The Den

As vampires that live for periods of time longer than that of any human, it's understandable that we can't legally own a house. The concept is far too risky, so we resort to renting out homes for a few years at a time maximum, then moving on. Sometimes we only remain in one place for a few weeks. My family has come to call our place 'The Den,' purely because the title mocks the common perception of our kind. The Den doesn't only contain our bloodline, but also several other nomads and families; which is understandable due to the small size of the average family. My only brother is 48 years older than me, and my mother passed away a decade ago. That makes an all guy family, so we decided we'd move in with another group of vampires for obvious reasons.

But after spending the last 24 hours in The Den, I can't stand it anymore. Peter killed a girl. We knew it the moment he stepped through the door. His shirt sported excess blood from our rather messy eating methods. Though i must give him credit, he eats in a much tidier fashion than anyone else. What makes what he does worse, is that he brags about his kills to all of us. When almost half of us prefer to preserve human life, it doesn't ease our minds to know that a friend is tearing out their throats with amusement. Rosalie agrees with me. Shes a vampire of 18, only a few months older than me. We get along well, and we agree on most matters, so we had our private discussion about that fool.

On the bright side, it shouldn't have to continue much longer. Recently, there have been blood drives at my school every 3 months, which was originally a day that would plague my conscience, and threaten to take me. Fortunately, me and Rosalie convinced Lily, one of the older females, to work for the blood bank. Succesfully landing this job will see regular deliveries of donor blood to The Den. After that day, I vow to spill the blood of any vampire residing in The Den who takes the life of a human for a meal.