Ever have a moment in your life where you wish you could rewind, slap yourself, and do things differently? I did.

Nothing like seeing a regular house cat stalk toward you, each step resulting in a growth in its size, a ripple in its frame, to make a girl wish she’d listened to her boyfriend and done the cowardly thing.

I should have left the door closed. “It can’t come in. It can’t come in. The spells will stop it.” I repeated this over and over as the feline morphed from cute kitty into beast from hell. It more than quadrupled in size, knobs erupting from its spine, claws and teeth elongating while its eyes shifted from green to fiery red.

Gulp. By the time it stood, breathing hotly against the sliding glass door, steaming the surface, it was the size of a hippo, and it seemed intent on getting to know me better.

Not interested in furthering our acquaintance, I kept muttering, “It can’t come in.”

As if understanding my words, I swear the damned thing grinned, or at least did something that showed a heck of a lot of teeth.

It lifted a paw and placed it on the glass just as I recalled something one of my boys had said, something important about the magic guarding the house.

I am safe within the wards so long as I don’t invite it in.

Fuck.

I turned on my heel and began to run just as the glass behind me broke in a tinkling shower. I screamed. Holy fuck did I ever, and I continued to shriek as I pounded to the front door, not making the mistake of heading upstairs and locking myself in a room. I retained enough wits to know a flimsy bedroom door wouldn’t hold the demon at bay. But maybe Pete and his mounds of muscles could.

Thankfully, he didn’t believe in an army of locks, only a single deadbolt required turning, and then I was out the front door sprinting down his walkway, still yodeling at the top of my lungs. Nothing wrong with the shape of my vocal cords.

For some insane reason, the song “I Need a Hero” by Bonnie Tyler started running through my head, a soundtrack to my folly. A pity I wouldn’t live to write the story and sell it to Hollywood.

Seriously. Things didn’t look good for me. I cursed the fact that Pete lived across from some fucking conservation area. No neighbors to flip on a porch light and invite me in to safety. No grannies with a shotgun on the porch taking potshots at the beast on my tail.

Why couldn’t I have a boyfriend who lived in the city? Surely, someone there would have had a gun to help a poor woman out.

Nope. My guy lived out in the boonies. Nothing but trees, pavement, and a stupid girl running for her life in pink bunny socks.

I didn’t dare peek behind me. Why bother when I heard the click and thump of paws hitting the ground as the demon came after me?

After crossing Pete’s stupidly long front yard, when I reached the road, I didn’t pause. I sprinted up the middle of it, panting too hard to yell anymore, saving my oxygen to fuel my longs legs, which had never run so fast.

If I survived this, I made a mental vow to take up jogging. It seemed the ability to race might be a handy skill to have for those unexpected moments when killer demons were after you.

If I lived.

A ferocious snarl broke my concentration, and I stumbled. I didn’t completely fall, but given I still clutched the knife, it scared me enough to stop my headlong flight lest I trip onto my weapon and impale myself. Besides, it seemed rescue had arrived. Or so I judged by the vicious, guttural sounds coming from behind me.

Hands on my thighs, hunched over and breathing hard, I didn’t want to turn around and look. I really didn’t want to see.

But I owed it to Pete. He fought to save my stupid ass, the least I could do was watch as he fought. Prepare myself in case he failed. Or—and this would require courage on my part—dart in at an opportune moment and help.

Slowly, I pivoted. Good thing I still couldn’t pull in a lungful of air because I probably would have wasted it on another useless shriek.

Ever watch a documentary about animals in the wild? Sure, you have. The one with the cute little cubs that started out as tumbling furballs and grew up to be giant furballs.

Remember how they always had that one scene, the one where they showed in glaring detail how those cuddly animals got their dinner? The violence, the bloodshed, the savagery? Apparently, they really edited the fuck out of it, because the fight I got to view was way scarier and gorier.

A hulking wolfman—think bodybuilder covered in hair with canine features, claws, and wild yellow eyes—attacked the demon, who’d lost all of its feline characteristics. Together they grappled, ripping and tearing at each other, scoring gashes along their bodies, sending droplets of blood and whatnot flying.

Forget darting in to land a stab that would end it all. With the way they rolled this way and that, I was more likely to get crushed. But, at the same time, I could tell Pete wouldn’t win this battle alone. Not for lack of trying. My man gave it his all, but the demon was just that much bigger and more powerful.

Where was a superhero when you needed one?

Apparently, timing his moment for the most dramatic effect, because between one blink and the next, Anthony appeared. Clad only in his trousers, white chest gleaming in the streetlight, he joined the fray, and I wondered how he thought he could help, considering he’d arrived weaponless. Shouldn’t he have brought a sword? A gun? Something with a sharp edge?

I didn’t give him enough credit or had conveniently forgotten Anthony wasn’t human no matter his outward appearance. It seemed my vampire lover had hidden his more violent talents.

