IRON THIRST - SAMPLE PAGES (REVISED)

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I redid the beginning, and added a chapter before. It is told from another POV, someone that is aware of the danger that lurks. Let me know what you guys think. Especially of the POV switch in chapter 2. The rest of the story is told in Felicity's POV. Thanks-

Chapter 1

*/ /*

*/Adam Bristow/*

It is merely the beginning of the night when Gabriel decides upon his first victim. He locks his sights on her the moment she steps into the bar. The curvaceous blonde lass will be in is bed in under an hour, and shortly after her blood will be in his veins. She doesn't stand a chance.

Thursday night at DragonCon is when most of the guests check into their hotel and start the weekend with a drink in hand. My hand is empty. The first night of Con is when I begin to patrol, as the out-of-towners descend upon our town. I'm not worried about the geeks, the costumed
fans, or the party animals. My concern is very specific--those who are removing their disguises. Vamps get this weekend to be themselves, but there are rules, and this bloodsucker is dangerously close to breaking the first one--aggravating me.

His fangs are protruding, turned on by the blue-eyed soon-to-be donor. She doesn't blink as she gravitates towards him. What irks me is that she is an unwilling donor. There will be plenty of those, but I ain't going to sit on my arse and watch. She may be walking to him on her own
two feet, but the brain in her head currently belongs to him.

What a lovely time to buy my dear old pal a drink?

"Gabriel," I call out as I step in front of her path, breaking their eye contact and the hold he has over her. Bastard snarls at me. "Run along, love," I tell the blonde.

She blinks a few times with that expression of confusion. Lost at why she is standing here, she lets out a heavy sigh and scurries along looking for her friends.

When I look back, Gabriel has painted a smile on his face. He leans in close to me so others can't hear. "Bristow, if you continue to run off my dinner then I will be forced to believe that you are volunteering. Although you're not my taste, your blood is much too bitter."

No one likes a clever vampire. I pull the unlit pipe from my lips, and raise an eyebrow at him. "You are not threatening me now, are ya?"

His smile vanishes. "I was not harming anyone, nor am I breaking any of your precious rules."

"That's debatable, and I am not really up to the debate. So, just behave yourself and you'll live, well exist, to see your two hundredth birthday."

"Ahh, you flatter me. I am not nearly that old."

"But I am," adds a smooth Arabian voice from behind me.

I am a rather smart bloke. I wouldn't still be alive if I wasn't. So allowing a thousand year old vamp to sneak up on me is just piss poor form. I turn to see the dark-skinned vampire, fangs extended, staring back at me. I haven't seen Zamir in nearly ten years, and if I am being
honest, I ain't thrilled at seeing him now.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, rubbing my palm over the prickly stubble that is my hair. /More importantly, when are you leaving?/

I could take out Gabriel and three fledglings all by myself. But this bloody bastard shooting holes through my skin, I ain't so sure of. I avert my eyes to a spot above his slick black hair. Looking at the floor would give the appearance of weakness, and I ain't weak and even less stupid.

"Ah, my dearest Bristow, you do not seem happy to see me. No matter. Many of my progenies look expectantly upon this weekend, and I find myself wondering what all the chatter is about. Thought I would come and see for myself."

Rubbish, I'm sure. "I'm on my early rounds making sure everyone keeps it copasetic. We want all the humans' hearts beating and the secret safe. We got rules in this area. So, keep it peaceful."

As I turn to walk away, Zamir says, "We are aware of your so-called rules. Maybe you should run along and check the more recent additions to our world. The ones that actually care."

I hate the way his words crawl over my skin. I glance at Gabriel's smug face, grinning like he's getting away with something. I'd love nothing more than to knock him arse over elbow, but starting a fight on the first night over something as silly as pride would not be my best move.
Not without back up. Currently, the rest of my team is doing the exact same thing all through the other three hotels.

If the humans knew what was swarming DragonCon, they might have just stayed home behind locked doors. Not that a flimsy door would keep the monsters out.

Chapter 2

*/Felicity Johnson/*

Who knew two tiny fangs could be so hard to find? I bought the pair nearly five months ago, and I specifically remember thinking to put them somewhere that I could find them. My room is a complete and utter disaster. I have been through every drawer, emptying the contents onto
my bed in search for the last thing needed to complete my costume. I can't be a vampire without fangs.

