Two Months; Chapter Two

The smell of prey gushed through me as I walked outside with Justin and Kali. They were standing beside each other, holding hands as they usually do. Their hands always looked perfect together. We all formed ourselves into a line. Miss Wilson came by and pulled my sunglasses off my face. “It’s disrespectful to our visitors if they can’t see your eyes.” She said, and walked back inside the house. The sunlight glared into my eyes and burned the sensitive retinas. I covered them with my bangs, but left enough space for me to see what was going on. The chauffeur walked around to the side of the excessively clean, white limo that was nearest us, and opened the door. A tall, older looking man stepped out of the vehicle. Judging from his looks he was in his late ‘60s. He was a mortal, to be sure. He was colorful and radiant; the wrinkles in his face, on his neck, and on his hands were effortless and completely natural. He walked with an unprecedented step, his cane in his left hand seemed unneeded. His eyes weren’t dull like most, I’m not saying all, of the Undead’ were. They were bright and marvelous. Mortals were beautiful pieces of art. They make me feel two hundred years younger. I may not look old in mortal eyes. In mortal years I look like I’m 18. Yet any of the true Undead can tell you that I am exactly 218 years, 20 days, 15 minutes, and 29 seconds old. The old man was looking at everyone. He was going down the line, looking at everyone and the chauffeur would hand a certain one a rose. My friends’ faces seemed to light up when they got their flower. I had to hold back a laugh. Talk about originality. 1

He walked up to Josh and looked him in the eyes. I couldn’t help but watch. The man smiled and nodded, and the chauffeur handed him a dark red rose. The chauffeur held all the flowers in his right hand. Another breeze came by, and I could smell his scent. He was human too, and not a bad looking one at that. He was tall, with big brown eyes, and he had blonde hair. He was Scottish. He kept his left hand hidden behind his back. The old man skipped three people and stopped, purposely, in front of me. “What’s your name, lassie?” he asked me, studying the part of my face that was exposed. “Bella,” I said, noticing his Scottish accent. It wasn’t hard to tell Scots from born Romanians. He shook his head. “No, I mean your real name.” He said matter of factly, and he smiled. I stopped smiling and pushed my bangs out of my face so my whole face was exposed, so I could see him better. “BellAna Michelle Zanikuran.” So, he knew I wasn’t a mortal. The sun burned my face, so I shielded it again. The chauffeur took his hand out from behind his back. He handed me a bouquet of black and blue roses with a card stuck in the middle. They quickly moved on. I looked at the card and plucked it from its spot, and opened it. It said, in fancy letters, “Welcome Home BellAna.” My heart stopped pounding. Somebody knew my name. And it was my real one at that matter. Who knew that much about me? The only people that knew anything about me certainly wasn’t of the mortal variety. I looked up at the sound of a car door opening. The chauffeur had opened the limo door. Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed my arms, lifted me off the ground, and started carrying me towards the door. I was shocked at first, but when I saw Kali’ scared face, I started fighting back. It was no use. They were strong mortals, and even my extra ordinary strength couldn’t fight them off. They tossed me in the limo like a rag doll and slammed the door. 2

I was the only non-mortal in the limousine. The chauffeur kept his eyes on the road ahead of us. The old man and the two other men, apparently his bodyguards or something along that line, sat in the back also. The two men, both strictly mortal, sat on either side of the old man. Chills ran up and down my spine again. The old man looked at me in the face. “You know it’s not a good idea for me to be in a car like this one with a group of incoherent mortals such as yourselves.” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I tapped my fuchsia colored nails on the armrests. The old man smiled at me. He had hideous yellow teeth. But its better than stained red ones, so I was personified to looking intently out the window at a dead mouse. “You don’t recognize who I am, do you, BellAna?” he asked. I acted like I was thinking. I tapped my forefinger against my chin. “No, not really,” I said, my conscious in my inner head annoying me about food, “and I don’t care, regardless.” He nodded seriously and the man to his left took a green, glass bottle out from the drawer underneath the seat. He also pulled out a fancy looking crystal glass and poured clear, fizzy liquid into the glass. He handed it to the old man and closed the drawer. I closed my eyes as the old man leaned back and drunk it. It had been close to 36 hours since I had last fed, and the scent that breezed through the car was making that little annoying voice in my head become louder. I could feel the men’s eyes on me. It was to much to bear. I couldn’t stop myself. My eyelids flew open and I leaped on the old man. I grabbed his shoulders, pinned him down with all my strength, and bit into his soft, baby powder smelling skin. The two men that sat at his sides jerked me away before I could drink a lot of blood. I slashed at them but they pinned me against the side of the car. The old man coughed and held his hand up to his bleeding neck. He glared at me through narrowed eyes. “You have just made a big mistake, young lady.” He said, in a half way dead tone. I smiled with bloody teeth and laughed. 3