Lol, cool! For all you new folks, this is the Second installment of the Blood Lust series. It is recommended that you read the first part in order to know what's going on. If you've already read it…then you're the coolest person in the world. ON TO THE FIC!

A small note before the story. Tribune: In ancient Greece, a tribune was a person elected by the people to protect them, it's significant to the story (hint* symbolism)

Disclaimer:…Aw. I own a turtle, and I own a ninja, so, I might as well own both. (I wish!)

Chapter One

He sat up from the cluttered desk at the knock, the candlelight flicking over his features. Papers, opened books, and hand written notes inhabited the messy desk. There was that knock again, he looked up. Emerald eyes met dark brown. Christina stood in the open doorway, her small frame leaning against that of the door's. The girl waltzed in, her white dress flowing as she walked.

She could have been an angel, but the sound of her bare feet padding across the floor told him otherwise.

In front of his desk, she stood, her hands behind her back expectantly. When she did not say anything, he did.

"What is it, Christina?" He watched as the angelic child eyed the floor; her brown curls falling into her face.

"Mama said for you to come to bed."

He stood, eyeing the grandfather clock at the end of the room.

Indeed, it was time for bed.

Getting up from the desk, he blew out the candle, taking the girl's small hand in his own. And as father and daughter, they both left the room, hand in hand.

~~~~

"She is growing more and more everyday, getting smarter and smarter." He mused to his wife. The candlelight played on her fair face; He watched its dance, mesmerized by its magic.

He breathed.

She was beautiful.

She turned to him, her own dark brown hair falling into her eyes.

"Well, she does take after her father."

Sighing, he took her lips into his, his love for her and his daughter filling his heart. They were prefect, everything was perfect. Pulling away, he looked into her eyes. She looked up at him, her slim hand coming up, brushing his own black hair from his face.

"I love you," he whispered. She smiled that wonderful glorious smile.

"I love you too." He closed his eyes, her smell bringing him under. However, something changed. She began to smell…different, not like her anymore.

It smelt like…burning.

He opened his eyes, widening them in shock.

He was outside.

In horror, he watched on as the house he was just in burned and smoked. The fire built and grew until it invaded his entire perception, smothering him in its smoke. Everything he loved, everything he cherished, was gone. They burned now. His house. His wife.

His daughter.

They burned in the inferno and along with them, his heart burned ten times over.

Owen looked away, unable to watch anymore. He turned around, facing the man that he knew would be there. The man with the dark eyes and the red hair, he faced him now, his heart empty and pained. The man smiled.

"So, what is your answer? Will you join me?" He watched as the emptiness, the coldness, settled into Owen's being before his eyes. Owen looked up, his face and voice as emotionless as his heart. He had nothing to fight for anymore, no more reasons to be reluctant. So he gave in to it, gave into the demands of the former.

"Yes, I will join you, Trevor."

~~~

Owen shot up, the bed covers following suit. His eyes wide, he sighed, sniffling. Even now, he still smelt the burning.

'Damn it! I'm having those dreams again!" It had been a while since his last nightmare about the events of that dreadful day. They must have been triggered by the reappearance of the only other person that knew about at fire, that knew about his family and their deaths.

Trevor.

Sighing, he raked a hand through his silver/white hair. Absently, he grabbed a few of the ashen strands, bringing it into focus.

White is what it was.

Black is what it use to be.

'Just another reminder of what Trevor turned me into.' With another sigh, he pushed the offending hair back into its place. His mind told him that it was four thirty. A glance at the digital clock on his bed stand table told him that he was right.

'Why do I even keep those things? Their basically useless.' He had no answer; he just never got around to throwing them away and such. He brushed his thoughts away as he stood, stretching. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he made his way to the kitchen. Walking through the den, he turned, opening the windows. His skin protested lightly at the sun's rays, but he was use to it. The sun was on his journey down, its celestial arc across the sky almost complete. Retrieving a pack of supplement, Owen slurped on the dark liquid, absently watching the sun's decent.

It truly was beautiful.

It was a shame that most vampires would never get to see it.

Finished with the blood, he threw the plastic away, his eyes still on the sunset. His mind told him that time was approaching, and that he had better get started if he wanted to practice before the lessons.

Slowly he began, moving to the center of the almost empty den. It was kept empty for a reason, room to maneuver proved handy. He started simple, an outstretched hand, palm upward. Slowly it ached over his head, ending with the palm resting on the floor boards. His left leg outstretched, his right leg bent, he kept his muscles tense as his right palm rested on the floor. Standing, he fell out of the stretch, only to do it again, this time with the left. The sun made its shadow as he moved, his body contorting to the exertions. Standing, he brought his palms upwards. Slowly, carefully, the right turned downward, the elbow to the ceiling. Back and behind him it went, the palm still downward until it met the elbow of the other arm. An arduous position to keep, but from years of practice, he held it easily. Once again, he repeated the move on the other arm; bringing his left palm behind him and around, having it meet with the elbow of the other, while keeping his arm bend and palm outstretched.

These stretches were necessary.

He knew that for a fact.

Flexibility was one of the key components to survival. The ability to wiggle out of compromising situations is what kept him alive so far, that was unambiguous.

After a while the sun's rays over his body began to lessen, the constant discomfort becoming less and less.

The sun was setting, and likewise, he was almost finished.

His leg outstretched, his head to the ground, he held that position; his body and outstretched leg making a straight line tangent to the leg on the floor. Slowly he turned, his form never moving. The leg on the floor made the rotation possible. A complete three-sixty and he was back where he started.

It was time. Bringing his leg down, his body up, he dropped his head. The fist of one hand to the palm of the other ended the practice for today. He looked up.

