An Eye for an Eye

I woke up that morning with a smile.
The sun was high in the sky, its ray barging into my room despite the closed curtains. I was tangled in sheer blanket with my hand across my face, hiding a smirk that was caused by an inexplicably amazing night.
Untangling myself from the blanket was harder than I thought it would be but I still managed to get out in a second. I climbed out of the bed and walked to the door, stopping to stare at myself in the mirror. Light auburn hair, light blue eyes and light pale skin. I tidied my bedraggled mess of hair, making sure that I would not look guilty when I get out of the house.
As I reached for a tissue on the bedside table, I heard my mother screaming for me from the kitchen. "Sierra, breakfast's ready!"
As if on cue, my stomach began to growl. "It's okay, Mum! I have my own!"
My mother's laugh filled the quiet house. I heard the refrigerator being closed and she replied, "Okay, honey. Don't overdo yourself."
"Don't worry, Mum."
Satisfied with how I looked, I turned back to the bed, to a stationary and hot body that belonged to a man whose name I never registered. His eyes were wide open, watching my every move with his full attention. I caressed his cheek and whispered, "Morning."
His complete silence made me laugh. I sat on the bed next to him, smiling devilishly. "How was your night?"
"Please, let me go. I'll do anything -"
I chuckled. "Now, why would I do that?"
His fear was thick in the air, so thick that I could cut it with a knife. "They will find you. They will kill all of you!"
"Oh, now you're making me mad. You don't want me to be mad."
"You evil creatures will die and burn in hell! Mark my words!"
I circled my fingers around his neck and strangled him so hard that he began spluttering blood. "You know, it will hurt less if you don't resist."
With that he closed his eyes and I sank my teeth into his neck, drinking the last remaining drops of blood he had. I hung onto him for dear life until I finally felt his body become lifeless and limp.
From downstairs I heard loud sobs and an ear-splitting scream. Then my mother yelled, "Sierra, honey, I might need your help finishing these."
I let go of the man's neck. Dead. Pathetic. I tore off the necklace he had around his neck and shoved it deep into my pocket. "Thanks for the delicious breakfast," I murmured to his ears. "I hope you'll see your parents in hell when my mum and I are done with them."
Kissing his bloodied neck for the last time, I climbed out of the bed and walked to the door, this time stopping to smear his blood on the mirror. I watched my smile grew as I whispered to the wind, "I'll avenge your death, Father. I'll kill them for you. It's an eye for an eye."

 

People say that you should just let go of the past. Let the past be past. What is done is done.
And so be it.
With my mother we dropped the bodies of our last meal back in their house, three miles away from ours. We propped them onto a couch, the father's hand around the mother's shoulders while the son sat near their feet on the floor, his head leaning on his mother's knee. It was funny how harmonious they looked together after they had threatened to kill other's life to save themselves.
I grabbed the jar of petrol from the back of the stolen van and sprinkled them all over the broken family, all the while humming a tune my father taught me. My mum sang along with me, her high voice perfectly matching my low one. It was a song we had never sung to anyone despite our many years of televised performances. The song is forbidden and dark and dangerous and listening to it unconsciously will turn you blind and deaf and speechless until you take the hard way out by driving a stake through your heart.
Suddenly we heard a scream from upstairs. A boy. Probably fifteen or sixteen in age. My mother stopped searching for the family's 'Book of Tortured Souls' and gestured me to investigate.
Still singing, I walked up the stairs to the room where the scream had emanated. The door was slightly ajar and it easily opened without noise. I saw a boy writhing on the floor, his forehead covered in sweats as he continued screaming a silent cry.
He opened his eyes when I stopped my song. A pair of scared dark brown eyes looked back at me. "Please, I don't know anything," he whispered. "I'm just a friend. Please don't kill me."
I stooped next to him, softly removing his blonde hair from his face. "What's your name?"
"Z- Zachary."
"You're saying you don't know anything about whatever the family is up to, Zachary?"
He nodded, seemingly slightly relaxed as if he was convinced I wasn't about to kill him. "Y- yes. I mean, my friend Josh always tells me that he's a hunter but I don't know what he hunts!"
Innocent, I thought to myself. A cute one, too. "I'll tell you a little secret, Zachary. A secret that might get you killed or changed. It just depends on who you'll see after you wake up. That is, if you wake up at all."
"What, what do you mean?"
I kissed his neck slowly and replied, "Stay away from the ones with the necklace of amethyst." Then I pierced his neck with my teeth, letting my venom enter his body, a venom that will kill him if he's weak or a venom that will get him killed if they find him.
As I watch him writhing in pain, I knew that he would survive only to end up dying in his own, self-loathing hands

 

Aww, thank you. Honestly too, this is the first time I write a story without romance and major drama so if I cross the line, tell me and I'll change it. Thanks for the feedback!

