Dinner with a Vampire. Abigail Gibbs

      Every one of the tanned men was dead, or dying, their necks broken or bleeding; several had sunken to the bottom of the fountains, staining the water a grim red. One man near me lay on his back, his head so contorted his ear rested on his shoulder.

      Six teenagers had just slaughtered thirty men.

      I whimpered on the bench, drawn as far into the shadows as I could possibly get, praying to every deity alive that they wouldn’t see me.

      ‘Kaspar, are we going to clean this one up or just leave it?’ said the one who stood nearest the fountain, even his fiery red hair dull compared to the water he swirled his fingers through.

      ‘We’ll leave it as a little message for any other hunters who think they can cross us,’ he replied. ‘Scum,’ he added, spitting on the nearest limp body.

      His voice had lost its cool and had been replaced with a deep, satisfied sneer, and anger began to override the fear as I watched him carelessly kick the arm of another dying man out of his way, causing him to let out one last meagre moan.

      ‘Jerk,’ I breathed.

      He froze.

      So did I. I held my breath, stomach knotted. He can’t possibly have heard me from across the square. That’s just not possible. But slowly, almost leisurely, he turned so that he faced me.

      ‘Well, what do we have here?’ He chuckled darkly, voice carrying, his lips curling into that same cruel smirk.

      Instinct worked faster than my mind and before I knew it I had jumped up, sprinting my way across the square. Leaving my heels far behind, my feet thudded against the cold stone as I ran, literally, for my life. The nearest police station wasn’t too far, and I would bet on the fact I knew London better than them.

      ‘And where do you think you’re going, Girly?’

      I inhaled sharply as I crashed into something hard and cold, so cold I sprung back from it instantly. Standing right in front of me was the dark-haired man. I recoiled, eyes darting from the spot he had been stood in before to where he stood now. That really isn’t possible. I backed away, my hands grabbing at the air behind me as though they expected some magical saviour to appear. He didn’t even flinch, as though a girl running into his chest was an everyday occurrence.

      ‘N-nothing. I was just going to … err …’ I stuttered, my eyes cycling between the bodies, the man and the road: my only possible escape route.

      ‘Going to report us?’ he questioned. He already knew the answer, but my eyes widened guiltily and he leaned in so close that I could see that his eyes were a vivid shade of emerald. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘I’m afraid you can’t do that.’

      Close up, I could not help but notice how staggeringly handsome he was. Something deep in the pit of my stomach stirred. I recoiled again, repulsed.

      ‘Like hell, I can’t!’ I yelled, ducking around him and making another frantic getaway. Running, I glanced behind me. To my astonishment, none of them pursued me. Spurred on I kept going, the tiniest spark of hope striking into life in my heart. I was just metres away from the road when I stole another look over my shoulder.

      This time he seemed to give an exasperated sigh and I didn’t allow myself to watch any longer, not wanting to slow down. My feet were just about to step out onto the road when I was yanked back, a hand clutching at the collar of my coat. I teetered, fighting for balance whilst also fighting the hand that restrained me. I wrestled, kicking and screaming, but it was no use – he held me with ease.

      Turning around with my eyes ablaze and sounding a lot braver than I felt, I screeched out a threat: ‘You have ten seconds to get off me, freak, before I kick you so hard in the bollocks that you’ll wish you were never born!’

      He chuckled again. ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?’

      As he laughed, I caught sight of his upper canines, both perfectly white. Perfectly white, and tapered to an unnatural point.

      Hunting. Hunters.

      Something in my brain registered that this was not normal. Not even close to normal, but just as quickly, rational thought dismissed the conclusion my mind was rapidly forming.

      Struggling again, I tried to get close enough to kick him, but his grip tightened on my collar, holding me firmly away.

      ‘You saw all of that.’ His words were chillingly cold. It was a statement, not a question, but I answered it anyway.

      ‘What do you think?’ I retorted, pouring as much sarcasm into my voice as I could muster.

      ‘I think you’re going to have to come with us,’ he growled, taking my elbow and beginning to drag me away. I opened my mouth, but he was quicker. He clamped a hand down on my lips. ‘Scream and I swear I will kill you.’

      And, thrashing and biting, I was dragged away; dragged away from the gruesome bloodbath these pale monsters had created.

      TWO

       Violet

      We flew through the streets, speeding to a sprint as we left the square. Kaspar had a firm grip on my wrist, tugging me along in his wake. His fingernails cut deep into my arm and I felt them tearing open my skin, gouging out considerable amounts of flesh. I winced – it was like falling over and scraping my arm in slow motion – but did not say anything: I would not give him the satisfaction. We weaved from alley to alley, Kaspar at the front, leading us down roads I never knew existed. Already, I could hear the whining sirens of police cars and the side streets were awash with flashing blue lights.

      ‘Bloody police,’ Kaspar snarled. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered. He thrust me forward, straight into the chest of one of the other men. ‘Fabian, look after Girly here.’

      For the second time that night I hit something rigid. He too was cold and I sprung back like I had been stung, toppling over into the gutter beside the pavement. But I never reached the ground. I looked down at my arm, caught in midair by a hand almost as pale as my own.

      ‘Don’t fall,’ a soft voice said. I followed the arm up, dazed, to find the smiling face of the boy who had jumped over me in Trafalgar Square, sky-blue eyes twinkling down at me with some sort of amusement. For a brief, ludicrous moment I admired his fair, untidy hair and muscled chest, just visible beneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt, before my mind caught up and I pulled my hand away, horrified at my thoughts. Unperturbed, however, he carried on.

      ‘I’m Fabian,’ he said, holding the same hand back out.

      I shrunk away, rubbing my hands and wrists on my coat where his blood-tainted hands had touched me. He frowned, eyeing me as I backed away, his hand left hanging in the air.

      ‘We won’t hurt you, you know.’

      Four other pairs of eyes watched, tensed and waiting for me to run. But I had given up hope of that. Instead, I was relying on the fact that this Kaspar would be gone long enough for a passing police car to spot us.

      ‘That back there’ – he gestured along the street – ‘was necessary. I know it doesn’t look that way but you have to believe me when I say it needed to be done.’

      I stopped. ‘Necessary? It’s not necessary, it’s wrong. Don’t patronize me, I’m not a child.’

      The words were out of my mouth before I had time to think about anything beyond wanting to buy myself time. My hands tightened around my wrists and I stopped rubbing. They seemed shocked that I had found my voice and Fabian’s eyes darted behind me every now and then.

      ‘Then how old are you, one who knows so much about morality?’ He cocked his head to one side and I closed my mouth, hesitant about whether to tell them but glad they had ignored the rest of my outburst. ‘Well?’

      I bit on my lip. ‘Seventeen,’ I murmured.

      ‘I