mouth salivated and her stomach churned hungrily. She hesitated, then tore into the flesh, pulling it away to give her access to the life-giving blood inside. The warm liquid filled her mouth, and though the salty, metallic taste did not change, it suddenly tasted extremely satisfying. The warmth soothed her and brought immediate relief. There wasn't any use stopping now; Irene sucked harder as the pulse weakened.

"Save some for me. Morning is almost here; I don't have time to hunt another," Cyrus complained.

Hearing words, Irene shot back to reality and tore herself away from the wrist, dropping the arm as if it were a poisonous snake. She stared at the gashes she'd created, unable to believe it was her own teeth that caused them. Irene backed away, mortified but satiated.

Cyrus clicked his tongue and grabbed the wrist Irene had thrown down and licked it, until the wound closed up. Irene blinked in bewilderment. He lifted his eyebrows as he scooped his meal into his lap. "I don't need blood leaking from the end you bit while I try and squeeze what I can from her neck."

Irene was certain at any time before this she would have been disgusted. She still felt terrible that someone had to die, but she didn't place the blame on herself. Feeling guilty grew tiresome.

Irene rose and looked down at her bloody, charred clothes. She sighed, tugging at a bit of fabric which tore off with ease. "I'm going to go take a shower while it's still dark."

After her shower, Irene peered out a window to gauge how much time she had before the sun rose. There was a hint of light at the horizon, causing her to go about her business in a hurried fashion. She went into her room and took out the drawers that had her clothes, stacking them on top of each other. She lifted them with ease and brought them down to the basement. In the basement was neither Cyrus nor the corpse. Assuming he was disposing of the body, Irene put the drawers down, then went back upstairs.

When Irene resurfaced, she was met by a growl. Silver perched on a kitchen chair, back arched. All manner of spittle and hissing issued forth from the cat's open maw, teeth bared, and ears flat against her skull.

"Silver! Don't you recognize me?" Irene asked, horrified at her pet's reaction. She glanced at the door, hopeful that Cyrus was returning. But it remained shut. Irene licked her lips and turned her attention back to her pet. Slowly she approached, and Silver lowered her body, drawing her head back and squinting, letting out another warning growl from deep in her throat. "Silver?"

Irene looked around. The cat bowl was empty. Without turning her back on her perturbed cat, she gave the yowling feline a wide berth as she scooted around the edge of the kitchen to where the cat food was kept. She got it down, all the while Silver protected her chair ferociously.

"See? I'm not bad. It's me, Irene." Irene knew her cat couldn't understand her words, but she kept hoping the sound of her voice would hold some meaning for her little tabby. Irene knelt down, filling up Silver's bowl. She then slowly backed away.

Silver licked her chops, catching up the drool that had been dripping out while she was screaming threats at Irene. She rose again, keeping her back arched, and tail twice its size. She circled around a few times on the chair, but did not let Irene leave her sight. Her little throat strained and pulsed as she let out another growl, but it then ended in a whimper. Her ears lifted up a moment, then went flat again.

"Come on Silver. Don't you abandon me, too. You've been my one true ally in all of this!"

Her cat cautiously jumped down, but kept her back arched as she approached the food. Silver picked up a mouthful of kibble, backed away a few paces under a chair, and then dropped them on the floor to eat at her leisure albeit with intermittent growls, never taking her eyes off of Irene. "Oh Silver..."

Irene admitted defeat. Sorrowful at yet another loss, she resumed her task of bringing down a few moveable items of furniture to make the basement more hospitable. Her final act, before she felt too tired to continue, was to change Silver's neglected litter box and cleaned up some protest turds and old hairballs. Although Silver would not let her near, she was going to take care of her the best she could.

Cyrus returned while Irene was arranging the various objects. She did not glance up from setting up her card table as she said, "it took you long enough. I could have used some help earlier."

"Staging bodies isn't something one should rush," Cyrus responded coolly.

Irene sighed, walking over to her bed, which she had moved from the center of the room against a wall. She had to move some of the free-standing shelves to accommodate this. "This will have to do for now…"

"I don’t know. This may have been a wasted effort. We might not be able to stay here." Cyrus paced Irene picked up a pillow and fluffed it. "Next sundown I need to regroup and do a headcount. The others are probably wondering if I'm still kicking. Or, uh, in town at least. I'm sure there was a pool going around wagering at what point I'd run off," he added, giving a lopsided smile.

"I wouldn't doubt it. Why do they follow you if they all know you're a good for nothing, selfish, coward?" Irene asked casually, picking some lint off of her plaid pyjama pants.

