Demon Night

guardian angel showed up, though out of awe rather than attraction. What would she say to such a being? Thanks, nice shot ?
    Would she even want him to show up? She’d almost convinced herself that it had been her paranoia and imagination; his appearance would just be a confirmation that he had been real…and so were vampires.
    Nervously, she glanced away from the shadows, and squinted against the headlights of an oncoming car. Their glare recalled her to another kind of fear: the gut-wrenching instant of certainty that her voice would fail her when the curtain rose and the shine of the spotlight in her eyes rendered the audience dark and faceless. But that was a fear that never penetrated; her confidence in her ability was too strong to let it take root, the knowledge that the music was hers. And the terror always fell away with the first note, until the world narrowed down to the composition and the lyrics.
    But she had no confidence in this, no knowledge. No certainty that what she’d seen was real, let alone something she could master. And it settled deep in her, until the night hid a creature with fangs, and even the long slide of Ethan’s shadow on the sidewalk concealed a horror that was waiting to grab her and—
    “You suddenly take up religion?”
    The question seemed to jump out of that darkness, unexpected and low, and Charlie barely stifled her scream. Her heart pounded. She stopped walking and looked up at Ethan, found him watching her with his brows drawn.
    “Religion?” she echoed.
    He raised his hand to his throat, and she automatically mirrored the action. Her palm met cool metal, and she gripped the cross tight, the edges digging into her fingers.
    Her fear drained away. She’d protected herself; she wasn’t completely helpless. “I’m not taking up anything,” she said with a lift of her shoulder and a brief smile. “It’s to scare away the vampires.”
    The scar paled when his mouth thinned, but the taut line quickly melted away with humor. “I don’t reckon a bit of jewelry would frighten them, Charlie.”
    It was ridiculous how easily his voice heated her from the inside, and she was suddenly all too aware of the kiss of crisp air over her belly and breasts. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and surreptitiously checked out his reflection in the darkened window of the antique store behind him.
    Very, very nice.
    “Garlic, then?” This time, she could look at him without worrying her interest would be—pathetically—obvious. People looked at each other when they talked. Of course, she usually didn’t have to tilt her head quite as far to see someone, but the line of his jaw and the crease that formed at the corner of his mouth when he smiled made the effort worth it. “Silver? A wooden stake?”
    “Now, Miss Charlie, you ought to know that the best way to slay a vampire is by removing his head or slicing his heart in two,” he said. “It’s mighty difficult to do either with a stake. Messy, too.”
    “Killed a lot of them, have you?” She stole another glance at the window. Lord, but she’d have liked a bite of that. Though his trousers sat low on his waist and didn’t have any distinctive tailoring, the strength of his body defined his shape better than the finest clothes could have.
    And she obviously hadn’t been with anyone in far too long, if a man’s ass could get her this excited.
    Maybe it was the suspenders. They’d thrown her off-kilter.
    “I’ve slain some,” he said, and slipped out of his jacket with a roll of his shoulders. The collar of his burgundy shirt curled at the edges, soft and worn, and the top button was unfastened. Everything about him spoke of ease and comfort—even the way he’d tucked his hand into his pants pocket and slung his jacket over his wrist made the corduroy drape over his hip like a long lazy cat.
    It wasn’t a pose that screamed vampire slayer, but nevertheless, the sheer confidence he exuded was reassuring.
    “Most of the legends are wrong, Miss Charlie.”
    She met his gaze again, but couldn’t read his expression. “Which legends?”
    “They have reflections, for one,” Ethan said with a long, uneven smile. “As sure as I do.”
    Her embarrassed laugh was slammed by fear, smashed into the shape of words. “Some of them don’t,” she said, and gave in to the sudden urge to glance over her shoulder, to make sure nothing was sneaking up behind her, invisible in the window’s reflection, and Ethan