“What the fu–“

She came from above, all blonde and sleek and deadly, landing on the pusher and driving him to the ground; her weight forcing the air from his lungs in a loud huff. Using the greatest of ease, she picked him up and bent him back. Ordinary Guy dipped as if she led him in the throes of a violent tango.

Her mouth opened wide. And closed on Ordinary’s throat.

Blood rained, catching Slash in its outflow, wetting his hair in its crimson spray. Funny, Nos thought, the color matches. He and Slash stood transfixed as she drank, horrible reality making the very gothness of them pale in comparison. Thirst slaked--or vessel empty--she raised her head, pointed tongue licking her blood-rimmed mouth. Given his predilections, Nos thought this would make him hot, but it didn’t.

“Next?” she asked.

He turned tail and ran, tripping over the hem of his trench coat, righting himself and running faster. Slash’s shriek chased him out of the alley. He hot-tailed it home, popped a Valium and shut out the night.

Waning sunlight spilled through the window to awaken him. Nos groaned at the intrusion and pulled the blanket up over his head. Eyes scrunched shut, he snuggled deeper into the mattress. Goose down made the bed a warm and comforting nest, and he had no plans to leave it. Already, he’d called in sick at the hospital. Twenty-four hours of decadent comfort would be just the remedy for a night spent in Hell.

Trouble with scrunching his eyes shut was that memory kept leaking through. Nos could see the whole ugly scene play over and over in his mind. Easy transaction, amiable good-byes, then–wham!–some blonde babe jumps from the sky to snack on Slash’s pusher acquaintance.

He’d stood there. True, he wasn’t known as the soul of courage, but to freeze while a man was being slaughtered? The vamp had turned to them, face slicked with blood, looking for all the world like a participant in a snuff video, music provided by Nine Inch Nails.

He’d run, leaving Slash behind. That cold hard fact caused an unfamiliar emotion to flood his entrails. Put a name to it, he told himself. Admit it, you useless son of a bitch. You’re ashamed.

He threw the covers back, exposing himself for what he was: a coward. Why else would he leave a teenaged boy behind to save his own skinny ass?