Cyrus responded with a low whistle. "Ouch, Irene, ouch." Irene glanced up at him with a neutral expression. "I've known Gabriel the longest and have the best insight. Also, as the leader, if I fail, I'll take the worst of the consequences." He shrugged and walked over to the card table. "I know they'll throw me under the bus. And if we succeed, some will go their own way, others will come after me in a power grab." He sat down on the wicker-back dining chair.

"Maybe now I can help. I don't want Gabriel to victimize anyone ever again," Irene said. Cyrus yawned theatrically. She shot him another one of her glares. Her skill in glaring had risen substantially since he came into her life. "What?"

"Admit it, you want him to go down in flames because of what he did to you; none of this noble 'for the sake of others' crap. You may honestly not want it to happen to anyone else, but I doubt that's your main concern."

Irene rolled her head back, staring at the low ceiling for a moment. She then looked back at Cyrus. "That too. But what happened to people can have multiple yet equally valid reasons for doing something." His triumphant smirk faltered, only to redouble, much to Irene's irritation.

"Glad you've been paying attention to my words of wisdom," Cyrus responded as he put his elbows on the table. "Anyway… it's going to be a long day. I'm too wound up to sleep. Don't suppose you got a deck of cards?"

Irene shook her head. "My only deck of cards was in the coffee shop..." It was most unfortunate; she could have used the distraction. Cyrus let out a noisy sigh. "You could always read a book."

"Naw… I've already read all of those," Cyrus pointed to the stack of books on a nearby shelf, "...and they were all boring."

Irene shook her head at him, pitying him for believing that. But it wasn't going to stop her, and she ran her fingers along the spines of the books until she selected one.

Cyrus drummed his fingers impatiently. "You know, I expected you to start groaning and cringing again by now." Irene glanced over at him from her paperback. "In fact, usually new vampires only get enough relief to get back to sleep. You were up and about, moving things. Now you are sitting and calmly reading a book."

"So…?" Irene wasn't trying to be flippant; she truly was curious. However, since she was dealing with Cyrus, a bit of attitude could carry her a long way. He stood up and walked over, sitting on the foot of her bed. She tried to ignore him, raising her book as a sort of shield.

"It's unusual," Cyrus told her, trying to keep a calm, casual expression.

Irene sighed and put her book down, knowing that she wouldn't have the peace to enjoy it. "Maybe because I had special blood?"

Cyrus leaned closer to her, carefully searching her face. Irene leaned back as a result, until she could move no further. His eyes seemed to grow darker, if that were physically possible. "No. I don't think so. It's familiar. Layla was the same way. She adapted very quickly," Cyrus's voice went flat. "There are so many parallels. You know, while Layla was mortal, she lost her twin sister. She had this wind-up key that belonged to her and she always kept it close. Didn't you have a sister who died?"

Irene's still-mortal heart thumped hard at the mention of her sister. "Yes, an older sister." Tension rapidly piled into her body. She didn't want to talk about Monica with him.

"Heh…" Cyrus said, examining Irene's expression carefully. "Don't worry, I believe in coincidences. Still… it's odd," he put a hand along Irene's cheek. "Deep down, you're a strong girl, and you'll be alright once you get used to being a vampire," he cooed. Irene went stiff as his hand slid down her cheek, and continued along her neck. Perhaps his hand would have slid down to her shoulder, had it not snagged on a metal chain tucked under the collar of her long-sleeved pyjama top. Before Irene could react, he pulled the chain out from beneath her buttoned-up shirt, and held the key and pendant in his hand, a grim and perplexed expression on his face. "Where did you get this!?"

"I-"

Cyrus glared, repeating his question in a lower tone. Irene's eyes darted around everywhere but at him. What do I say? "I don't know! It was in the pocket of my dirty clothes, so I put it on not to lose it!"

Cyrus looked skeptical as he rubbed his thumb over the tiny brass key. "Things don't just magically appear in people's pockets." Her neck stung as he yanked the chain off her neck. She immediately put a hand to where the clasp had been. He stared at her for a long, silent moment, and then opened the locket, peering at the small portrait inside. "If I know anything, you are square. You wouldn't steal something then lie about it." Irene nodded eagerly. Cyrus knitted his dark eyebrows, slowly shifting his gaze from the small picture to Irene. "But I still know there's a better explanation than the one you're giving me."

"I can't give any better explanation. How can you expect me to? Everything is upside down, this world is a mess… everything is… I'm sorry, Cyrus, but there is nothing more I have to tell you!" Irene stumbled over her words with anxiety.

Cyrus regarded her silently for a moment. Finally he fiddled with the clasp, carefully fondling it. Once getting it working he put the necklace around his own neck. "Someone is toying with me."

Cyrus paced a few times and then returned to the card table, pulling a chair around so that its back faced Irene and he sat in it.

No doubt he is sulking.