Dear Diary,



It's been exactly three weeks since I was kidnapped. These three weeks have been long and thankfully I found this empty notebook in the massive library here. “Here” is a beautiful place, the kind of place writers go when they need to eat, drink, and live their stories. “Here” is my dream vacation and I should be enjoying every minute of it. But there’s just on problem. I don’t know where “here” is. The only name I can give it is “The Place” which is what my kidnapper calls it. His name is Angel LaCroix and I’ve never met any person like him. It is difficult to explain this feeling I have but somehow I know he is not completely human. After living with him for three weeks, I just kind of figured it out. He is just so…”

My writing was interrupted when Angel himself walked into my room. He was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful it made me hurt to look at him. His eyes were twin emeralds and his brown velvet hair always looked handsome whether it was tussled out of control or styled perfectly. My favorite part of him was his hands though, so strong and warm-looking. They were what I always looked at whenever he came into the room. I didn’t want to look at his beautiful arrogant face, his cocky eyes and superior smile. He was so over-confident, I couldn’t stand him sometimes. He knew that I thought he was attractive and that frustrated me so much. Still my breath caught when his silky smooth voice spoke, “Scarlet?”

Even though I hated him with every fiber in my body, I enjoyed the way my name sounded when he said it. I unwillingly looked up at his face and, as usual, he radiated his conceit. My fists clenched as I said, “Can I help you, Angel?”

His smirk turned to a full blown self-satisfied smile.

“Oh not really.” he said and his eyes glinted greedily. He left the room silently and I turned back to my journal. He was so weird. He probably just liked to hear the sound of his own voice…


I pushed myself to the limit today. I stayed away from her for half the day. I’m slowly getting stronger. Hopefully soon I will be able to be away from her for days and she will be able to go home. Of course I’ll have to tamper with a few memories, hers included, but that will be easy.
Lately something is changing in her. She stays by herself in her room all the time, writing in that pale green notebook of hers. And her voice, once so alluring and silky, has hostility spitting from it. Scarlet has a flame in her that refuses to be put out, and that’s what makes her so appealing to me. I’ve never been this interested in one of my feeders since Emiliana and that was decades ago. Unlike my brothers who have nonchalantly seduced their more attractive female feeders, it has only happened twice for me . The first was with Matilde, a gorgeous French girl, and then Emiliana, the sinfully sweet Spanish maid. Both were more seductive than Scarlet and yet I’m drawn to her more than the other two combined. She is very clearly beautiful but in entirely different way than either of my past lovers. Her hair is a light reddish-brown and her eyes are a mesmerizing deep blue. The way her body curves makes me want to hold her tight against me and as she talks I stare at her lips and wonder what they taste like. No… I cannot have her. I have to be very, very careful this time.



I left my room just in time to meet Angel in the hallway. He was so tall I had to look up to see his face. I wanted to slap the smug smile off his face so badly my hand was tingling. When he saw me appear out of my room, his smile grew and he smoothly approached me. I stood there as if I was frozen while he walked towards to me.

“What brings you out of your room?” he asked. I was going to lie and say the bathroom but my stomach betrayed me. As my stomach growled loudly a red hot blush crept up my cheeks. I tried to ignore the way it made me feel when his gorgeous eyes lit up when he genuinely smiled and placed my hand over my stomach, hoping it would muffle the sound. The breathtaking smile crossing Angel’s face for once wasn’t smug or conceited. I ignored the way my heart fluttered when he offered his arm and elegantly asked, “May I escort you to dinner, Miss Thompson?”