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anything and everything that needed repairs over the last three centuries on the farm.   Blake had been controlling his temper with Dean, knowing the consequences, but it had been hard – really hard.   The house was now re-shingled, the fences repaired, and broken windows replaced. The barn roof re-shingled and the house and porch scraped of their crumbling paint and prepped for new paint.   His task for the next day was to repaint.   He was basically Dean’s new slave and Dean was enjoying it.
    Tired from the last two weeks of hard labor, Blake drove up to the house with a trunk full of yellow paint. As usual, Dean greeted him at the front door, arms crossed, wearing the ever present stern face.
    “It’s about time you got here.”
    “The store doesn’t open until 9:00, Dean, and I stayed here working past closing time last night so I couldn’t have gotten it last night.   Unless you would like me to break into the store, mix my own paint, and paint 24/7, I couldn’t have gotten here any earlier.”
    “There’s always an excuse with you isn’t there, vampire vermin?”
    “Sorry, I suppose you’re right.”
    “Of course I’m right,” Dean said.
    The work was long and hard that day, but he had actually made good time; after all, the house was rather small.   That’s when Dean said, “Not bad! It’ll look even better after another coat, though.”   Of course it would , Blake thought. Thankfully, the second coat went on a lot faster and Blake finished sometime around 9:30 pm. He was exhausted after the hot day in the sun.  
    As Blake cleaned the brushes and got rid of the empty paint cans, Dean walked up with a cold six-pack of beer.   That’s a first, thought Blake.   Dean twisted off the cap and handed one to Blake and opened another for himself.  
    “Thanks, Dean!”
    “Hmmm. Good job, by the way.”
    “Thanks again.”
    They sat on the porch steps in silence for a long while when Dean broke it by saying, “What makes you think she’ll forgive you for what you did?”
    “I’m not sure she will, but I had to try, right? I had to start somewhere.”
    “I suppose. Why’d you freak?” Dean asked.
    “It’s hard to say.   I have an uncle who used to tell me this horrible story about a werewolf who had apparently mutilated a couple in a park. He went on and on about how it wasn’t for food; it had just seemed like a random bit of violence. That’s the only reference I’ve ever had of werewolves.”
    “Hmmm.   So what made you change your mind and come back to repair the damage done?”  
    “Rowan, mostly.   I just couldn’t see her being like that no matter what she was.   I started reading and realized how similar our species were, and it got me thinking that vampires have always been judged by the rogue vampires and the made vampires who can’t control their lust for the kill.”
    “Huh?”
    “Well, vampires that are made by other vampires have a deeper craving for blood than born vampires.   Made vampires too, are sometimes uncontrollable.   The vampire that made them is supposed to be responsible for taming them, and teaching them to control their hunger. Often times that doesn’t happen and the made vampire will go off on killing sprees. These are usually the vampires that people hear about and end up judging us all by.”  
    “So what’s the difference between you and a made vampire?”
    “Lots. A born vampire will rarely kill and usually only in self-defense.   And though we do feed on blood, we don’t need as much and we don’t need it as often. A made vampire must feed at least once a day. A born vampire feeds maybe two to four times a month and we block the human’s pain and memory of the experience.   My brother and I joke about our leaving bug bites.   That’s the image we leave in the human’s mind.   This allows us to live among them.   A made vampire can rarely live in a small community or town just because they would bring too much attention