 

It is said that vampires and witches are eternal enemies. They hunt each other down, one tries to kill the others. If they find you, you have to struggle for your life. If you find them, you have to kill for honour.
But it's just that. Said. Rumoured. Not proven. A legend.
There are times where vampires and witches coexist together. Sometimes they fall in love and decide to build a family together. The vampire will give their blood and the witch their magic. From that a different creature is then conceived and bred, and they are known as the vampire hybrid or the witch hybrid, depending on which side of them is more dominant.
The hybrids or the half-bloods survive on blood but with an uncanny ability to use magic depending on their borne affiliations. A witch hybrid is affiliated with fire and wind and gifted with unnatural speed while a vampire hybrid is affiliated with earth and water and unnatural strength.
They do not have a sense of love or affection. None. Their heart is only capable to sense attachment and loyalty towards their creators. If their creators' lives are threatened, they will stop at nothing to save them for a loss of a creator weakens their sense of power, whether it is magic or strength.
Solitary creatures, the hybrids rarely gather together. They live with their creators until their creators are killed. But when they do gather, they do so with a deal or partnership, not because of love or attraction. From their partnership they bore a child, a pure hybrid, with the power of a normal vampire and the magic of normal witch, a legendary creature that everyone says is just a myth.
Until they meet me, Sierra Lyles, a daughter of Sloan Lyles, a vampire hybrid, and Chasity Lyles, a witch hybrid. We were a strong family, almost invincible and immune to any weapons or magic.
Then they killed my father. The ones of the amethyst necklaces killed my father, who had done nothing wrong. They had thought that our family would be broken and we would lose our common sense and we would do something stupid.
They were wrong. No one could break hybrids' loyalty to their creators and partner. No one and nothing.
And now we, my mother and I, are out for blood and we will stop at nothing until they all die even if that means we have to sacrifice many innocent lives. If they had killed an innocent soul, why couldn't we?

 

We burned down the hunters' house before we left. The fire started by my own hands blazed strongly under the high sun. My mother and I stood outside with the stolen van, memorising every face of the hunters' neighbours just in case someone recognises us as the singers we are.
Three people did. We brought them into the van, closed the doors, snapped their necks, drank their blood and threw them into the fire.
Eventually the firefighters and the police came and they foolishly forced us to leave the area. We gratefully did, leaving the van behind. It was an ugly thing anyways.
We hailed a taxi near the side of the road and one still stopped for us despite the many factors of suspicion we had. Blood smeared on our face, ashes covering our hands, dirt on our clothes. The driver talked all the way home and, as a form of our thank you, we brought him into the house and stashed him in my mother's room as her personal blood bag.
After all that we sat in the kitchen, eating yesterday's leftover of grilled chicken. "Did you get a chance to see the book?" I asked.
"Yes," my mum replied. "But we already have all the spells."
I stopped shoving chicken down my throat to watch her reaction. Her blue eyes were distant as she stared past me and her lips twitched every once in a while. I could have sworn I saw a drop of tear in her eyes but the blood on her cheek reminded me that hybrids are incapable of emotions.
Still I saw her pain at the truth that those hunters were the ones who had killed her creators and her pain means she has a weakness and her weakness will be my weakness too. So I cleared my throat to change the subject. "We have a gig the day after tomorrow."
My mum smiled. "Have you decided on a song?"
"Something harmless, probably. We have more than enough food already."
Food meaning the blood bags stored in our basement and our rooms. Blood bags meaning dead bodies or almost dead ones. We always try our hardest to finish a body before moving to the next one because more people are becoming more suspicious of the endless stream of people coming into our house but never making it out. Every body is then burned underwater, something a pure hybrid is capable to do, so the putrid smell of it is less distinguishable.
Not that we care. Usually we just kill those who question us.
"There's never enough food, Sierra," my mum said. "But because you're so obedient to me, I'll grant your wishes."
"Thank you, Mother."
She gave me a smile. "Now go to your room, Sierra. I have work to do."
I didn't question her. I never do. I may call her my mother but that's just a title. She's my creator and a creation does not question or disobey a creator.
So I walked into my room and closed the door behind me. I sat on my bed, taking the necklace from the pocket of my jeans.
Lying down on my bed, I watched the light playing on the amethyst. It was lulling and I would have fallen asleep, if only I hadn't seen the shadow behind my curtain.
And the fact that it was drinking from one of my blood bag.
And also the fact that it was my creation.