Raven stared out at the sea, the cool breeze whipping her black hair around her face, as she stared out at the approaching ship. Her dark hazel eyes narrowed, before she turned away and pulled the red cloak up, around her hair, shadowing her dark face.

She moved swiftly, walking towards the plantation. She walked deliberately past the slave huts, knowing they would see her, knowing they feared her. They would not come near their master's house that night.

They knew she was not one of them.

Her skin may be the same colour, but the white men were stupid to think the slaves were idiotic morons, they believed they had no great intelligence.

Where white men were clever in the ways of technology, the slaves matched them in their intelligence of the supernatural.

She felt hate surge in her at the thought of the men who owned slaves, hated those who had originally enslaved her people, though she had not been mortal for many, many years, Africa was still, and always would be, her home.

Which made the people who lived there her people.

She approached the house, more of a mansion really, with more than four bedrooms, a nursery, a kitchen down below…, and too many slaves, more than any man deserved.

She entered the house slowly, finding the children asleep, the wife waiting for her husband in their bedroom, the husband down in the study.

She made her way to the children's bedroom, standing over the oldest child, and brushing his hair back from his head, lovingly, like a mother would. "Sleep forever now child," She whispered. "And pay for the sins of thy fathers." She sank her teeth into his neck, drawing the blood out quickly, more interested in the child dying than drinking his blood.

The child would not suffer, but the other one…

She smiled as she approached his bed. His hair was brown, his eyes, though closed, she knew were light green as green as the grass back in her country. She watched as he slept, his long lashes resting on his cheek, smiling in some far off dream.

"You, child," She knelt by the bed, brushing his hair away as she had done to his brother. "Will pay in a way that will forever haunt your father's soul."

She kissed the child's forehead, and he stirred, his eyes flicking open for a brief second.

"Mummy?" He whispered, moving his hands to rub his eyes. His voice was soft in the darkness of the room, and Raven felt her mouth curl into a smile.

"No." She leaned towards him. "I'm more like…your new mistress." She drew out the last syllable, hissing it as she sat on the boy's bed.

She sank her teeth into his neck, and he wriggled, but made no sound. He was stronger than she would have thought, for such a young child, most children screamed for their mothers; if they were awake, in the last few moments. When she was done, he lay there, staring at the ceiling with cold green eyes. She tore her wrist open, placing it in front of his mouth, the blood on the surface of the tare.

"I don't feel so good." He cried, a quiet cry, not enough to draw the attention of his mother or father.

"Drink this." She urged, and he obeyed with the unwavering trust of a child, clamping his mouth over the wound. "It'll make everything better."

He drank, only stopping when she pulled her arm away.

He squirmed, reaching out for more, his small arms grasping the air, trying to hold onto her wrist.

Then he fell back to the bed.

She waited.

She was good at waiting.

Especially when it came to revenge.

After a few minutes, or perhaps it was an hour, time was of no importance to her, his eyes snapped open, light green and alive with the flow of her blood in him.

She smiled, holding out her hand to him.

"Come. We'll see mummy now."

"I'm hungry."

"I know," She smiled, her fangs glistening in the moonlight that fell through the window. "Mummy will give you food."
He followed her, and she found herself thankful that children were so trusting, so naïve, so innocent. The thought made her smile grow.

She led him to his mother's room, where he ran in, throwing his arms around his mother, pregnant with her 3rd child – the carer, the source of unconditional love, and the giver of life.

"Mummy, I made a new friend."

Raven waited behind the door, waiting for just the right moment to make her entrance.

"Oh." She held back a laugh, knowing the poor mother thought her son had been imagining friends again. "What's his name?" She asked, stroking her son's hair, failing to notice the difference in his eyes, the sharpness of his teeth.

"Silly mummy," The boy laughed. "It's a girl."

Raven stepped into the room, her red cloak flowing behind her. "Yes, silly mummy," She tilted her head to one side. "Did you never teach your son not to talk to strangers?"

The mother gripped the boy, holding him tightly, and Raven felt a surge of delight in the fear showing so obviously on the woman's face.

"Who are you?"

Raven sighed, shaking her head, watching the boy, knowing as a newborn he would be sensitive.

