Saved at Sunrise

wasn’t a
     good plan, either.
    Della ducked the girl’s second punch. The crowd booed.
    The were came at her again and Della grabbed the girl by the arm and unceremoniously
     tossed her across the ring. She landed hard, but was back on her feet in seconds.
     As the girl danced around throwing punches like some boxing queen, Della briefly found
     Steve in the crowd. He glared right at her and then cut his eyes upward again.
    The second of lost focus cost Della dearly, for the girl struck again, this time kicking
     Della right in the ribs. Air whooshed out of her lungs as pain caused her to stumble
     back. That’s when her gaze caught the slight opening in the ceiling, where an air
     vent had once been.
    Okay, now she knew Steve’s plan, but didn’t he realize that these other vamps could
     fly, too?
    Another foot came at Della’s face. She grabbed the leg by the ankle and slung the
     girl outside the ring. Yelps and cries for blood echoed from the crowd. The girl landed
     in a group of vamps, but she must have been made of rubber, because she bounced back
     up and charged again.
    She leapt into the ring. Her eyes glowed the notable orange color of a pissed-off
     were. She kicked up her foot, Della went to block it. A bad mistake, because she didn’t
     see what the B with an itch had in her hands until it was too late.
    The knife came right at Della’s heart. Her only defense was to block it with her arm.
     The blade sliced into her forearm and it felt like a burn, hot, yet cold at the same
     time. The smell of blood filled her nose.
    Her own blood.
    She heard the hungry cries from the audience.
    The girl took a step back, but only to charge again. The knife was aimed right at
     Della’s chest. A roar, not from the crowd, but from some exotic feline animal, rang
     in Della’s ears.
    Fury, hot red rage, filled Della’s heart at the same time the knife sank into her
     chest, right below her collarbone. Amazingly, she felt more anger than pain. Grabbing
     the girl by the shoulders, she slung her. It looked like slow motion. Felt like slow
     motion, as the knife sliced its way out of Della’s chest. Breath held in pain, she
     watched as the girl flew away, the knife, still in her hands, dripping blood from
     the tip of the blade.
    Then Della saw the supersized lion, AKA Steve, charging toward the ring mauling anyone
     who dared get in his way. Go Steve! She pointed up and then with everything she had,
     she leapt straight into the air, barely fitting through the tight little exit. And
     right behind her, hauling ass, was a Peregrine falcon.
    She continued upward knowing the vamps, at least the ones who could fit through the
     tight opening, would be behind them. She ignored the burning sensation in her shoulder.
     Suddenly aware she didn’t hear the flap of a bird’s wings, she glanced back. Steve
     had returned to the roof, transformed into a dragon, and was in the process of breathing
     fire into the hole in the old building. Damn, but the guy made a nice-looking dragon.
    Obviously, the building had some sort of insulation that wasn’t fire resistant, because
     smoke started billowing out of the roof almost immediately.
    In seconds, sparkles started popping off around the dragon and Steve was back to being
     a Peregrine. They flew off hard and fast. She kept looking back, praying the rogues
     weren’t there. Thankfully, only the darkness chased them.
    Suddenly, Steve started down.
    “No,” she screamed at him. “We need to keep going. They’ll come after us!”
    He didn’t listen, but continued down and landed in a dark alley much like the one
     they’d been in last night. Six-foot-high wooden fences lined the pathway, as if too
     keep riffraff out. The overflowing garbage cans that smelled like spoiled fruit seemed
     to hold up the fences, some of which looked rotted. By the time she landed, Steve
     was already human.
    “Shit,” he said, grabbing her arm. The sweet smell of her own blood chased away the
     smell of garbage and filled Della’s senses.
    “You know,” she said, flinching at the pain both in her arm and her upper chest, “you
     did good.”
    “You are not going to die!” he seethed.
    “Who said anything about dying?” She found it hard to focus on him and she blinked
     a couple of times.
    “You just complimented me,” he said in a low growl. “That tells me how seriously hurt
     you are.”
    She grinned and she couldn’t hold the gesture in place. “I’m not that bad, am