She'd always come running when I called. The vampire girl that vanished at daybreak but warmed my bed at night, even though she was a cold-blooded creature.

She read my thoughts, knew when I wanted her, seduced me to the point where all I could do was imagine the next time she lay on top of me, kissing my hungry mouth, sucking my tongue.

Her name was Isabelle. She lived in a castle. Imprisoned for centuries. I believed her. Had to.

What was she really I didn't want to know.

After my wife left me I took to drink, drugs, internet, gambling. Anything to take away the rejection and insecurity. Vampire novels were her choice and when I found a couple in the bedside drawer, I decided to see what was so special that had her reading them each night instead of loving me.

Isabelle was mine. Soulmate. Friend.

I was happy.

Wasn't I?