Page 1 of A Vow for the Vamp
Chapter 1 – Millie
Iam going to leave this bar and yeet myself into traffic.
Why did I move to New York City? Albeit there weren’t millions of people here in the 1850s. There was no technology. No crowded sidewalks with noses stuck in phones. No tourists suddenly stopping in front of you to take photos, just to post them on social media for clout, causing you to have to do a little dance to avoid running into them.
I’ve had enough.
Sure, I could move to the suburbs where there are fewer crowds. Or even the countryside where animals outnumber humans.
But that would mean my life would go on, and I’dstillbe miserable.
If I could die, I’d walk out into the street and let the next passing bus barrel into me.
I mean, I can die, but not by bus, or terminal illness, or even a knife to the stomach. Death by breaking my neck? Nope.
I have very few options: a wooden stake, or bullet, to the heart. My head, or heart, being ripped from my body. Or I could face the sun and burst into flames. All are extremely painful ways to die but not as painful as continuing to live this godforsaken life.
I’m so fucking bored.
Nothing excites me anymore. Music, movies, television shows, art, books, sex. Yes, I enjoy those things, but it’s all beginning to blur.
I’ve experienced life to its fullest. I’ve traveled the world, learned all the languages, forgot all the languages, took classes for everything one could imagine:
Cannabis 101. How to Survive the Zombie Apocalypse. The Art of the Selfie. How to Waste Time on the Internet. TikTok for Millennials. Pinot and Paint. Pole Dancing. Young People Slang for Old People. Improv 101. Musical Improv 101. The Art of Paper Mache.
Five hundred years of living and hating my existence. And it’s all because of the man who turned me.
I was thirty years old with a husband and two kids with plans for a third. We had just settled into our new home in the countryside north of London a few weeks earlier. It was after dusk, and I’d forgotten to bring in the laundry off the drying rack. Our new home was located on an isolated part of land with the nearest neighbor miles apart. Aside from wild animals frequently approaching our home looking for food, I had no reason to fear the night. I had no reason to look over my shoulder or be on guard.
I didn’t know a vampire was watching me. Hell, I didn’t even know vampires existed until one was sucking on my neck.
Heinrich, the fucker, had been wandering from village to village, killing humans for his entertainment. He found me alone outside, approached me from behind, and covered my mouth with his hand so I couldn’t scream. He sunk his teeth into my neck and drank from me until I was weak and not able to fight back.
Not that I would have been able to fight him off at full strength.
Heinrich was cruel. I begged him for death. Instead, he kept me alive so I could watch my family die. I pleaded with the monster of the night to spare them. I bargained with him, telling him I’d do anything he wanted.
I never expected him to turn me.
After a couple hundred years, Henry—a name I started calling him because he loathed it—got bored of using me, abusing me, and ordering me to kill alongside him. He’d spend weeks away, sometimes months, and I eventually worked up the nerve to leave him. It wasn’t easy. He was my sire, and I was bound to him.
But I found a way.
I moved to America because I knew it’d be the last place he’d search for me. Thankfully, all I needed to escape was my determination and a trunk full of clothes and personal items. Money was never an issue. I didn’t need to buy food or lodging since vampires have the ability to charm a human into compliance.
Compulsion is the one good thing that came out of meeting Henry. I’ve been compelling my way into free rooms, lofts, and two-story homes for most of my life.
I’ve started many new lives because when you’re a vampire, people begin to question why you’re not aging like everyone else. Which is why I chose to move to New York City. It was a fast-growing metropolis, and as the years went by, the easier it was to disappear.
Now? It’s too damn crowded.
I stare down at my brand-new dress where a wasted woman spilled her vodka cranberry drink on my chest,causing the sweet liquid to trickle onto my lap. This is what I get for wanting to get high tonight. Alcohol and drugs don’t do shit for me, but drinking the blood of someone who’s intoxicated or stoned does.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” the gorgeous blonde giggles, slapping a palm over her mouth. She holds out her other hand. “Let’s go clean you up.”
Perfect. My next meal.
She takes my hand, it’s smaller than mine. Her skin is soft and warm and if she notices how cold I am to the touch, she doesn’t say a word.
