After mom died—that very night in fact—I did the only thing I could think of to stay out of the clutches of both the Vampyres and the authorities. I’d heard horror stories of kids put into the damned system, shuttled from foster home to foster home when they had no family. Never loved or cared about. If mom had family I never knew them. She never mentioned them, had no pictures, no stories.
Anyway, as I said, I did the only thing that came to mind to keep my freedom. I torched our house. Packed my clothes in my backpack, took what little cash she had in her purse, and then set the place on fire. Watched it burn. Mourned my mother in my own way. Asked whoever had forsaken her in life to take care of her in death, and then began hiking.
I ended up two towns away by the next evening. Bought a decent meal with the last of my cash, found a safe place to sleep for the night, had nightmares that would follow me—forever, I think. The next morning I took off again, hungry now and penniless. Hit a bigger place after hitching a ride with some old lady who felt sorry for me. But not sorry enough to give me any cash. Lived on the streets there for a while, moved on. Crossed half the country that way by the time I was sixteen.
My powers, the one thing I got from my bastard of a father, grew as I did. So did my sense of how to live in this world. Take what you can from who you can. Women were the easiest. They trusted, they fell for the boyish charm that I’d learned early on how to use. When I hit sixteen, I found out that if you bullshit the gullible guys enough, you can have a warm bed, three squares and all the sex you want, if that’s your thing. Guess I was lucky, or maybe it was my Vampyre genes, but I never caught anything.
By the time I was twenty-one I was jaded. I knew what people were like and hell, I used it to my advantage. See above and then some.
I was also full of hate. I didn’t like my life and I knew who to blame. Vampyres. The one who brought me into being—the ones who murdered my mother—and all their kind. It was time to fulfill my destiny. Time to be what I was. Time to seek out and kill every last one of them. Five hundred, even two hundred years ago I could have made a living hiring out as a Vampyre hunter. For all I know maybe I still could. But I don’t want money for it. Just removing them from this planet is payment enough for me.
Back to turning twenty-one. To celebrate I hunted down my first Vampyre. Not as hard as it sounds, if you’re a Dhampir. We can see them, tell them from humans, easily, even when they know they’re being hunted and go invisible. I found one, followed him, killed him while he was busy feeding on his victim. Damned sucker didn’t even know I was there. Let the chick flee and then cut his head off. No more Vampyre, not even a suggestion he’d been there. Ashes to ashes and all that crap.
By the time I was twenty-five I’d honed my craft and learned to hunt them down where they slept. Got me a special sword. Short, silver, works like a dream on the bastards and is easy to hide. Got me a good ride too. Picked it up cheap cause it was old. Fixed it up, runs like a dream. None of that ‘let’s let them hear me coming’ crap. She’s as silent as can be. Stealth. The only way to go.
It’s been a few years since then. I’ve done my share of ridding the world of the creatures. Done my bit to pleasure a lot men, and sometimes women, along the line too. They still believe the line of bull I hand them. Still fall for the charm—though these days I’m finding it harder to be charming. The women are good for only one thing, to be under or on top of a man depending on how he likes it. Yeah I’m a chauvinist, not denying it. But that’s still the truth. Anyone who’ll believe my line of shit deserves what he or she gets. A good roll in the hay and then hasta la vista baby. I’ve got better things to do than try to woo someone. Either they want it or they don’t. If they don't, there’s a lot more where they come from.
So that’s me in a rather large nutshell. Dhampir, Vampyre killer, full of hate, no room for anything else. Oh yeah, one more thing. I did find my father. Killed him slow—real slow. Ever bleed a blood sucker to death? There’s a certain kick you get from that, or I did—with him. Might have to try that again sometime on the right one. One who deserves my special attention. And I think I’ve found him.