Fists clenched, he rained blow upon blow on the demon, but where a human would have probably broken his hand trying to hit the monster, Anthony’s hands dented the damned thing. And, yes, that was as disturbing as it sounded. Every blow he landed left a fist-sized dimple in the demon, pockmarking its body. But it didn’t stop the monster. It did make it madder, though.

With a roar to give me goose bumps, and nightmares, the demon found an inner reserve of strength and wouldn’t relent. Neither did my lovers.

Over and over, they pummeled the demon, putting it on the defensive, forcing it to retreat. They followed, not letting up their punishment. I found myself pacing them, eyes trained on the action. A part of me wondered if I should take this moment of grace to run, hide, call for help, maybe arrange a nuke, but I couldn’t, not when I was too afraid to look away for just a moment.

I began to think victory could be ours. We might win against this thing. Then, the unthinkable…

The demon’s tail lashed out of nowhere, the barbed tip catching Anthony across the back and tearing open a huge gash. But it wasn’t the wound that distracted him.

I did.

A cry left me, breaking his concentration for just a moment.

A millisecond too long.

The demon pounced, taking my vampire lover to the ground. Horrified, I slapped my free hand over my mouth. Pete jumped onto the demon’s back, but tired and injured, he could only yank on the demon’s head, trying to keep the jagged teeth from tearing out Anthony’s throat. A stalemate that wouldn’t end well once his stamina gave up.

I didn’t even realize I’d run toward them until I was there, standing before the monster who terrified me, smelling the stench of Hell, feeling the malevolence roiling off it, coating me in an invisible miasma.

Gross. But not as gross as the fluid that sprayed me when I plunged my kitchen knife as far as it would go into its glaring red orb. I’d like to say I did this intentionally. That I took careful aim and found my bravery.

Nope.

Wheezing and caterwauling, shaking—grateful for the Kegel clenches I practiced daily—I blindly stabbed at the thing and got lucky.

Horrified on so many levels, I released my grip on the slippery kitchen implement and staggered back.

But I’d done enough.

With the injury I inflicted, the demon lost its will to fight.

Not my men. Pete, barely recognizable in his other shape, and Anthony, feral-eyed and equally wild, attacked the mortally wounded creature. One raked claws over the other eye, plucking it from its skull and crushing it in a hairy fist, while the other used his teeth to tear chunks from the demon’s neck, his throat moving in a convulsive gesture that said he swallowed.

I am not ashamed to admit I turned from the carnage at this point and threw up on the street.

Stumbling away from the tussle, I fell to the soft and fragrant grass, inhaling only for a moment the vivid liveliness of it before the stench covering me tainted it.

There, kneeling on Pete’s front lawn, I shook and sobbed. I couldn’t have said why. Was it the near-death experience? The fact I’d helped kill something, even something so evil? Was it seeing my lovers for what they really were? Monsters of their own.

Whatever the reason, when a gentle hand came to rest upon my shoulder, I shrieked and scrambled away on hands and knees. “Don’t touch me!”

“Shh, baby. It’s okay now. It’s just me.” Just Pete. Just Pete, the werewolf covered in a layer of gore.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and rocked. When Anthony touched me next, I flinched.

“It’s all right, Chloe, we won.”

Won the battle, but at what cost? I’d lost my innocence. I could no longer wear blinders or pretend. I was a human dating monsters. I was just a woman, out of her element. And I’m so fucking scared.

If my big moment ever came, I’d always hoped I could handle it with the cool, composed grace seen so often on screen. Instead, I blubbered, and my nose ran. I stank of demon guts and was covered in blood and fluids best not mentioned. Some heroine I’d turned out to be.

I only panicked and thrashed a little when Pete scooped me up and brought me into the house. I didn’t have the strength or skill to actually escape. The hot spray of the shower proved a welcome balm to my wounded psyche. As the evidence of my ordeal washed away, so did some of my terror. I took heaving breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart, vaguely aware that one set of arms was replaced by another. But still, I wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t. With my jaw shaking, I’d have probably bitten my tongue off if I’d tried.

I’d interviewed enough victims in shock to know what I experienced. I just never expected it would ever happen to me. I now had more sympathy for what some of them had endured.

When my teeth finally stopped chattering, I opened my eyes and found Anthony’s concerned gaze trained on me.

Of the savage vampire, not a sign remained. His eyes were back to their usual electric blue, concern creasing them at the corners. I couldn’t hold his gaze and dropped my eyes to stare at his lips.

Gone were the fangs he’d used to tear at the demon’s flesh. Yet I couldn’t forget them. Couldn’t forget that the same lips I’d kissed, the mouth that caressed my skin, had suckled at the demon, feeding from it. My stomach roiled as I wondered how I could ever kiss those lips again. I couldn’t hide my reaction.

“You just started shaking again. What’s wrong?”

