grocery bag in hand. Furry boots rose to her knees and were tied with laces capped in thick fur balls that bounced with each step. A fur-rimmed hood covered her head and her face was bundled against the winter storm with a scarf that protected her mouth and nose. Bright green eyes sought each of them with chastising force.
“You think you made your point?” she said to one of the werewolves, who punched a fist into his palm. “I don’t want trouble. But you do know the police station is around the corner.”
Both wolves exchanged nervous glances. One shook his head and sneered at Daniel.
Daniel could feel the pansy accusation from the werewolves waver through the air at him and strike him smartly in the testicles. Defended by a woman? Not cool. He smacked a fist in his palm.
“We’re out of here,” the wolf with the steel fist announced, and they shoved roughly past the woman and tromped off.
Nice. Like he needed one more thing to make the wolves laugh at him, the unaligned vampire who was this close to cashing in all his chips, be it as a werewolf’s bitch or by the stake.
“Had ’em right where I wanted them,” Daniel said, his anger rising at the humiliation of having a woman defend him. “And I didn’t need you to interfere.”
“Uh-huh.” She stepped through the flurry of snowflakes, her path obviously aimed toward the iron stairway hugging the brownstone. “You were eating that brick wall, buddy.”
Furious at her catty comment, he grasped her by the furry coat lapels and swung her around, slamming her against the wall. The bag of groceries crushed against her stomach. The werewolves had caught him tonight before he’d satisfied his hunger, and she looked warm, mortal and appetizing.
“Oh, yeah? That’s not what I have in mind to eat.” He willed his fangs down and worked his best scary snarl on her.
The woman tilted her head, eyeing his canines, but he didn’t feel so much as a shiver when he leaned against her body. What was wrong with mortals nowadays? Their scare factor had dropped off the scale.
“Aren’t you afraid?” he demanded, feeling his own fears rise from that awful night a year ago when the vampires had attacked him in the subway. Yes, he’d been fearful. He hadn’t believed in monsters, hadn’t time for that fantasy bullshit. Now he couldn’t get away from it.
“I’m not afraid,” she offered boldly.
Daniel laughed inside, but on the outside he remained serious. Sweet little thing didn’t know what she was dealing with. She probably thought the fangs were fake. Or…
“I get it. You’re one of those chicks who gets off on men with fangs. You put posters on your walls and swoon over the movie star vampires with the stupid hair. Like to tail around behind us, and beg to get bitten.”
“Not particularly.” She reached for his face, which made him flinch, but the soft yarn mitten managed to stroke his aching chin. “I bruise easily, and I can’t abide stupid hair.”
She was not processing the enormity of her danger. Must be in shock.
Daniel tightened his jaw, but when he met her eyes, the anger that had built inside him for a year dissipated like a faulty snowball dispersing midair. It felt wrong to play the big bad to brave Miss Bright Eyes. Why hadn’t he been capable of standing up to his attackers like she had? He wasn’t a pansy, and he used to go a few rounds in the boxing ring every weekend with a buddy. It was just that werewolves were so strong.
“I live at the top of the stairs,” she said, thick snowflakes dusting her lacy dark lashes. “Why don’t you come up and let me tend that bruise. Who beats up a vampire and actually wins?”
“Werewolves,” he said sharply, and then waited for her to panic.
But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded, accepting. Something was seriously wrong with this woman.
“They didn’t win,” he corrected. “You arrived just when I—”
“I know. You had them right where you wanted them.” She slid out of his grasp and started up the stairs that hugged the side of the brick brownstone, her boots clunking on the iron steps. “Coming?”
Daniel couldn’t figure what had just happened. Maybe the woman was a witch or demon or—hell, someone in the know. Mortals didn’t accept him so calmly. Screaming was the usual response. The occasional stake was to be expected.
Shoving a hand over his hair, which was wet with snowflakes and probably