Blood red tears make their slow journey down my face. I ask myself what I should do now. I guess I should start from the beginning.

It all began two years ago, well actually it began very long ago, but this section of the story began then. It was 131st year I had walked the earth as an un-dead, a time that I found confusing and dangerous. I was close to going to ground, or worse yet letting the light of the sun turn me to ashes. I was walking through this small north country town contemplating my life and death, wondering where it would all lead. My path took me past the town church, and there was light spilling out of its windows, casting wonderful patterns of color on the ground. I admired them for a moment then decided to go inside. My fear of these holy places had disappeared long past. I scanned the building, it was empty except for a lone priest, who was deep in to some reading. The door was open so I walked in and it was small, but exquisitely well kept, immaculately clean and smelled like rosewood. My spirits were actually lifted for several minutes as I looked up at the form of the Christian master on the cross. I could not help but admire the craftsmanship of the piece, and stood transfixed, gazing at it. Somewhere between a few minutes to have a half an hour later a voice startled me out of my reverie.

"Are you all right, Miss?" asked a rich baritone voice from behind me. I turned slowly to view my questioner. He was dressed all in black and stood about 6'1" with a mane of soot black hair, at first glance it appeared as if he was blind, but as I studied him more closely I realized that his eyes were of such a pale blue they looked white.

"Yes," I answered. "I was just gazing upon the savior and praying for guidance." His face grew solemn and he nodded.

"Does something trouble you? Might I offer some comfort? Or would you rather I left you to your thoughts?" His scent filled me distracting me from the question. "Ah, yes. Some advice would be welcome."

"Good. I am Father Daniel, please come, sit and we shall talk."

"Thank you father." I murmured dropping my head slightly. "My name is Jasmine Roth." We went to his small quarters and talked most of the night. I was elusive and spoke in metaphors about my life, which did not seem to bother him. He answered my doubts and I saw his great inner belief in God and the redeeming power of prayer. I had long ago stopped believing in God, and this mortal said nothing to change my mind. But, I was fascinated by his faith and purity. To find a mortal such as he in the jagged age I felt I was living in, startled me and gave me reason to rise the next night.

Each night after that as soon as the sun sank down in the horizon I returned to that church, and each time we would talk about something different. Never my life, but we would ponder Plato, different religious doctrines, the current political struggles, history, or whatever came into mind. I surprised him with my "memory" of high school early American history lessons, and he supersede me with his friendship. I would let my mind touch his briefly during these talks and sometimes I would sense his confusion about me, and his dismay at his attraction for me. Each night, after our conversation my body would ache to pull him into my embrace and drink from him, and taste his sweet blood. But, each night I would satisfy myself with the blood of the animals on the neighboring farms.

We walked this line of friendship each holding back from the other the feelings that we had. When I would delve into his mind, I could perceive his attraction for me growing. Although, my respect for him had become so great, that I was loathe to take advantage of this. His attraction grew from a fascination for something he did not understand, for something possibly dangerous. He did not believe in evil, not in the way that primitive people can. For him, evil was a manifestation of man, not something tangible, like a huntress that brings death. I did not try to make it easy for him, never offered an explanation as to why I never appeared during the day. Although in his mind he asked these questions over and over, and he made up excuses that he could believe.

The months passed and our conversations became more involved, each of us edging around topics that we both knew would be dangerous, but were tempting us none the less. One night the control of the conversation slipped beyond us and we started talking about sex. A strange topic for a man of the cloth, but I was 26 before I walked in the darkness, and had experienced a great deal. He was fascinated by my tales and dangerously aroused. After I finished a story about the last lover I had as a mortal his breath was coming in short gasps. His eyes were glazed over, and I was starving.

"Daniel, my body aches for you." I whispered, leaning into him and pressing my lips to his. His body responded before his mind could catch up with it. My hunger was piqued, but I pulled away from him. "You have to know what I am..before this can happen." I looked into his eyes, those oddly warm silvery eyes. He swallowed hard and returned my gaze. I parted my lips and bared my fangs. His reaction was slight, a brief intake of breath and the widening of eyes.

"Yes, I understand. I don't know why God has chosen to make you so, but I know you are not evil." His naiveté was beautiful, and I knew he was mine. That night we shared each other, my need driving me and his pushing me to new heights. I drank from him, slowly and gently, feeling the sensation as it rocked though him. His touch was inexperienced, but our lovemaking was shattering and I stayed with him till morning.

The nights were ours from then on. I was his lover, his friend, his demon. I never drank more than a taste from him, it was anguish, but I knew if I drank too deeply I would not stop. Even though he knew what I was, his faith in the existence of good and the power God was never wavered. That fact kept me fascinated, and I grew to love him, not as "my little mortal", but as an equal.

It was January, the fifth month that I had been with Daniel. I had risen and was a block away from the church, when my mind was hit with a scream of pure agony. I was stunned by the force of the blow and forced to my knees in anguish. The pain in Daniel's mind filled me but I could not move. It seemed like hours that knelt, holding my head in my hands, waiting for the pain to recede. Finally I struggled up and staggered toward the church. There were lights and people streaming out of the church. I quickly scanned the minds of the people flowing around the building, but all I got was jumbled pictures, death filled them all. I had to enter to see if my fears were to be confirmed. I collected my will and projected a strong feeling of absence of presence, willing the people around me not to see me. I moved into the church sidestepping police and ambulance personal. The church was in shambles, the pews were scattered and the prayer books shredded. The smell of blood was strong. I wound my way though the crowd and into Daniel's room. When I entered I had to fight back the bile that rose into my mouth, choking back sobs. The corners flash bulbs went off and my world went dark. Daniel lie face up on the bed with what use to be his neck no where to be seen. His blood covered the bed that so many nights our sweat had drenched. There was no life force left in him, he was a husk. I looked up and scrawled on the was this quote, "Death is to be mortal."

I stumbled out of the church and onto the street. There was nothing left inside of me, no anger, no pain just space. As dawn approached the only thing that saved me from the light of the sun was instinct.

When the sun set, I woke to the realization that someone had stolen my life away. I knew that I would never rest until Daniel's killers were found. Since then two years have passed I have been close to those who took Daniel. I will find them, with eternity to hunt, what can stay hidden?