Okay, so I was hugely inspired by someone who commented on the first draft of this, and I had to redo this story for them, from a different perspective, new character and just entirely all over again. So, tell me if maybe this is any better than the first draft or not.

**And just so there isn't any confusion I would HIGHLY suggest that anyone who hasn't read "In Good Blood" do so, because I'm going to make refrences between the novels and I really don't wanna frustrate anyone with, like Analeigh's nicknames or anything. Okay, sorry bout that, hope ya like the chapter!!**

~Selene

Chapter 1

I felt like I could jump out the window and just fly away. I'd almost done it once, actually jumped, almost broke my nose. I was high. Drugs always made me feel like I could do anything.

Instead stood on the edge of the windowsill outside my bedroom, letting the night air nibble at my exposed skin. My fingers numbly clutched the shingles above me, and I stretched my foot out into the cold night.

Wind blew layered blonde wisps into my face; they stuck to my Polysporin lip chap. I leaned away from the window, screaming when someone grabbed my waist.

I was still kicking and shrieking when my Father dropped me on my bed, slamming my window shut and shouting something unintelligible. A gurgling laugh came to my lips. His voice was high, like he'd been sucking on a helium balloon, and his skin was green and wavy.

"Sawyer Quinzelle Cohen…." I let my head hang off the edge of my double bed, staring at the floor as it spun round in circles, flashing a thousand colours at once.

I closed my eyes, feeling myself fall through my bed, through the floor and into the kitchen below where my Mother was listening to the Beetles and stringing glass beads on some thread.

When I awoke the next morning, it was to a pile of bags, I'd really done myself in now. My drawers were strewn across the floor, my red thong hanging over the edge of one, I sneered.

I climbed up from the floor, regarding the empty bag that once held marijuana resting on the side of my bed a moment. I ran my fingers through my hair, taking a deep breath and walking from my room.

Mom and Dad were talking when I came into our big kitchen, they both looked at each other gravely before raking their eyes over me.

"Sawyer, you know your condition." Mom began her long brown-gold hair curtain-like, and draping over her shoulders. She wore a braided headband around her head like a circlet, the colour of a rainbow.

Mom was in denial that the 60's and 70's had passed.

My condition, I thought. Haemophilia, a disorder that disables the body's ability to control coagulation or blood clotting. In other words, I get a paper cut I'm gonna bleed to death. Pretty wicked right?

My great, great grandpa had it, it's hereditary. Funny thing is, it's most common in males, it happens to like, 1 in 5,000 to 10,000 male births. Ya know, 'cause they only have one X chromosome or something. And that's only haemophilia A.

Girls have two X chromosomes, but I still got it. Isn't that just a stroke of luck?

So my Dad, big awesome brain surgeon Dad, is like super finicky about letting me do anything. But Mom, well she's too far back in the past to really concern herself with her kid's issues, so she just lets me do what I want.

"Sawyer, I think…" She looked at my Father who was rubbing his face down with a white handkerchief. She looked stressed, if I didn't know better I'd actually say she was worried about something.

Oh, balls. They're gonna send me to boot camp. I stiffened, quickly searching for any excuse I could wrap my head around. My tongue flailed behind my lips, what would I do at boot camp? I'd be put in like, a cage or something.

I…kind of have problems with authority. Okay, no big deal, I just don't like people telling me what to do, that's normal for a fourteen-year-old right? Mutiny and spray paint, crap like that.

It was the reason Dad never took me to any of his fancy get-togethers or Christmas parties for work. "Wow Nathan," His friends would say, "You're daughter is quite….wow. Nothing like you at all."

That's right, they couldn't even form words to describe me. Dad never said I'm an embarrassment, I know, he loves me and all – it's kind of his job, but still, I know.

"Sawyer you're going to spend some time with your cousins." Dad spoke for my Mother, his voice was distant but firm, determined. I shrugged my shoulders, anything was better than boot camp.

My cousins were snobs. There's Olivia, the princess of all that is evil, Jasmine the drama queen, and Dawson, now he wasn't as bad as his sisters but he's the most girlish boy I have ever met.

The last time I had to spend a weekend there my Aunt Charity, spent like four hours making sure I had no matches or pointy objects, that I could possibly use for a hostile takeover. And My Uncle – who really isn't the father of Charity's children – went haywire when I put my feet on the coffee table.

It was like I had desecrated their place of worshiping.

"For what, like a couple days?" I scratched my head, trudging through the kitchen to the fridge, opening the milk carton and knocking it back.

"No, no." My Dad was shaking his head, "Maybe a few months. Now, the next flight to Sighisoara leaves tomorrow at one-"

I spat up, coughing backwash into the carton, milk was coming out of my nose. My Father sighed moving about before dabbing a washcloth over my face, it smelt of vanilla soap and dirty dishes and I grimaced.

"Sighisowhata?" I snapped, Aunt Charity and Uncle Bryan lived like three hours away. It hit me then, I wasn't going to see my Mom's half of the family.

"Daddy!" I moaned, "Please, please, please don't make me go there!"

He was talking about his family, my Uncle Nick and Aunt Kristine.

"There are vampires there!" I screamed, clamping my hands on his shoulders and giving him a hard shake. My Dad laughed, steadying himself and patting my hair.

"That's just an old tourist story, Sawyer. And we already bought your ticket so you're going." He was smiling, but his voice was smooth and level. Dad's hazel eyes were blazing.

I am so doomed.