“You two are looking awfully pale,” Angie says in her distinctly Baltimore accent. Her voice trembles just enough to notice. “I can whip up some of my famous crab macaroni and cheese to get you feeling right as rain.”

Christie, Angie’s older sister, and I give each other a sideways glance. Christie’s skin takes on a quiet shade of green at the thought. She underwent the Change only a few months ago, so human food could make her quite ill. I know she will try to force it down to make her baby sister happy.

And Angie deserves a bit of happiness. I glance at her bruised eye, the deep purple hue contrasting sharply with her otherwise fair skin. It’s a struggle to keep my rage in check, but I soften my expression. “That sounds wonderful, Angie,” I say, trying to keep my tone gentle. “But we’re actually here to talk.”

Christie stands beside me, her eyes downcast but resolute. She hasn’t said much since we arrived, but her determination radiates off her in waves. Our eyes lock, and she gives a tiny nod, confirming her desire to continue with the plan.

Angie casts an awkward glance at Christie, then back at me. Her shaking hand rises to the back of her head to smooth her hair. No need, though—the golden beehive is immaculate. “Talk? About what?” I hate the way her voice shakes as she asks.

“About your husband,” Christie says, her voice steady but low. “We know what he’s been doing to you.” My companion waved her hand toward her sister and the telltale sign of the beating she took from that no-good, pathetic S.O.B.

Angie’s eyes widen, her hand moving to cover her bruised eye out of instinct. “Are you talking about this? I told Mama I just tripped and fell into a counter.”

“The counter, huh?” Christie says, hissing like a house cat. Personally, I couldn’t hold back an unamused snort.

“Yes!”

Angie’s bottom lip trembles as her sky-blue eyes dart between us. I can taste her fear in the smoky air of her apartment. Christie’s rage-filled energy swirls around her like wildfire, dancing across my skin until it nearly burns. We’ve been working on control, but right now, holding back is beyond her. I place a hand on her shoulder, warning her to keep herself steady and pull back the fury. Christie bows her head, her dark hair spilling around her pale angular face to hide her anger. I can still taste her rage.

I let Christie go after I think she’s summoned a little control. It’s tenuous at best, though. I step closer, my height allowing me to look down at Angie with a mixture of pity and frustration. Her sweet, cherub cheeks flush with embarrassment. I want to place my hand on her, to cool the redness, but I know better.

“No one should ever lay a hand on you like that, Angie. It’s unacceptable.” The way I say it, there is no room for argument.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t try. She opens her mouth, clearly at a loss for words. Tears begin welling in her eyes. “He didn’t mean it,” she says, pleading for understanding. “He’s just having a tough time at the plant, and—”

I snort again. “The only kind of man who beats on his woman is a dirty little bitch.” My voice is venomous. Angie gasps and takes a step back as she wraps her arms around herself protectively.

She swallows hard, looking between Christie and me again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give him a bigger bitch to fight,” I say with a feral smile.

Angie gives me a once-over, sizing me up. I know I’m not big, and I’m thin as a rail. I came into the world as a woman, but I’ve lived my life as me. I’m neither man nor woman. Sure, I’m wearing a man’s dress shirt and slacks held up with suspenders, but my body still reads female. Her husband will probably think I’m a simpering freak. He’ll never see the world of pain I plan to deliver coming.

The door slams open, and Angie’s husband, Hank, stumbles in. The smell of alcohol and the stink of cigars hit me before he even spoke. His eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of Christie and me. “What’s going on here?” he slurs. “What are you doin’ here? Come for some medicine money?” The mocking tone of his voice made me want to rip off his face.

Christie looks like she might set him ablaze with her mind. She joined the Kiss when cancer had brought her to the brink of death. Desperate to survive long enough to rescue Angie, Christie sought the aid of the Nightlord of Baltimore. Now, we are here, and this fool has no idea how close he is to his end.

Angie takes a step back, her fear palpable. Christie stands her ground, her fists clenched at her sides. I step forward, placing myself between Angie and Hank.

“We’re here to have a conversation,” I say. “You’ve been hurting Angie, and that stops now.”

Hank laughs, a cruel but mirthful sound. “What goes on between a man and his wife ain’t none of your business.”

“I make women dealing with wife-beaters my business,” I say. “Besides, Christine is part of my family, which makes Angela my family now, too. I take care of my people.”

“And how are gonna to stop me?” He steps closer, his breath reeking of whiskey. “A little girl in boy’s clothes?" The contempt in his tone was palpable. "You’re disgusting, trying to act like you got a cock and balls.”

I smile slowly, letting just a hint of my razor-sharp fangs show. The glint of them catches the dim light, making his eyes widen in surprise. Despite his shock, he doesn’t back down. Instead, he sneers, trying to mask his fear with bravado.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” I say, my voice barely audible over the pounding of Angie’s heart. The sound of its frantic beat is deafening to me.

