Little Things | A Short Story Compilation

01 | A Vampire's First Kiss

GENRE: Vampire/Romance

I peer through the scattered hedges, bushes and trees, all densely knit together in strange swirling patterns. Gently, the sun beats down upon the snow-covered grass, stray twigs snapping beneath his feet. He wanders towards the clearing near the frozen river.   

Every time I see him, my heart becomes the state of the river. I only wished it could beat like his.

He comes here early in the morning at almost seven o'clock on the dot. By the river, he is free from all his human obligations and responsibilities. He doesn't have to think about his apprenticeship, family and peers waiting for him back in the village. This is the point where the world stops. We are trapped in this moment where earthly worries and cares cease to exist. Only when he returns will it continue. 

I watch as he gazes across the ice. A sad smile tugs at his lips as his grey eyes sparkle like glass. He pushes his hands into his trouser pockets, the cool winter air blowing his neatly combed, yellow-blond hair into his face before retreating into the forest. No longer does he look respectable. His hair was floppy, the long fringe falling over his eyes like a golden waterfall. It made him look younger—boyish. 

Eighteen. 

In the spring, it will be his birthday. He is nearing the nineteen mark, but he's still young, even if he may not act so. However, he is still too young to turn.   

No one would suspect it, but he is younger than me. Though, I could not bring myself to care what the others thought. 

Long ago, I was given the gift of being a teenager forever. Despite having the appearance of a fully grown woman, my actions are what truly show the age I was turned. No matter how old I look, I could never fully dismiss the relentless youngness. It is a perk—and a bit of a quirk—of being what I am.     

When I was a young one, I seduced men to follow me into the dark. The back alleys were my hunting grounds. After some flirting, I would strike and drink those precious pearls of blood from their necks. Now and then, I would find someone worthy enough to turn and join our coven. It didn't happen often.  

My coven prefers women. Very few men are allowed in our walls and it is a selective process. The exception is the partner of the woman who sired me—her mate. The rest of us? We aren't allowed a mate. She said it would go against what she'd done for us, the eternal life bestowed upon us. Some left because of this. They pursue the life of a nomad—either on their own or wandering alongside their chosen mate, it doesn't matter. The betrayal is always evident. 

However, I found myself, day after day, wishing for a nomad's life. I want a lonely life away from the restrictions of the coven. Only then would I be able to pursue this man on my own. 

From the first days of laying eyes on him, I craved the one thing my coven despised—a kiss! I wanted to feel the warmth of his tanned cheeks beneath my skeletal fingers, pale white against his golden brown. Both of us are opposites, in almost every way, yet also similar. Him growing out of boyish dreams and I growing out of my coven. I was the darkness and he was the light.  

That darkness seeped through my hair, raven-coloured and as pitch black as my soul. Hopelessness and corruption guided my every move, the need for blood and to please the parents who were in charge of their unruly children taking up the majority of my energy. I am a pawn in their sick game of chess with those of mortal flesh. A single soldier in the war for flesh and blood.