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</div><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Tahoma'">Nora Lorain Granger_________________</span></span><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="font-family: 'Tahoma'">Nora was not a party girl, never been one, nor would she ever be one. She was the brains of the group, the designated driver so her friends could have a wild time and she would be the one to make sure they got home safe. But tonight, tonight was different entirely. Nora was dragged into Maria's, a Latin club pounding with loud music and bodies on the dance floor. Somehow, she ended up on her own, tucked into a corner while her friends hit the dance floor, gyrating and grinding, luring in dance partners, seemingly having forgotten all about her. As the night dragged on this way, Nora found herself sinking into herself, she hated how her so called friends used her as a taxi driver.<br/>
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By the end of the night, as people left the club and Nora hadn't been able to round up her friends, she thought about leaving them with their dates as she heads for the door out of the club. She didn't make it there when she found herself grabbed by someone, a man who didn't seem like the type who would ever notice her. Because her quick glance up had her gaping at his masculine beauty, to the sharp grey eyes before her own blue eyes widened in terror. That's when she felt the bite of sharp fangs as they sunk into her neck, leaving her no time to scream. Feeling him clench to her, she managed a small whimper before the fear coursing through her body had her passing out.<br/>
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It seemed like forever, but when Nora came to, she found herself in a strange yet comfortable room. The bed underneath was soft, along with the sheets that were over her stomach. Stirring awake, eyes fluttering open, it took a moment for those soft, jewel blue eyes to focus. Once they did, Nora sat up, hands patting herself to find she was still in her club clothes. A black tank top, ripped faded jeans and black lacey heels, heels she immediately kicked off so her feet would stop aching. <br/>
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"Gotta get home and get out of this...all this make up to. Damn you Brenda...I'm not a tart." Her voice was still tired, but soft and warm, lacking the nasal quality that most women's voices carried. All the while, as she slipped from the bed now on dainty bare feet, her long red hair was a mess of wild waves. Framing her slight heart shaped face in a wave of flame red hair. It went well with the light smackling of freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose, another cute quality she had in her arsenal. "Where am I?"</span></span>