PROLOGUE
I am me, and I am gorgeous … and dangerous; yet as gorgeous and dangerous as I am, I was quite bothered when I awoke to greet the new dusk.
Due to circumstances (and annoying emotions) beyond my control, I found myself developing a fondness towards a homeless street waif, and I had visited the waif on the previous night. The waif lives in the dangerous and unhospitable homeless camp called The Dungeon, and being a tiny little thing, she is accosted, beaten and robbed by those who are bigger and meaner than her. Yet not only do the riff-raff of The Dungeon rob her, shady drug-dealers rob her as well. If my gorgeous (and seriously dangerous) fanged friend Virginia wasn’t popping into see me, I would confront the shady drug-dealers immediately, yet the confrontation would need to be postponed until the following night.
Virginia is a foundation member of the Berserk Vampires (she thought up the name) and obviously she has fucked up again and she needs to flee the State. Being an inquisitive creature, I was interested in hearing why she needs to abscond, because boy-ohhh-boy, can that gal tell a story. After she has told her story (and her stories usually involve four principal elements; sex, fangs, blood and death) we’ll probably snort coke and masturbate together.
If you read the first story, you will no doubt be aware that vampires have enhanced senses, and a glorious consequence of having enhanced senses is that we also have enhanced orgasms. One of the interesting consequences of having enhanced orgasms is that vampires aren’t embarrassed when they talk about sex, they are aroused. To those of us with fangs, when we talk about sex, nothing is taboo, nothing is outside the boundaries of decency or respectability, because we just want to keep blowing out big ones, and when the big ones do blow out, our greatest desire is then to tell someone all about it. Admittedly, being creatures with fangs, our conversations between one another are limited, because we don’t talk about mundane issues like our careers, or our families, or politics, or world events, we mainly talk about sex; Hey Ginny, have you hit the big Fifty-plus yet? We don’t talk about our careers, because due to a variety of complex issues, most vampires don’t have jobs. Let me set this little scene for you; a vampire could apply on-line for a job, and then the employer could say, Well done, you’ve got the job! Can you start at nine o’clock tomorrow morning? The vampire would freak out, then they would say timidly, Nine o’clock in the morning? What, you mean when that freaking Yellow pain-in-the-ass Ball is blazing in the sky? … errrr, how about I start at nine o’clock in the evening? Some of you may be thinking that vampires Could get jobs, like how about doing the graveyard shift at a Seven-Eleven; and yes, fair point, but let me set another scene for you. A vampire could be standing behind the counter in their freshly washed and pressed Seven-Eleven uniform, and then two low-life scumbags could charge into the store and roar, This is a robbery, so give us all the cash! The vampire would then think, Gee, that’s not very nice … and then if the vampire was outraged enough, she (or he) would rip the scumbags to pieces and feed on them, and the consequence of that is that it would create another headline; Gruesome murder at the Seven-Eleven! Most sensible vampires (and unfortunately, that doesn’t include my friend Virginia) like to stay in the shadows and avoid headlines, so if you do happen to bump into a vampire (and just quietly, that probably won’t happen, because we tend to bump into you) just be nice to the vampire, and you may live to see another day.
So most vampires don’t have jobs, and we don’t talk about our families either, because being undead creatures of the night, we can’t reproduce. We don’t talk about politics or world events, because really, who gives a fuck. We do talk about sport (all members of the Berserk Vampires are Gold Members of the Chicago Hawks ice hockey team) but mostly we talk about sex. When your orgasms are enhanced and you’ve just blown out a huge mother-fucker, you want to tell your friends about it. In the first story in this series, I blew out a big one, and after it came to its mind-blowing finale, I texted Virginia straight away; My legs are still shaking … thirty-five minutes plus, or in a literal sense, five pages or thirteen hundred words! She texted straight back; I did two forty-pluses last night, but I don’t know how many pages or words that equates to, because I couldn’t be fucked writing stuff into my diary.
Hmmm, unfortunately for me, a forty-plus orgasm relegates my five pages or thirteen-thousand-word orgasm into the Ho Hum, so what category. If Virginia blows out a big one (actually, I should say when Virginia DOES blow out a big one) we’re possibly talking about an entire chapter, so if I have my way during this series of stories, there will never be a scene featuring my best friend going off. The curious reader might be thinking, Ohhh dear, the heroine of this series (or more precisely, the anti-heroine) must be jealous of her best friend! Am I jealous of Virginia? Yes, I am, but if she is fleeing the state, the big bonus for me, the huge motherfucker bonus for me was that I, Raven Ravyen would then become the hottest vampire in Chicago!
The curious reader may be assuming, Goodness me, she’s up herself … and that particular assumption does have a solid foundation. If you read the first story you would know the answer, yet to make it quite clear to everyone; I will declare emphatically that, yes, I am up myself, in fact I am so far up myself that I may never be able to find my way back. Then again, there is no one in the world who I would rather be up than me, so I ain’t planning to come back anyway.
Virginia should be here soon, so maybe I should tell you a few things about my best friend …