"Mummy, you're hurting me." He struggled to be released, and Raven knew she did not have long to wait until the animal now inside the boy reared it's ugly head, and lashed out, out of hunger and desire to get away from the woman whose grip was tightening every second, unwillingly drawing death closer and closer.

"To your slaves," She stepped forward. "I am known as The Angel of Death, but I prefer to think of myself as more a…Angel of Revenge."

She squeezed her son out of fear, and Raven laughed as the boy struggled, a harsh, cruel laugh. The woman's grip grew tighter at the sound of the laughter, and finally the boy bit, hard, into his mother's arm, tearing the skin.

As soon as the first drop of blood oozed out, he began to suck, Raven watching patiently as the mother's eyes widened in surprise, before she lost her grasp on life, and died.

The boy jumped up, feeling the slacking of his mother's grip. He looked at Raven.

"Did I hurt mummy?"

"No," Raven shook her head. "She's just sleeping."

"Oh." He looked at the smile on Raven's face, and Raven found she could not wait for him to forget his mortal life – he was going to make a great Vampire, and the young ones always forgot. "Did I do good?"

"Very good." She assured him, nodding. "We have one more person to see before we leave."

She took his hand.

"Where are we going?"

"On an adventure."

His eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh, will we see pirates?"


She led him downstairs, to the study where his father was bent intently over the forms about the plantation.

"Not now Martha." He sighed, leaning back and rubbing his eyes.

"It's not Martha."

He leapt up, whirling around. "What are you doing with my son?"
"Daddy!" The boy cried. "I helped mummy get to sleep."

The man looked at Raven, taking in her dark skin, her long fangs, and the red cloak. "The Angel of Death." There was fear in his voice, and the fear made her smile.

"My reputation walks before me then."

"I've heard the slaves talk about you, you son of a bitch."

"Watch your language in front of your son." She had a tone of mock shock in her voice. "The slaves, I must admit, are the reason I am here."

"What do you want me to do?" He asked. "Free them? Will you leave me and my family alone if I do?"

She laughed again. "Too late for that." She stepped towards him. "I want you to suffer, really suffer for what you have done."

"So you're going to kill me?" He asked, holding his head high as if waiting for death.

"No." She hissed, the smile completely gone from her face and her voice. "I've already killed your whole family you asshole, how would you like to see one of them enslaved?"

He looked at his son. "What do you mean?"

She snapped the boy's head to one side, revealing two bite marks on his neck. "Show daddy your teeth."

He turned and grinned at his father, who recoiled at the sight of two, sharp fangs, built for ripping into flesh.

"What have you done to my son?"

"Enslaved him!" She screamed. "Just as you have enslaved my people!" She lifted a hand, slapping him with the back of it, leaving four cuts in his cheek from her long, sharp nails. "He killed your wife." The boy sucked his thumb, watching his father, as his feelings for the man disappeared, taken over by a desire to drink the red liquid that even now slipped out of the cuts, staining his cheek.

She punched the man, sending him flying over the desk and whacking the wall, before slipping to the floor.

"Your wife and sons are dead because of your deeds; this boy walks the night because of you. Let that lie on your conscience." She screamed it, her face wild with fury, with anger.

She leapt on him, pinning him to the floor, and sinking her teeth into him.

"Stay there." She told the boy, as she pulled up from the man. The boy nodded, watching, waiting. He had inherited her patience. She took a lot, but not enough to kill him. He would live, he would suffer.

She took the boy in her arms, walking slowly and quietly, past the slave huts and out of the plantation.

The slaves saw the woman in the red cloak as she walked away from their master's house, carrying the youngest son in her arms. They knew, as they watched her go, that the Angel of Death had visited their plantation.

They sent the men to the house, and they were surprised to find their master alive, though not surprised to find the wife and oldest boy dead.

Two of the youngest boys, thirteen and fifteen, ran the mile to only other plantation within a five mile radius, and here one of them told the other slaves about what had happened, while the older one ran to the house to get help.

Their master never spoke again until his death, almost sixteen years later, when he uttered cryptic words:

"My son….the slave…" He was shivering, on the brink of death. "Angel of Death…"

Gathered around their master's bed, the slaves waited, they thought they heard him utter only one more word before he gave up on life to join his wife, their unborn child, and oldest son.