Here is the first part of Chapter1. It isn't much, but it's a start. I'll get more up when I can.

Chapter1
Helping A Stranger






The sun blinded her as she awoke to a bed that was not her own, and a man that she had not seen before. She looked around the room to find her undergarments, seeing as that she wore none at the moment. She looked to the door, her head pounding from the alcohol she had indulged in the night before, as though it withheld some important detail from her. She moved her focus, now, to the dresser that stood tall and strong beside her bed-mate. She saw a pair of glasses and an empty casing that, at one point, held a condom. At least he was safe…she thought.
The man who lay beside her started to rustle and move as she shifted her weight around. She stopped, hoping that he would not awaken from his deep slumber. She sat on the edge of the bed, naked and still. Her chest rose and fell with exact precision. She had done this a time or two before, and she didn’t want to miss her chance of leaving. He stirred a little more and fell back to snoring. Thank you…She lifted herself from the bed and walked towards the bathroom, searching for her clothing. It consisted of nothing more than a scantily clad, light-yellow shirt with a plaid mini-skirt. She was still wearing her ring and she had no earrings on that night.
Her purse, if she recalled correctly, should be with his wallet: top shelf of the closet. Poking her head into the bathroom, she saw her black-lace bra and underwear, along with her shirt and mini-skirt. Her heels were right beneath her clothing. She quickly dressed herself and looked in the mirror. She looked as though all of Hell had come and beat her. And, in a way, it did. That was neither here nor there for her, though. She was dressed in record time: five minutes and thirty-six seconds. The way it should be for her. Creeping from the bathroom, she moved for the closet to grab her purse. And her recollection was correct: right beside his wallet resided her purse. She was getting better at this, but there was a final step. There was always “One more step” that she had to take.
She grabbed his wallet nitrated to rummage through it, while keeping close vigilance on her partner from the evening. His wallet was thick with credit cards and various pictures of family, friends, and lost loves. Sentimental…just proves that the nice guy always finishes last. She let a sinister smile crawl across her face as she filed through the mounds of receipts he’d collected. Behind a wad of, probably fifty receipts an un-opened condom, she found what she was after: money. To her amazement, she only found a hundred-dollar bill and three twenties. A few pennies and maybe four nickels. To her, this was pocket change.
She grabbed his money and set the wallet back up in the closet. With her purse in hand, she headed for the door. There it was: the outside world, and for some reason, she just couldn’t leave. Her hand rested on the door-handle; freedom awaited her. But a thought haunted her. He was so cold…he was so cold…that isn’t normal…normal guys, even the weird ones, are warm…why wasn’t he? She heard rustling in the bed. Her heart began to pound as she opened the door and ran. She didn’t look back, she didn’t turn around…she just needed to run.

Thomas leaned against the cold brick wall, his heart racing. Never had he felt such searing pain. Of course, never had he been shot before. Through two-hundred years of life, and Thomas had never been shot before until now. He now knew why people didn’t enjoy it. He looked at his arm. It had become swollen and red. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or something to take general concern in. He tried to touch it, but it stung all to hell. He chuckled though. Two-hundred years and he’d never been shot, but now that he was in the city, he got shot on his first day. A heart-warming welcoming gift.
Thomas looked now at his legs. They ached and panged with a dull pain from three days of solid running for his life. Could he really expect anything different though? It was not as though he could expect his legs to feel wonderful and powerful and such. Thomas smiled at that thought. Toned legs and face to match, that would be it. He stood upright now. Standing at six feet and three inches, Thomas weighed around one-hundred and sixty pounds. His hair was black and often slicked back with some type of gel. His teeth were sparkling white and eyes were an off gray. They were deep and thoughtful, yet mysterious and almost hypnotizing. His skin was delicate and smooth, but cold, to the touch; his hands, open and accepting, yet strong. Thomas was an attractive man, but he was humble. He did not flaunt this quality, although he knew it was existent.