Riling up a master vampire is about as smart as whacking on a hornet’s nest with a stick, you’re gonna get bit, repeatedly.
In my defense I had a raging case of P.M.S. that day and in a bit of a snit I blew up Ian McGregor’s 1968 cherry red, mint condition Mustang. Who knew a Highland warrior that had been turned way back in 1186 would be so rabid about his cars?
My psychic abilities are the only reason I’m still breathing. My mom was forced to drink from a vampire when she was pregnant with me and that transfusion has given me some pretty nifty powers. I’m telepathic, so are vampires which means I can eavesdrop on all of McGregor’s dirty little plans and stay a step ahead of him. My ace in the hole is I cannot be mesmerized and forced to do their bidding. This allows me to get up close and personal with my Mister Pointy. Another gift is the ability to read auras and sense any supernatural beings within a mile of me. Since Ian is freakishly fast, it gives me enough time to run like hell.
My name is Ann Dragos but everyone calls me Bunny. I got stuck with this swell nickname because I look so cute and cuddly. Gag me. I might be cute but cuddly I am not. Nor am I as harmless as I look. I’ve slain over one hundred vampires not that I’ve gotten any credit for the kills. Oh no, that pleasure goes to Bambi, my ditzy vampire slayer who definitely lacks that killer instinct.
I’m Bambi’s Alfred. What’s an Alfred? Alfreds handle surveillance on the particular vamp that needs staking and supply the necessary weapons. Unfortunately, I do the majority of the whacking because my twit of a slayer is more concerned about making a fashion statement than killing monsters.