I lived next door to a pack werewolves. 

 

The house on the left of my house belongs to vampires. 

 

I lived in a house alone. A vampire killed my father. A werewolf killed my mother. I am orphan. The werewolves next door said they'd protect me and tried to assure me that not all werewolves were bad. The vampires promised not to drink any of my blood and drank out of blood transfusions (they got them from a hospital a block away where my parents used to work). 

 

I told them I didn't need any help or pity. I wasn't that close to my parents anyway. They were both surgeons and practically lived in the hospital, so I almost never saw them. My parents were too busy to acknowledge me- the unexpected child. I lived independently before their death anyway; it didn't make much of a difference. My parents also left a fortune for me to last until I died, so I didn't need to worry about anything. 

 

At least it seemed that way to me.