54 : where are you ?

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I'm still running.

Hurry up.

I have to hurry.

I can't lose them.

I get hit in the ribs and fall with a muffled scream.

I quickly stand up and hear the eerie crack of my bones snapping back into place.

There's no way I will show them they have the upper hand on me.

I raise my head and show my fangs to my attackers.

My eyes are entirely black, proof of my vampire DNA, proof that I intend to take their lives if they continue to come after me.

That's the problem, and they know it.

I have only two weaknesses. The first, for centuries now, is that I no longer take life.

I abhor murder and the unnecessary shedding of blood. I am a diplomat, and I am against the use of violence when it can be avoided.

One of my race approaches from behind and pulls my hair. "She's not marked," he starts shouting at his accomplices.

How dare he?

How dare a mere henchman lay a hand on me?

I le