Damon raced outside and got into his car. He turned around the keys and drove onto the street. He then pushed the accelerator pedal and raced ahead.
He tried to keep his eyes open. He should have drunken some blood, if only just a little bit. He could almost feel his body breaking inside. But he had to stay awake long enough to get to the hospital.
Other drivers were hooting, because he drove from right to left and from left to right.
“Where did you get your driving license?!” someone yelled angry.
Damon felt his eyes fall down. The car drove for another few yards, while other drivers tried to avoid it.
Then the car drove off the road, turned over three times, landed on its upper side and caught fire.

I was running as fast as I could possibly go. But it wasn't easy when you had just been staked in the ribs. They were gaining now. I had to try harder. Boy was I getting too old for this!

I could kick myself. Why the hell had I done it? Like the stupid thing was any use to me anyway. Of course I knew why I had done it: boredom and a source of entertainment. These two things were precisely the reason why I had done many of the things I had done in my 1000 years of existence.

Now I was running from werewolves. You could say I was on their "most wanted list" which was definitely not a good thing. Werewolves hunted in packs and are a very loyal species. It was impossible to know how much of them were after me. Of course I was no stranger to being on the run which is why I never really had any real relationships. Before this…well that was a very long story indeed…