His sneer falters for a split second before he swings at me, his fist aiming straight for my face. With supernatural speed, I catch his hand in mid-air. The force of his punch is nothing to me. I squeeze his fist, feeling the bones crunch and shift beneath my grip. The sensation is familiar, a grim reminder of the strength I wield.

He screams, the sound raw and piercing, as he collapses to his knees. His face twists in agony and sweat beads appear on his forehead. Angie’s gasp cuts through the air like a knife, and she covers her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide with shock.

“You will never touch her again,” I say, each word deliberate and cold as ice. “Do you understand?”

"Fucking let go!" he says, whimpering in pain. He claws at my hand to no effect. I simply smile.

"Do you understand?" I ask again, squeezing my hand tighter as do.

Hank’s face drains of color, and he nods frantically, his terror plain as day. His bravado is gone, replaced by sheer panic. I release his hand, watching him with my face void of emotion as he cradles it to his chest. He whimpers like a wounded animal as he collapses to the floor in a pathetic heap. His eyes are glistening now.

"You fucking bitch!" he says.

Two things happen in quick succession. First, I lean down enough to give him a punch in the nose. Next, I kick him in the chest, knocking him all the way down to the mint-green-colored shag carpet. A shocked breath escapes him as he falls back. My left foot finds its way to his chest, giving just enough pressure that could almost break the cavity. I can hear his bones creak beneath my boot.

Hank screams. It's a wonder none of their neighbors came running. Then again, something tells me, they're used to these sounds coming from this tiny apartment. The very idea sickens me.

Christie appears beside me, leans down so her face hovers dangerously close to Hank's. I know it's because of the drip of blood now flowing from his nostril. I see just enough of her features to tell she licks her lips, excited by the scent of fresh food. The inhuman growl that escapes her is more than enough warning for me to intervene.

I whistle to her, sharp and crisp. It breaks her attention momentarily before she leans in closer to the man. She bares her fangs. Though not as sharp as mine, they are still impressive--and scary to a human. Tears finally spill down Hank's cheeks.

"Christie!" I call. This snaps her face to me, fangs still showing.

I wait while Hank squirms below. I hear him mutter profanities to himself while Christie's predator instincts pulls back. She closes her eyes and mouth simultaneously, then she sucks in a breath she doesn't need to take. Calmer now, she opens her eyes again, giving me a nod, before returning her attention to her brother-in-law.

“Get out,” Christie says, her voice trembling with anger and relief. “And don’t ever come back.”

When I remove my foot from his chest, Hank scrambles to his feet and stumbles out the door, not daring to look back. The silence that follows is thick, the tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

Angie collapses into a chair, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, mercy. He's gone. He's really gone,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know what to do.” She leans over, bracing her elbows on her thighs and putting her head in her hands. “I’ve been so scared. I couldn’t figure a way out. He's my husband and I thought I had to--”

Christie rushes to her side, wrapping her arms around her little sister. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”

I stand back, watching them. The sight of Christie comforting Angie stirs something deep within me—a reminder of why I do what I do. Despite the darkness that comes with being a vampire, there is a light I can still bring into the world. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves, and ensuring justice where there is usually none—that is my purpose now.

Angie looks up at me, her eyes red from crying. “What are you?”

I smile softly, the human gesture feeling almost foreign to me after all these years. “A friend. And someone who cares.”

Christie looks up, her eyes filled with gratitude. “Thanks, Sloane. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

I nod, acknowledging her thanks. “You’re welcome. Just remember, Christie—you’re stronger than you think.” And I mean it quite literally for her. But Angie needs to know sterner stuff lives within her. “You both are.”

Angie’s tears slow, and she manages a weak smile. “Maybe I’ll make that crab macaroni and cheese after all,” she says, her voice trembling but hopeful.

Christie laughs, the sound light and freeing. “I’d like that. We both would.”

As Angie moves to the kitchen, Christie stands and walks over to me. “Think he’ll come back?” she asks, her voice low.

I snort out a laugh. “The way he scurried off? Not even a little,” I reply. “If he knows what’s good for him, he won’t.” I pat her on the shoulder. “But you’ll be here tonight. I’m sure you ladies have some things to talk about.”

Christie nods, relief washing over her features. “Yeah. At least she has an idea that something funky is going on.” She sighs, but still gives me a toothy grin. “Thanks. For helping out. I know you’re my Watcher until I figure out my new life, but this is above and beyond.”

I give her shoulder a final squeeze before letting her go. “Take care of your sister, Christie. She needs you now more than ever.”

She nods. Her eyes fill with determination. “I will.”

“Don’t eat the mac and cheese.”

That queasy look spreads across her features again. “I’ll try not to.”

I turn to leave, the night air cool against my skin. As I step outside, I sigh, the weight of what just happened settling over me. Being a vampire has its challenges, but moments like these remind me why I continue to walk this earth. For every life I can save, for every wrong I can right—I will endure.

And as I disappear into the shadows, I know that tonight, I have made a difference.

***

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