Wander This World

By Siren Crow

When did life get so complicated? The plan was just to get through my winter semester, binge Doctor Who marathons and eat all the mint ice cream a girl could eat. So why am I obsessing over a delectable classmate who's blood makes me want to r*de him silly or drink him dry? Don't judge me! I'm a vampire, okay? I hardly ever indulge beyond sustenance and only on occasion, do it for fun--but that's not the point! Someone tried to kill me and it was only natural for me to bite back(excuse the pun) Probably would have been smart to make sure no one was watching me though... Guess that's what I get for being impulsive!

 

 

 

Wander This World is a lighthearted, sometimes darkish vampire college romance with a geeky Black redheaded vampire and the tattooed sweetheart who becomes hers. It was previously published under another pen name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Siren Crow
• Release date: Mar 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215323304

Book preview

The blood, there was too much of it. I never needed this much. Unfortunately, it was often a casualty of war. Things were made more difficult when they fought.

It was easier with the elderly or children. Even when they wanted to, they didn’t have the strength to defend themselves, but … maybe I had a soft touch. At the very least I took pity on those closer to dying and kids. I wasn’t interested in making them suffer.

Was I as strong all the time? No.

However, I regretted a lot less when those who fell victim to me were in their prime and chosen at random. It was best to know little about them, that way none of them kept me up at night. But in effort to feel more … human, I allowed myself remorse. Blood dripped from my hands, dried under my fingernails, and clung to my tardis dress.

Shoot, I can’t get it dry cleaned now, it’ll bring up too many questions. I’ll just have to make another one. It’d been my favorite thing to wear until now, and the stitching was immaculate. The bust was tight, so I’d be sure to make it looser on the next one.

The mess I made. I never knew whether to clean it and disturb the scene, or leave it the way it was. A girl lay swimming in her own pool of blood deserved justice she’d never receive, but I can’t imagine anyone might want to find her this way.

The more I lingered, the more I wondered who I’d taken her from. The more I wondered, the more I realized it didn’t matter at this point. She was attractive, I totally would’ve fucked her if the circumstances were different.

But I picked her because I didn’t know her. I picked her because I didn’t want to know her. I picked her because … I can walk away, and never think about her again.

I didn’t have to be this messy, but my hands, they just got the best of me.

They were small.

Harder to use, but easier to clean.

I brought a dried finger to my mouth. The part that hadn’t hardened, dripped down my palm and I reached in to lick my index finger. Blood never tasted quite as salty or sweet cold as it did warm. Blood wasn’t my drug, just a basic need. It was nothing more than its metallic aftertaste.

Emotion made it taste that way. Fear made it salty, and arousal made it sweet. I wanted a partner; I wanted it to be sweet. But sometimes the need couldn’t wait. Sometimes the need made me a monster.

Why the hell did I sign up for night classes? Since I’d put early registration off, I didn’t have a ton of schedule options when I signed up for my pre-reqs. There weren’t any huge complaints about most of my classes, but I hadn’t been happy about a 7:20 a.m. Algebra class, and a 5:20 Block Sociology course, which ate up three hours of my night on Tuesdays.

It was my first year at University of Minnesota, but today marked my second day of classes. I thought I’d been doing myself a favor not waking up at the crack of dawn just to fulfill a sociology credit, but I was wrong. Three-hour class, every Tuesday. I was already dreading it.

A dozen conversations went on in the classroom, but I was too bored to listen to them. The class was getting bigger by the minute. A girl next to me browsed on her laptop. I didn’t want to be nosy, but she was most likely a movie buff. IMDB was on full display of the screen, and though I’d been curious to ask what she’d been looking for, my phone vibrated in my pocket, taking me out the zone.

Any hotties yet? Chuckling at the text which scrolled across my screen, I swiped the screen to get past the lock guard. Just some dude I went to high school with.

Too many to count, I texted back.

I was kidding, but to be fair, it was true. I was a world away from high school. Here, the door swung wide open to the portal of beautiful, sweet, and sexy college girls. Somehow, I managed to land in Territorial Hall, the freshman dorm hailed as the party dorm for first years. The original plan had been to straighten up and fly right, but the moment I was dropped off on campus, chaos erupted.

With the promise of parties, weed, alcohol, and girls, I thought it best to make doing well a priority for next year. Or at least next semester.

I assumed being a freshman would suck. Not being able to have my car on campus was the worst of it, and I didn’t look forward to looking like a loser every time my stepdad came by if I wanted to spend the weekend home. But so far, being a freshman was so not sucking. In three days, I’d already gotten party invites by random guys, who assumed I’d be pledging.

Is someone sitting here? a girl a table away asked its occupant. She sat down after confirmation, scooting her chair closer to the table.

I … I know her. She used to—

Welcome, class, the professor began, interrupting my thoughts. I’ll give everyone a few moments before I close the door. After a formal introduction, the professor directed the floor to the classroom, table by table, to do the same.

However, my attention was on her. The girl in front of me.

Red hair. Black. Pretty. It’d been years since I last saw her. Assumed I never would again. To be fair, we’d never actually met. Even as I recall her from memory, it’d only been in passing, never in person. But she was hard to forget. Her red hair gave her away.

One by one, folks stood up, giving simple introductions of themselves. Name, where they were from, and why were they taking this class. I mentally planned my answer, but you know how these things worked—in effort to get it over with, your five-minute monologue turns into a five second spiel of nonsense.

She stood in the distance, with her hands in her pockets, wearing a blue hoodie and jeans. My name is Melanie Blue. I’m from Grey Hollow, population 1192. This is my junior year, and … I’m taking this course because I’ve avoided it until now.

