The Vampire's Moon

I stared after the girl, Michelle Nicksons, as she walked away. I could still see the image of her marks clearly in my head, haunting me. There was definitely more to this girl than met the eye. In my one hundred and fifty-seven years as a vampire, I had never seen someone like her. She fascinated me. Her cloaked eyes, her hidden nature. I was willing to bet she wasn't really as cold as she seemed, that it was a mask that was just begging for someone to take a peek under. She had been bitten by a werewolf and a vampire and lived. If I could crack that mask of hers, would the true Michelle despise us as much as she seemed to? For some reason I doubted it. Then I remembered the last of what she had said.
"What do you think she meant by, 'These marks are only half the reason, though'?" I asked, turning to Ricky. "What more reason could she have to hate us?"
Ricky was still frozen in shock, so it took him a moment to answer. "I don't know," he said, "but that right there is reason enough." He meant the bite marks. "Bitten by both races of mystical creature and lived, with those marks as a constant reminder." He shook his head in wonder. "She must be a brave soul, and she must know a lot more than she's telling us. I mean, how did she know what we are? I'm the same age as you, and no one has ever discovered what we are unless we wished it."
Ricky was one of the immortal werewolves, and we had been running around together for as long as we could remember.
"I don't know, Ricky," I said, "but I am going to find out."
With that I began walking down the street, Ricky following behind me. We made it to the house that we were currently living in, and I unlocked the door. Once inside I took my things to my room before coming downstairs to get an early dinner. Since we're over a hundred years old, Ricky and I live by ourselves in our two story house. The place was well furnished with an expensive stereo system, a large flat screen television, and black leather furniture. The walls in every room were painted a dark blue, and the kitchen had the best in home appliances. We were rich, after one hundred and fifty-odd years you learn how to make serious cash. We had moved here because, since we are immortal, people would eventually notice if we didn’t age, so we have to move on to a new place every few years. Just our luck that this is where we ended up; a town with a girl who knew what we were and had a mysterious past of scars that we knew absolutely nothing about.
I walked into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle from the fridge. I got it from the butcher at the deli, sneaking in late once a week to get the blood from the small back room where they put it to wait for dumping. I bottled it and kept it in our fridge for late night snacks and such. I opened up the bottle and sipped the sweet red liquid. I remembered a time when we drank from humans, but now it would arouse suspicion if people went missing or came home suffering serious blood loss. Not that I've ever actually killed anyone. Not purposely.
Thinking of this reminded me of Michelle, and the marks on her neck. Someone had attempted to drink from her, that much was obvious. I pondered this as I drank, and sat on the leather sofa next to Ricky.
We watched the news, and when that got boring changed the channel. We found a special on a girl whose parents had been killed when she was young. Her father had been massacred by a wolf, and the mother had been found drained completely of blood a month or so before that. The girl had witnessed both deaths, and had refused to talk. The case had gone cold, and killers hadn't been found. The girl's name was Savanah Nicks. It didn't show the girls picture, and didn't describe what she looked like. Apparently she didn't want anyone knowing details about her so she wouldn't be recognized. I couldn’t blame her.
When that went off, Ricky went to bed. The special had taken hours to watch, since there had been so many leads in the case that turned out false and the program had felt they had to mention all of them. (Might I add that this was the perfect example of a member of the male species zoning out in front of the television; so, yes, ladies, on this account you were in fact correct. If I could, I swear I would apologize to you for any brothers, boyfriends, or husbands you have that do this. Unfortunately, I can’t, so you’re going to have to live with it.) It was late now, and I didn't need to sleep today. I spent the rest of the night thinking about Michelle Nicksons-for some unexplainable reason unable to get her out of my head-and what secrets she could possibly hold.