The first time I saw Clara Andrews was on a beach, off the Pacific Coast. She was breath taking to me, although if someone else were to look at her, they would probably not see anything extraordinary.  But to me, she was perfect. She stood beside the water, a camera in front of her face, and strands of dark brown hair fluttering in the nighttime breeze. Most people would not have been able to discern the girl’s hair colour in the dark, but I am not like most people. I find myself among the cursed people that call themselves vampires, creatures of the night, drinkers of that red elixir…

To heck with the poetic. I drink blood; it’s as simple as that. As my eyes were well adjusted to the blackness of night, I could easily see the young woman’s face, her eyes calm but guarded. In my humble opinion, she appeared to be constantly preparing herself for something, but for what I could not see. She began to walk along the water’s edge, her feet leaving small imprints in the sand. A lone bird cried out and she turned towards the sound, her sudden movement stirring the air around her.

Suddenly, amidst all the other smells of the beach, I could clearly smell this human. The scent reminded me of a place I could not remember, a life that was no longer mine. My emerald eyes narrowed in concentration, the world fading around me, as if this human had become the centre of the universe. This smell was more intoxicating than anything I had ever smelled, and I had smelled thousands of things.

I was not hungry, but that would not have mattered. I do not drink the blood of humans, as it is against my beliefs. I am one of the few who do not see humans as food, and I refuse to ever do unnecessary harm to such close relatives. But this smell was captivating, overpowering. In that instant, I wanted to taste her. I wanted those calm, full lips. I wanted that hair that blew in the wind. And I wanted her blood. This thought was truly horrifying to me.

It was in the library that I first met Lawrence Gerald. It was late, and I had been forced to bribe my way in. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and so I went searching for a distraction, something to take my mind off of the problems that plagued me. I was browsing the classic section, hoping to actually convince myself to read at least one novel by Jane Austen.

I had finally found a small collection of her work and was just pulling out a very dusty copy of Sense and Sensibility when his eyes met mine. He had obviously been pulling a book out as well and had been about to put it back when our eyes met. His eyes were an emerald green, dazzling and piercing, pinning me in place, as if I had been placed under a spell. He appeared surprised at first, most likely mirroring my own expression. Then his expression softened and he smiled, causing my heart to nearly stop for a moment. His eyes had been so captivating that I hadn’t noticed at first how stunning the rest of his face was. His skin was oddly pale, but no paler than half the computer majors, who spent every hour in doors. And though it was pale, the skin seemed to radiate electricity, power in that skin, if that was even possible. His dark brows were perfectly shaped, not a piece out of place, and his mouth was full and perfectly colored. At the time, I had honestly wondered if he was a model.

Those god sent lips quirked slightly and it was then that I realized I was staring like an idiot. Upon realizing this, I instantly looked away, feeling my face heat up. It was a moment before I could force myself to look back up.

“Um…what book are you looking for?” I asked lamely, making a desperate attempt to start a conversation. His smile became gentler at my pathetic question and he held up the book he had been putting back. It was Dante’s Inferno. “That’s a rather depressing book.” I commented honestly. I had never read the book myself, but a classmate in high school had done a report on it, and I had found the plot to be decidedly miserable. My statement seemed to amuse the Adonis figure before me, as those stunning eyes lit up.

“Oh, I find it to be a light comedy compared to reality.” As much as I loathe to pound my point in, his voice made my head ring. It was unlike anything I had ever heard, with his voice sounding both dangerous and comforting.

“Is reality really that sad?” I questioned unthinkingly. His eyes narrowed, his expression turning cold at my words and then suddenly those eyes were gone, replaced by the copy of Dante’s Inferno. I stood frozen in place, shocked and hurt by this reaction. But I should have seen it coming; I always went and said something stupid. I sighed, not letting myself hope to see him again. I turned away from the bookshelf, Sense and Sensibility in my hand, and then found myself nearly colliding with him. I stumbled backwards, looking up at him in embarrassment and confusion.

“You are very perceptive.” He said, his mouth curled into half a smile. I took a moment to answer as I was stunned by his sudden appearance and completely thrown by this comment.

“Not really.” I managed to spit out, hoping my face was not pink again.

 “I’m Lawrence, Lawrence Gerald.” He said as way of introduction, those eyes fixated on me, as if all his attention cantered upon me.

“Clara…Clara Andrews. Nice to meet you…on a campus this small, I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before.” Not that I knew everyone at my school or anything, but Lawrence did stick out. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he answered.

“I’m not a full time student, I just take some night classes.” I tried to keep my expression neutral, hoping to not seem too eager or interested.

“Oh, which classes?” I had to ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Some basic medical ones…and you study photography.” It was a statement, not a question, and my eyes narrowed in suspicion. Was he…stalking me? At my wary expression, he chuckled. “I’ve seen you with your camera…I just assumed.” I shook my head, relaxing some.

 “No, you’re right. I’m in photography.” His eyes sparkled with happiness, seeming pleased that he had guessed right. Just like any man I had met. He opened his mouth slightly to say something but a sudden ringing cut off whatever he had been about to say. He scowled, looking down at my apologetically before yanking a slim blackberry out of his coat pocket. I watched as he talked, not taking in what he was saying. Although he talked rapidly, his mouth seemed to barely move. And maybe it was just my over active imagination, but he seemed to exude power and confidence, although it was not a vain thing. Rather it was a natural trait about him, those green eyes dark and serious as he talked. As I noticed this, I was also wondering why a man who was so handsome had chosen to talk to me. I blinked, trying to recover my wits as he slid his phone shut.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” And he did seem genuinely sorry to be leaving me, which

nearly knocked all the air out of me. I wanted to protest, a stupid impulse. But his very presence seemed to light up the room for me. I forced myself to instead say,

“Don’t get too wet.” He smiled at my words, as if he was thankful for my concern, even though I had simply been joking.

“Hmm, perhaps not so perceptive after all.” But I could tell he was teasing by the way those eyes lit up. And then he was gone, leaving me to wonder if I simply imagined him.

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