IMPORTANT!: Written prior to the release of The Saga of Larten Crepsley. At the time I wrote this, almost nothing had yet been revealed about Arra past, Arrow, or any of the characters in the story.. Therefore, consider it extremely AU, though it was not intended to be so.

Disclaimer: Not Darren Shan, don't own Cirque du Freak/The Darren Shan Saga.

Author's Note: Hey! First off, thanks for reading! This story's going to be in three parts, hopefully all will be up soon :). I appreciate any feedback, and it would be super-awesome if you review and tell me what you think!

Warnings: I don't actually think it deserves warnings, 'cause there isn't anything graphic or gory or whatever, but I'm paranoid, so just so you know (and if you're thinking "I really don't care", you may not want to read this because it could kinda give some stuff away): It's not a light or fluffy story, and it does have some mention of child abuse, some violence, and death. I think a "T" rating is certainly sufficient, as I would suggest it for 13+.

For fifteen years, my mentor Arrow and I traveled inseparably. He was a vampire, and I, Arra Sails, was his assistant, a half-vampire. Arrow wasn't just a regular vampire, he was a vampire General, which meant he had special duties, like tracking down enemies. I was proud to be his assistant, and he was proud to be my mentor. He said we made the perfect team – he was tough and strong; a fighter, and I was smart and quick. He took me with him whenever he went on a mission, and every time I would come up with an infallible plan, and he would carry it out perfectly, and when he didn't, I was always able to pick up the slack.

I respected and admired Arrow for his determination and strength of character. In many ways, he was the father I always wanted; one that I wouldn't someday run away, like I had from my own father.

When I was fifteen, my mother left our house and never came back. One evening, she told me goodnight, and when I woke up in the morning, she and all her belongings were gone. The man at the store in town said that she'd come in the day before and gotten a large travelling bag. I suspect she got on a boat and left the country. I didn't blame her. Not long after, I did the same. I got on a carriage and asked the driver to take me into the city. When I told him I didn't have any money, he said there were things other than money I could give him in exchange for the ride. When I asked what he wanted, he smiled and said I would find out when we arrived at our destination that night. Unfortunately, I did. It was the first of many such arrangements I would be forced to make while on my own. I needed to to survive.

For many months, I was allowed to live in the basement of a man named Mr. Robertson – that was all I was ever allowed to call him. He treated me badly. The way he spoke to me reminded me of why I ran away from home in the first place, only his abuse didn't stop at verbal. I, barely sixteen, was his source of dirty income. I was miserable. I tried to run from him a couple times too, but each time he caught me. He would drag me back and beat me till I couldn't move for days. I learned that I would end up in worse shape if I ran than if I stayed and endured whoever he sold me off to.

One night, Mr. Robertson shook me roughly awake and ordered me upstairs with him immediately. I saw a greedy, hungry look in his eye, and spotted a large sum of money in his pocket. I felt a familiar shiver run up my spine, but I deftly ignored it and followed him.

Upstairs in the sitting room, a large man dressed in an entirely black suit with a shaved head was waiting for me. I cringed slightly at the sight of him, but Mr. Robertson shove me forward regardless, of course. I muttered something at him under my breath, always a mistake. I knew it was only going to get me in trouble – it had many times in the past – yet I still did it. I don't know why. It was my nature to fight back, even in the insignificant way of grumbling my displeasure to Mr. Robertson. He grabbed me by my hair, pulling me back and asking me to repeat what I had said. That's when the man in front of us shook his head and put a hand up, a commanding look in his dark eyes. Mr. Robertson, always willing to please a "customer", released me immediately.

"Are you all right, Arra?" the man asked me. His voice was deep and calming, not the way I was used to being talked to. I nodded, brushing my dark hair over my shoulder and stepped away from Mr. Robertson.

"Forgive me, sir," Mr. Robertson said, smiling an underhanded and sly smile, the type that made my stomach lurch. "Been in the business a long time; trick is to keep them in line."

The man looked at him solemnly for a second, then, to my surprise, smiled tightly. "I suppose that attitude doesn't surprise me," he said evenly. "You see," he took off his jacket and draped it over a chair, "I've been watching you for several weeks now."

"Really?" Mr. Robertson said, frowning. I could see that he was getting concerned.

The man slid off his black gloves to reveal muscular, yet scarred, hands. "Yes," he nodded. "I've been watching you, and more importantly, Arra, for a while now."

For a moment, the man looked at Mr. Robertson, and Mr. Robertson stared blankly back at him. Then, without warning, the man seemingly disappeared from his spot across the room and reappeared next to me. I jumped slightly in shock, only to realize with a start that his hands were clamped around Mr. Robertson's throat. At first, I stared at the scene in front of me, paralyzed by fear. Then, more out of instinct that anything, I screamed. I picked up a pan off the stove and swung it at him. It didn't faze him in the slightest, in fact, he seemed to tighten his choke, lifting Mr. Robertson off the ground. If he was doing this to Mr. Robertson, I couldn't imagine what he was going to do to me. Part of me wanted to run, but another larger part wanted to stay and fight, not because I cared about Mr. Robertson, but because, as I said, it was my personality. I picked up a chair and swung it at his back. This time, as it smashed on his shoulder blades, he spun around, dropping Mr. Robertson. It may not have made an impact at all, and may have been coincidence that he dropped him, because a quick glance at Mr. Robertson's still body and blue face on the floor told me he was dead.

That's when I began to run. I got barely ten steps before the man's hands gripped my shoulders and turned me around, and though I struggled to get free of him, I couldn't help but notice a kind look in his eyes.

"Arra..." he began, a gentle smile appearing on his face. I screamed and kick at his shin, trying again and again to pull away from his grasp. Then, without so much as a movement or a flicker, I blacked out.

When I came to, I was laid out on an unfamiliar couch. I sat up and looked around nervously, finally spotting the man who had killed Mr. Robertson. He was sitting across from me on a stool, back in his black coat and gloves, his arms folded across his chest. I couldn't tell exactly where we were, but judging by the small size of the room and the cot in the corner, it seemed like a bedroom for guests in a tavern.

The man and I looked at each other in silence for a moment, and I wondered what in the name of God was going on. At first, I was sure he was going to kill me, but as he gave me another one of his warm smiles, I had my doubts.

"You passed out," he said, answering my unasked question.

"Why?" I asked stiffly, checking my head for a bump. I didn't feel a throbbing or an ache like I had been hit.

"You seemed very nervous," he said. "I thought perhaps it would be better to bring you into a different environment where you may feel more comfortable."

"But why'd I pass out?" I asked, still confused.

He chuckled, "Let's call it a special ability of mine."

I still didn't understand, but it didn't seen quite the appropriate time to ask a lot of questions.

"My name is Arrow," he said, crossing over the room to sit next to me on the sofa. "I'm sure you'd like to know what's going on. First, please don't be afraid of me. My intentions are not, and never were, to hurt you."

"Then what are you doing here?" I asked hoarsely, edging away from him.

"I'm here to help you, Arra Sails," he said, smiling. "Perhaps things will become clearer if I start from the beginning. You see, I'm a vampire."

This was the conversation that would change my life forever.

I never asked Arrow why he rescued me from Mr. Robertson, and he never asked me why I was so eager to join him as a vampire as opposed to returning to my father, and as was his initial intention. We were both just happy to have each other.

I hope you liked it; please review with any comments, criticism, etc. Thanks again for reading =)!