What to say? What but the truth, or at least a partial version of? “Just wondering if you flossed and brushed your teeth?” And, yes, it sounded stupid, but in that moment, I just had to know.

Did he have demon bits stuck between his chompers? Blood breath? If he attempted to embrace me, I didn’t want to puke.

“Yes. I also used mouthwash.”

For some reason, this eased some of my tension, and I leaned into him, noting in that moment that while I was naked, he still wore his slacks. “You know, most people find a shower works better without clothing.”

“I didn’t want to waste more time than needed. One of us needed to go out and answer some questions.”

Ah, yes, the handoff. I vaguely recalled it happening. One set of arms exchanged for another. “Is that where Pete is?”

“Yes. The other agents arrived just as we finished off the demon.”

“Shouldn’t you be down there giving your own statement?”

“They can wait. You’re more important. And before you ask, or jump to the wrong conclusion, Pete would have stayed too, but we figured it best if one of us kept an eye on the situation. He lost the coin toss.”

It did make me feel better to know they’d both wanted to soothe me. “And did he also brush his teeth?”

Anthony chuckled. “Yes. Yes, he did. He also got a quick rinse off while I took care of my teeth. So if you’re worried about running into him still wearing a layer of gore, then don’t. We might not be human, but we’re not monsters.”

Funny how he used that word. “Aren’t you?” I couldn’t help the query from slipping from my lips.

I didn’t miss the way his whole body stilled. I knew I’d wounded him. Knew, but as someone who admired the truth, I had to say it. I owed it to them because I’d seen their other sides. Their non-human side. I couldn’t hide from the reality anymore.

“Is that what you think? That we’re monsters?”

A heavy sigh left me. “I don’t know what to think. I mean, you told me what you were. I understood it on some level, but…”

“But knowing it and seeing it are two different things.”

I nodded.

His turn to sigh. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I wish we could have somehow spared you the ugliness that sometimes comes with our job.”

“You mean this happens on a regular basis?” Did being involved with them mean I’d have to expect them coming home every other day covered in blood and guts?

“Not to this extent, no, but if you’re asking if I’ve had to fight for my life before, to revert to my primitive urges and instinct for survival, then yes. As has Pete, I’m sure. Someone needs to stand up to darkness.”

He made it sound so noble. It made me feel petty. However, unlike some, I’d never aspired to heroic greatness. “But do you and Pete have to be the flashlight?” My poor attempt at humor fell flat.

“Let me ask you a question. Why did you come to our rescue?”

“Because you would have died otherwise.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Um, did he not notice the puking and shaking of my body parts? “No. I hated it.” Would probably require years of therapy because of it.

“Well, while I won’t claim to hate it, I can admit that I’m not fond of it. However, the alternative is worse.”

“The alternative being?”

“Sitting back and doing nothing while innocents suffer.”

Just my luck. Altruistic boyfriends. “So is this your way of saying ‘suck it up, buttercup’? In other words, if I’m going to be with you, I’d better invest in some bleach to get out the bloodstains?”

“No bleach needed. Cold water usually does the trick.”

My narrowed-eyed glare conveyed my opinion adequately, I thought. He still laughed.

“I’m not demanding you come along with us wielding a mighty kitchen knife or that you like it when we choose to fight the forces of evil.”

“You’re laying it on pretty thick there, vampire.”

He ignored my attempt at sarcastic levity. “But I do hope you can learn to accept me, and the wolf, for who we are.”

Accept the fact they were more than human? More than pretty faces and excellent lovers? More than just fuck friends but men I’d come to care for? Oh, for the days of yesterday when my life didn’t have such complications. “How about we take it one day, and one demon, at a time?” was my compromise.

“Good enough for now.”

But for how long?

Wrapped in a towel, Anthony carried me from the bathroom straight to Pete’s bedroom. He deposited me on the bed and stripped out of his sopping, destroyed trousers, revealing his lean hips, and his cock, currently dormant amidst the dark curls at his groin. Good to know he didn’t find all the violence a turn-on. I might have freaked some more.

Pulling on a pair of dry athletic pants hanging over a chair—Adidas in a perfect size, leading me to believe his invisible servant had struck again—he left his chest bare to come to me and yank me on his lap. He towel dried me, hair first, fluffing my wet strands until they were damp and no longer dripping. Then he attacked my body, the friction of fabric on my skin not just soaking up the moisture but warming my frigid skin. Then, from another magical pile, he pulled out a pair of woman’s cottony PJs with happy faces on them.

At my arched brow, he laughed. “I had my man pick you up some things.”

And instead of going for something he would have enjoyed, he’d opted for something I would. Little things like that were why I couldn’t walk away. Anthony and Pete couldn’t help who they were. Nothing about them had changed.

Yet I had.

Tucked into bed, I thought sleep would elude me. However, adrenaline and the emotional upheaval left behind had drained me more than I thought. I drifted into a deep sleep.

And then my subconscious attacked me.