I’d waited for her answer, but only to hear her speak. She said her name, but I already knew it. I wasn’t allowed a ton of time before it was my turn to stand. Uh, I’m Penley Greene. I’m not from anywhere, but I’ve lived in Minnesota for the past few years. I’m a freshman. And I’m totally taking this class because I bullshitted during registration.

I garnered a laugh from the only other Asian person in the room. Out of a class of thirty-three, there were like, five people of color in the room all together. UMN as a whole wasn’t that bad. Could be better, but it was Minnesota.

It wasn’t all bad, though. I was ten feet from Melanie Blue.

I spoke too soon.

After introductions, we were given the syllabus. I kid you not when I say it was four pages long. The professor explained what was expected for the semester, and then directed each student to pull out a number from a bowl in front of the class. It could only mean one thing—we were about to be separated by numbers to form groups.

I was as social as they came, but that initial awkwardness one feels in a new environment? It was about to work overtime, as we were instructed to search the room to find our group mates. Why we weren’t allowed to just shout out numbers and sit down, I didn’t know. But I really hoped I wouldn’t get matched in a group full of dude bros.

The room lost its ambience, as working the room forced others to approach one another. Are you number four?

I held out my number to the girl who’d laughed at my joke earlier. Sorry. Five.

She snapped her finger in a whimsical fashion. Rats!

Funny thing was, I’d been thinking the same thing. Every attempt to find a crew came unsuccessful. I approached two threes, and not long after was approached by a one, two, and a six. It was getting to the point I thought I’d be the only five.

Are you a five? I held out my number for a much taller guy standing next to me. He was light skinned, but clearly black, with serious style, not much different than my own. We shared dap out of mutual respect, and went hunting for possible groupmates.

Even though the group had grown half its size in the course of a few minutes, with the size of the class, we had to anticipate at least two new members. My fingers were crossed we wouldn’t gain another white boy; our quota was officially full. So far we hadn’t gained any women, which sucked. One new member I might get along with. He gave off the hippie vibe, and smelled like weed, so I could roll with that. The other one, total dude bro.

Damn. Ain’t no honies in this group? Michael said underneath a huff. He’d been the first to confirm, and I learned his name soon after. We chuckled at the inside joke. Tobias and Chris, our other group members didn’t get it. They probably wouldn’t.

After twenty minutes of working the room, I finally found a second to check out Melanie again. She was still as cute as I remembered. I was curious to how she’d gotten her hair that shade of red, a mix of brick and wine. At first glance, it was intense, but it fit her dark brown skin. If anything, it complimented her quirky appearance. I wasn’t nerdy, but there was just something about a nerdy girl …

I watched as she exchanged numbers with a peppy white girl, before they scanned the room to find the groups with less than five members. My stomach churned and fought me. They were walking toward us.

Are you guys fives? Melanie held up her number, and the rest of us followed suit to prove we all matched.

This class just got interesting.

Smell of polyurethane masked the halls. It was after eight, when the last run of students were scheduled to leave for the night, if they hadn’t already. He despised them—students. They didn’t exist, not really. They wanted to. Thought they deserved to. Assumed they were something. But they weren’t anything. Just bags of bodies. Worthless. No potential.

He scratched his arm. The arm with the telltale scar. It itched a scarlet red on his pale skin. He kept it concealed through most of the day, but he couldn’t help on occasion pulling his sleeve back up, to bask in it. It turned him on too much not to steal a glance.

The memory of where it came from turned him on even more.

The rustling of open doors took him out of the fantasy. It must be 8:20. Last rush of students for the night, until the next day. Good. Seeing them only amplified his rage. How dare they try to exist? The thought enraged him, that they thought they were allowed to exist. Only he existed. Only him.

She moved down the hall, catching his eye with an infinite grace. Even from a distance he knew her, saw her, wanted her near him.

Raspberry.

She didn’t exist either, but he still wanted her. Wanted to see her. Wanted to know how she worked. How she felt. How she screamed. She’d been toying with his emotions since they met, and had been teasing him ever since.

She wore her hair in pigtails so many years ago. She was like a little girl, only with a woman’s body. Her auburn hair enticed him. He sniffed the air, and swore it smelled like raspberries. He preferred red hair. All the others had red hair. Would she scream the way they did?

She’d been leaving the lavatory when they’d met. He’d just completed rounds of disposing waste when their eyes met, all the way across the room, willing him to think immoral thoughts. She knew what she was doing. They always did.

She was the toy he never touched. Maybe the one who might prove she existed.

One day, he’d prove she was real, but it would come at a cost of taking that reality away.

One day he’d pick her off the shelf to play. The next? She’d no longer be real anymore …

Guns and Roses paid me a visit this morning in the form of Night Train blaring from my cell phone. 8 a.m. seemed like a decent time for College Algebra and Probability, but having to wake up at 7 a.m. just to get some shower time? Now I wasn’t so sure.

Dude, my roommate Luis muttered through lips pressed against his pillow, will you please turn that shit off? I’m over here trying to sleep and shit. Who the hell gets up at 7 a.m. just to go to class?

Usually I took pride in sleeping in late, but there was no way out of securing this required course. It was either 8 a.m. or I’d have to take it next semester. Like Sociology, I was not looking forward to doing that. Sorry. I reached for my cell. The alarm didn’t bother me; this song was my shit.

I got up from my bed in search of a towel and fresh clothes. I’d only been away from home for a few short weeks and already I needed to do laundry.

Man, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I know it’s mad early in the school year but my girl only has classes Monday through Wednesday, so she was gonna spend Thursday and Friday with me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m gonna need a little privacy tonight.

I rolled my eyes, fighting back jealousy. Less than a day ago, this guy was all talk with his speech about taking this first semester seriously. His girlfriend wasn’t right around the corner so I understood, but damn, already?

"Dude,