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by Michael Terrance (Author)
You humans call us vampires, but I, Sorin Harker, am a Nocturnae and I am the last of my kind.
Forget what you think you know about us. Crosses and holy water are bulls***. Having to ask to enter your home or being unable to walk on hallowed ground is utter malarky. Garlic and vervain are just plants, nothing more.
Nocturnae weaknesses are simple: silver and sunlight. If you could get a wooden stake in my heart, it wouldn't kill me; but it would piss me off. And I most assuredly do not glitter, glisten, or sparkle in sunlight.
I don't know how it started or who popularized it, but the unwavering infatuation your kind has with vampire-human relations is disgusting. Especially, the fantasy of the century-old-vampire and young teenage girl.
Let me be very, very clear...
Humans are my food. I have no desire to court or be intimate with my food. Just like you wouldn't think of a cow, chicken, or a cucumber in that way. Well, maybe some of you would.
I'm not soft and cuddly. Maker, I'm not even nice. I am a monster. And I've been hunted my entire life.
A secret organization operating in the shadows of governments and religious groups has hunted my kind to the brink of extinction since before I experienced my new birth and became Nocturnae. They are known as, The Company.
And I am their prisoner.
