I glance up at the tall, slender man, noting his healthy hue and the sexually satisfied air about him. “Do you really think shipping us home to Alaska is the best idea? We all want to stay and help.” “Vivian,” he says, calling me by the nickname most everyone uses instead of my real name, Dria, short for Alexandria. It’s a nice winter day in late June, three weeks after I escaped from capture, off the southeastern coast of Argentina, and a semblance of peace finally fills me.ĭrew, one of the vampires in my seethe, or vampire family, strides into the inner garden of our large Spanish-style hacienda and clears his throat. I stretch on the chaise lounge, gazing up at the late afternoon cloud coverage revealed by the clear atrium panels above me.
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