Slayer Series 1of 5: Bloody Shadows: Chapter One

Slayer Series: Bloody Shadows (One of Five)
Chapter One

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The music thumped in her head, driving her body insain. When she swayed her hips, her body was finally letting loose all the tention that had been stored inside for all to long. Red glow sticks waved around in the pitch black, music pumped from thirty different speakers, strobe lights flashed, and the vampires raved on. Bobbing her head to the beat, Jaal danced next to males, who were eager to see moreof her moves. Bodies everywhere were up and about, giving their bodies to the freedom.

As if on que, every single vampire raised both arms, reached for the ceiling. Fingers wiggled and shouts of pleading overroad the beating techno music. Fangs flashed,and screams of joy filled the vacinity. Fresh, crimson blood sprayed from the sprinklers on the ceiling. All mouths opened wide, scrambling to check whatever liquid they could. It was still warm as Jaal swallowed. Growls of satifaction emmitted from many of the damned, and still the blood gushed. It poured over bodies, covering them with thick layers of lush, pleasing all. Their clothes stained with crimson, and they weren’t bothered by it one bit.

Jaal suddenly stared down at the slippery tiled floor. Blood lazyily cascaded from her head and onto her face. Blinking, she saw her reflection. It was menacing. She hated it. Fangs were touching her lower lip and blood shaded her from top to bottom. Jaal didn’t want this. This was the very image she had been disapproving of for many years, but now as she saw herself, she saw nothing but a souless monster, raveing over falling blood. This was unexceptable.

Letting her fangs slid back into place, she started for the door, leaving her own kind in the back of her mind. They were all animals and she didn’t want to become one of them either. Shutting the door behind her, she walked to the end of the hallway and opened the door to the outside world. The Human world. The world that had no f*cking idea about what her kind was capable of performing. The world that had no f*cking clue about whether or not that they could be savatoshed within minutes if all the vampires in that wearhouse came out. The world that didn’t except her.

But she didn’t care. It wasn’t her fault that she was born a vampire. If there was someone to be blamed, then it would have to be her parents, not her. For Christ’s sake, she couldn’t control her parents having sex so that she could be conceived, then born. It wasn’t her fault. Jaal had grown up always telling herself that. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t her fault that her father was a man whore. It wasn’t her fault that her mother had committed suicide when Jaal had been only five years old. All this time, it hadn’t been her fault. But deep down, Jaal had a tiny voice saying that it was her fault. Over the years, she had learned to banish that voice from her head, because she wasn’t in the mood for that kind of shit anyway. She never was. She never will be. Jaal managed to cancel it out one time, and it took a couple months for it to come back, but in the time being that it was gone, she always saw in her mind herself dancing and screaming "That’s right, kiss my ass little tiny demon voice inside my head! KISS MY F*CKING ASS!"

Heading down the dark ally, Jaal walked up to her parked Black Neon and zoomed back to the mansion that did except her... somewhat. Taking a turn down 43rd Street, tall black gates appreared at the end of the road. Far beyond those gates was her home. But she would have to drive even further. Protection issue. The gates were just a safty thing put up to ensure that only the "right" people drove through them. Connected to the black gate was an extremely tall, barbed wire, black fence. It circled the whole property. No one was getting through this sercurity.

Stopping at the camera that was caged into the collum that were also connected to the gate, Jaal held up her necklace, a silver spiked cross. This was another sercurity messsure. The silver spiked cross was the Ainasereg’s Family pendant, the family that had picked up Jaal when she was fourteen and bleeding to death from her fathers beating. Marissa, a friend of her mothers, had been the one who came to save her. Jaal remembered it. First it was a black, with a splash of crimson here and there, then white. The white had been Marissa, her one and only saviour. Marissa, Jaal’s light in darkness.

The speaker crackled for a second before a voice came to greet her. "Jaal, so nice to have you home." Above the speaker, a screen flashed on, showing a man with dark tinted shades and a mohawk. "Hey buddy, are you gunna let me in?" Jaal smiled sweatly, her fangs radiating from the light coming from the monitor. The man with the mohawk chuckled, revealing his own set of shinning sparklers for Jaal to gleam at. "Yeah, hold up, baby." "Love you too Jay!" Then a buzzer sounded and the gates parted, showing Jaal a paved road. As she drove the whole five miles up to the mansion, Jaal had blasted Marilyn Manson’s Tainted Blood. Her speakers were pounding when she haulted her Neon at the front steps. The doors opened and Marissa walked out, trailing her two younger boys that had pushed her legs aside and bolted for the stairs. Cypher and Sylver reached Jaal before their mother had, clamping around each of her legs. Jaal laughed and patted them both on the head, muttering something to them before Marissa came up, bringing Jaal into a tight hug.

"Jaal, I was so worried about you. I’m sorry, I should have had one of my older boys come with you, please for—" "Don’t appologize for my running off. It wasn’t your fault and don’t worry, this isn’t blood from a battle, it’s blood from a club." Marissa rolled her eyes, finally letting go. "You went to that stinking Blood Bath club party again? Ugh!" Jaal laughed again, and started up the stairs after Marissa. At the top, Marissa’s older sons were lined up from oldest to youngest. ‘The Five Sereg Warriors’ as people would call them, were all very, very robust and potent. If you messed with the five, you were pretty much flat out dead. Nothing could thwart the brothers. You screw up, you screw with them. Their resentment is not something you want to infuriate. Each brother had black eyes and black hair. Each a Dark God. Each Lethal. Each alluringly attractive. Each possesive. Each granted with surpressing vitality. Each terrifying. Dead. Sexy.
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