Hunters

Dhampir.

I love that word. I enjoy the way the D and the H sit casually side by side, smirking as the reader hesitates to decide if the h should receive any attention or not. Dhampir.

My mother belonged to a religious cult, which is why I find it so titillating that she copulated with a vampire. Of course, considering that she was a plural wife, I can understand her desire for an extramarital affair, which further magnifies the romance of the story for me. I imagine my mother sitting outside alone, feeling forgotten and lost, only to lay her eyes on my father – pale, mysterious, beautiful. He would stroke her face, kiss her lips, move for the bite but finding himself freeing her hair down instead, playing with the long cascading strands as they began the act that would end with my birth.

Words cannot describe my father. He is gorgeous, strong, cold – everything. He raised me himself, because his daughter was too good for a polygamous lifestyle; she was too special to be just one of many. That’s what I wish the reason was, anyway. The truth is, I am a threat to his kind. He was hoping that by raising me himself, I would be more of a vampire and less of a hunter. Rumors said that dhampirs hunted the nightwalkers because of the bitterness of abandonment, seeking to kill the father who left them.

But I would never hurt my father, even though the desire to kill vampires still grows inside me. Instead, I attack his enemies, securing his position and safety. Perhaps as a result of my mother’s incestuous ancestry, I also have a taste for undead as well as human blood. It is not as sweet, but it is a tantalizing bitterness that fills me more than a hundred humans ever could. Because of that, my father is afraid of me. I wish he wasn't.

I love my father.

A/N: I'm currently reading New Moon, and for some reason Stephenie Meyer puts all sorts of weird ideas in my head. Fleshed out into a complete story, this particular idea would probably creep the living daylights out of you.