Warning: Slash. Do not read, if you do not like. I will not tolerate flame-y comments about slash.

I am re-writing my previous Night In Love, as I simply didn't like it. I prefer to write in the first person. Here is the first chapter. I would appreciate advice. Thank-you.

Spain - 1999

I am Marcus. Death is my immortality. It was through death that I achieved never ending life. Of course, there is always a catch, as you mortals say these days. Nothing is ever truly good or bad. I may be immortal, but I am a vampire. A blood sucking monster. I hide from the sun, feast on blood and I am perfect. Perfect. Flawless personality, gleaming skin and incredible power. This beauty of mine seems to draw humans to me, metal flying to a decorated magnet. Never mind that I am their predator, but then again mortals tend to be attracted to what is bad for them, they don't seem to think that it could hurt.

Am I tortured by this magnificent beauty of mine? Do I yearn for a way to cheat this immortality? Do I hate the copper tasting blood that runs through the veins of all life?

I am a fallen angel, muddled with sin yet pure as the fountains of heaven itself. I do not understand what I did to deserve such punishment, to be banished and to be seen as a monster. But- I do not hate it. I accept that my Lord has seen me suitable for this role, and I will do my best to see it through. Whether or not I understand is not a priority for God. There must be balance in this world of ours; I was made to be perfect, to drink the sweet blood and therefore I will not shy away from my duty. No matter how much I wish that I hadn't been chosen. No matter how much I crave that I was still an angel, white and clean, I am instead a vampire, tainted with blood.

Shall I tell you of my charm, the symmetry of my elegance?

Where shall I begin?

When you first glance at someone, their face seems to strike out at you. Depending on your age, you then sort this face into a category. Most commonly, attractive or not attractive. Know that I would instantly be grouped as attractive.

I have the high cheekbones of an opera singer, a sharp chin and my skin is as pale as crisp bleached sheets. My deep green eyes are heavily lashed, and usually outlined with kohl. I have the thick eyebrows of a European, perfectly curved over my eyes. I have a sensuous mouth, my cherry lips always in a pout.

I am tall, as most male vampires are. I don't know why vampires are always so tall, maybe it is our commanding presence that tricks the eye into thinking we are giants. I do not think that the transformation affects our height. I am lean and not at all broad shouldered. I believe this contributes to my elegance, as I slide and move along softly instead of stamping down in the fierce way that those athletic beefcakes seem to.

The more blood I consume, the more striking my features. There are days when I am in despair, my faith absent and my fist ready to raise and strike at God. I shut myself away, in the bargain-basement of a cheap and tawdry hotel, starving and staring madly at the wall. It is then that my cheeks become hollow and shrunken, where my eyes begin to lose their light and my skin stretches tight across my bones, almost as if I were a living, breathing skeleton.

However, the lust for that honeyed elixir always wins. I only last a couple of days before I break down and tear through that hotel half mad and blind, in a red tinted haze, searching for the drum and thump of a heartbeat. I ravage that unlucky victim, I drink all that can be drunk and I bite and chew, just to see if I can squeeze out those few last and lingering droplets of life.

Then I am sane again, and I pray for forgiveness to God. I ask for mercy and ask to be saved. I feel the guilt weigh down on me. Why should God have mercy on me, if I can not do the same to others? But my Lord is forgiving, he understands that sometimes ones faith can waver. He always understands.

I am currently on a journey. One could call it an adventure. Or even a hit-list.

It all started when I was turned, that is, when I became a child of darkness. When I was mortal, I had the splendid profession of being a slave. I was treated cruelly, as most slaves are, even though I was in quite a well established and smug household. My master was a brute, he would be seen as a criminal these days, but back then, what he did was observed as entirely acceptable if a bit crude. He used me, and to punish me, he made others use me. I wont describe the pain that I went through, but it was enough to make me hold a grudge.

It was in my first year of being a vampire that I decided to go back to my master's house and repay him, my pain, with interest. That was such a long time ago, but I still remember those clear and piercing shrieks, and the deep, raw yells, and the sticky blood, splattered on the walls and floors. Quite a macabre scene actually.

But, I am getting ahead of myself. For, how did I become a vampire? Who made me their fledgling?

I was seventeen when I met my new master. He stole me away, literally in the dead of the night, after mesmerising me with whispered sweet nothings. I had thought he was my saviour, a beautiful angel of holy sin. His beauty had veiled the truth, he too was a brute. In fact, I had actually swopped one brute for the other. I don't know how I ever saw him as an angelic work of God. The devil couldn't have made better and I couldn't have been more of a fool.