I plop down on the bed, and close my eyes. /Where did I put them?/

"Bathroom, second drawer, along with the red contacts," I say aloud to the ceiling.

I leap from the bed. Christian will be here any minute, and I want him to see the complete look. I slide open the drawer, and there they sit. I can't believe I forgot the contacts too. That set me back nearly a hundred bucks.

I insert the teeth, and begin trying to attach the colored plastic to my eyeballs. I should have waited on the eye makeup. I run back to my closet to grab shoes, zipping up the knee-high leather boots.

I stop by the mirror for one last look. The struggle was well worth it. My eyes glow a bright crimson with black around the edges, as if the fire inside has burnt the curved periphery. I bounce my palm off the spikes of my black pixie wig. The menacing grin is complete with two
sharp fangs over my scarlet red lips that look poised to wreak havoc amongst the unsuspecting city of Atlanta, Georgia.

Well, the town won't be that unsuspecting considering the rest of the people at DragonCon will also be dressed in costumes ranging from Star Trek to Night of the Living Dead.

As I darken the shadows under my eyes to give myself the true undead look, the doorbell rings. I slide down the banister to get to the door. Safer than taking the stairs in these boots.

I fling the door open, and there he stands. We both let out a scream and begin cackling at each other. Christian is a yicky-ucky zombie, complete with a tattered, stained, once-white shirt, suspenders, and pants that look as if they had been buried. His normally perfect hair is dirty and
a total mess. His skin has been painted a weird grayish green, and his mouth is bloodstained. No one would recognize this scary critter as my clean-cut best buddy.

"Felicity Johnson, you look a-freakin-mazing. I would have never thought that you, of all people, could pull this off."

I should be offended, but he is quite right. Everyday "me" is not sexy, not scary, and definitely not a vampire.

"Well, hello Pot, I must be the kettle," I say with a laugh while opening the door wide. "Hey, listen to this," I say, letting out my version of a snarl. "I've been practicing."

"Um, keep practicing. You sound like a drowning kitten."

I stick out my pouty lip. I at least sound like an angry kitten, not a completely helpless one.

"Hey, Fee… I…I…," Christian stutters. He looks down and starts to fiddle with his shirt sleeves, pulling them longer. "I may have kinda invited Mike."

"Why, in the name of everything holy, would you do that?" I ask as I look down, fretting over the red tank top with three holes sliced across the front and the black leather miniskirt. It's one thing to look this way in front of Christian and tens of thousands of random strangers, but
Mike will never let me hear the end of it.

"He swears that he will be good, and he is excited about meeting some of the celebrities, and /he/ is even dressing up."

"Is he meeting us there?"

Christian walks over to the couch and plops down. He tugs again on the sleeves. They can't stretch any further. "No, he is meeting us here."

"Are you telling me that you gave Mr. Grabass my address? What were you thinking?"

He stops jerking on his clothes, and looks up at me. "You are totally over-reacting. Just calm down. He's not that bad."

My eyes roll like dice. Mike Fletcher is Christian's best guy friend who is nothing like him. More like his alter-ego. Where Christian is sweet, understanding, and everything a girl looks for in a best friend, Mike is a chauvinistic, egocentric, pig-headed jerk. They were fraternity brothers at UGA, home of the Bulldogs, and I've been stuck with him ever since. Lucky me.

The door bell rings, and I jump ten feet in the air. Just wonderful. I don't have time to tone down the outfit. I am stuck dressed like this with only a piece of wood separating me from my nemesis. I take a deep breath, and then open the door.

"Hey sexy lady, where's Felicity?" Mike says with a wink. I start to walk away, when he adds, "What's eating her? Wish it was…" I turn on my heels, and playfully punch him in the stomach before he can finish that thought.

"Dude, you said you would behave," Christian states.

"Man, that's before I knew she was going as Sexy Fee." He looks at me and tries to turn on the charm, softening his voice and flashing a smile. "Felicity, I am just kidding. I think it's cool you got all dressed up. You look really nice and very realistic. Can I lick your fangs?"

He almost had me believing that for a minute.