The sun disappeared over the horizon, its rays no longer affecting the night sky. He sighed, an eye on the clock. It only confirmed what his mind was telling him.

It was time; he would be teaching the one that they called, Donatello.

Getting his coat, he put it on over his clothes of black. Retrieving his sword, he headed for the window.

However, he stopped short.

He was forgetting something! Something essential.

Heading for the kitchen, he realized that he would be late, but he knew that what he was doing now would be more important than showing up on time. Minutes later, he was at the window once again, warm blood inhabiting his pockets. They would be needed later, but now he had to head out. He jumped from the window.

He would be late, but they would suffice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Donny looked up and into the night sky. The sun had just set. He couldn't help but notice how the sun's absence affected him. There was a discomfort on his skin when he had first come up, only to quickly realize that it was the sun's rays affecting him. He had moved farther down the alley, shielding himself with its walls. But, now that it was night, everything was clearer, the pain was gone, and he felt overall better.

Well. Almost better.

The night didn't bring relief to his jittery nerves.

The sounds of the near by club resonated from the streets as the people gathered. Unaffected, Don waited.

He could feel Michelangelo fidget from next to him. It had been Michelangelo who volunteered to be Donatello's first escort since it was his idea in the first place. So there he stood, fidgeting in the dark, his stomach flip flopping.

Boy was he nervous.

He threw an uncertain glace towards Donatello. He could tell that he was nervous too. He eyed Donatello's downcast eyes and his fidgeting hands.

Yup, Don was definitely nervous.

Although, that was expected, it still left the orange turtle unsettled. Donatello was usually the level headed one, the one that could be depended on be logical and clearheaded even in most stickiest of situations. However, now with all this stuff going on, Donatello seemed to lose that clear headedness, being just as nervous as his brother.

But who could blame him?

Mike watched and waited absently as the time passed. He pulled the trench coat sleeve up, looking at his watch.

"He's late." He stated simply, but he did not look up. Donny did likewise.

"I know." He did know.

The vampire was five minutes late.

'Maybe this was a bad idea aft-' Donatello's thoughts got cut of as he heard the approaching foot steps. Mike tensed. He heard it too.

The two turtles exchanged looks.

He was here.

As if on cue, Owen stepped out of the shadows, his black coat wafting up as he walked. He approached the two turtles, noticing their stares.

He could sense the nervousness in the air.

Reassuringly, he smiled his best smile, hoping that that would be enough to take the pressure off of their first lesson. However, that didn't seem to help, the turtles still seemed on edge.

'So much for that.' He dropped the smile, settling for bushing his hair back instead. In truth, he was just as nervous, his own stomach doing its own reps. This was his first student…ever. And as fate would have it, his first student wasn't even of the same species.

He just watched them.

He watched them as they watched him.

The one in Orange coughed, breaking the silence. Stepping forward, he introduced himself.

"I'm Michelangelo, but you can call me Mike." He extended his hand, shaking it firmly when Owen offered his own.

"And this," The turtle motioned towards the one in purple. "Is Donatello, you can call him Donny, or Don for short." The turtle's voice was upbeat as he spoke, very much contrasting the over all feel of what was going on. Owen glanced expectantly at the turtle in purple, Donatello's eyes meeting his own. He sighed.

This was the one alright.

He could literally smell the vampire in him. Slowly, he approached the downcast turtle, offering his hand when the turtle caught his gaze once again. Hesitantly, Donny took his hand, shaking it slowly.

"Donatello, I am Owen Cromwell. It is nice to meet you." Owen kept his manners in check as he waited for the turtle's response. Donatello watched him as they shook hand.

'His hands are cold.' He took note. But on the outside he muttered a small 'hello' before letting go.

Owen sighed, ignoring the turtle's thought, silently thankful that the pleasantries were out of the way.

Now, time for business.

Owen turned suddenly, striding back down the alleyway. Mike and Don watched him as he walked, their expressions mirroring the same confusion. Owen suddenly halted, turning his head.

"Are you two coming or not?" Mike turned to Don. They exchanged glances. He spoke up.

"Where are you taking us, exactly?" He asked hesitantly. The vampire stopped once again, this time turning completely around.

"You didn't expect the lessons to be here, did you?"

Don and Mike exchanged glances once again.

Owen sighed once before turning back around, resuming his stride.

"Well we can't do anything here. I know a place where we can but you'll have to follow me to get there…" He waited expectedly for the turtles to comply, but no one moved.

Mike had his doubts.

'What if Leo was right and this is a trick…?' He stood his ground. However, the decision was not made by him. Donny stepped forward before Mike could even protest, following the vampire in black.

"Don?" Mike questioned. Don turned to him, his eyes dim, his face sad.

"We have no other choice." He stated lowly continuing to make his way to where Owen stood. With Donny at his side Owen patiently for the hesitant Michelangelo.

"Are you coming?" He questioned. "We don't have much time."

Mike's reluctance cracked, as he took a step forwards, eyeing the turtle in purple.

'He really does believe this guy, doesn't he?' Mike sighed. 'Well, if Donny believes him, then I will believe him too.' Mike slowly joined them, stopping at the vampire. Owen smiled, reassuringly.

"Now that we're all in agreement, I assume…" He threw Mike a look. The turtle nodded in response.

Owen grinned.

"Then we'll be on our way." He turned away, walking in a completely different direction.

The journey had begun.

This time the two turtles joined him, easily matching his pace.

Little did they know how much this night would affect the course of the rest of their lives.

***

Alright, that's finished. The first chapter is always harder writing compared to the rest of the story, well to me it is. So, with things already under way, now I can relax and just write. I hope you Enjoy. R and R