The Ninja Vampire's Girl. Michele Hauf

      I recognized the man with shoulders wider than an armored truck as an angel even before I saw the wings spread out behind him and creak like the black iron they resembled.

      An angel's wings are forged from the materials of their innate skill—the craft they'd taught mortals after Falling, and had been punished for because supposedly the Arts had been sinful back then. This one must have been an ironsmith.

      I clutched the halo until I thought surely my palm would bleed. My neck hurt. The vampire had torn his fangs from my vein when the angel walked in.

      I had not expected to encounter a vampire tonight. Most especially, not a vampire sporting shocking white hair and a scar cutting from his forehead, through eyebrow and eye, and ending at his jaw. His scarred eye was cloudy white. Creepier than fangs, let me tell you.

      But right now the vampire was the one thing standing between the growling angel and me, so I wasn't going to be picky about appearance. I tucked myself behind the ottoman just as a blade swung through the air.

      Freaky appearance aside, the vampire was tall, lean and wore a sleeveless shirt that showed off sculpted muscles only seen in the movies. He was ripped, and yes, I had to slap a palm over my heart. Be still, pitter-pattering heart. Vampires are not sexy.

      He swung some kind of chain that sported a nasty scythed blade on the end of it. And did he have the moves. Twirling it overhead in a whir of silver, he then slashed it down before him to detour the charging angel.

      The vampire dropped to his back, rolled and came up with a slash of the blade that cut through the angel's thigh. Blue blood spattered the air.

      Granny Stevens had taught Cassandra and I the lore on angels, so the blue blood didn't surprise me. But this was the first time I'd seen a real Fallen One in the so-called flesh. I wasn't about to shake its hand or offer to do lunch with it.

      The Fallen wanted what I had.

      Now I noticed the halo clutched to my chest glowed blue. "Damn." Blue meant one thing; it belonged to this particular angel.

      I thrust out my hand, displaying the palm with the mehndi sigils on it. Not sure if it would work as a repellent but I wasn't going to take any chances in case my protector failed.

      The vampire soared through the air and landed the ottoman with an oof! He flipped over backward, landing behind me on the floor, crouched and sported a ferocious sneer.

      Then the bravery struck. And don’t ask me where it came from.

      "I'll get it!"

      I popped up and wielded the halo like a Frisbee—I had been Frisbee champion in twelfth grade. Just as I sent it soaring toward the angel's neck, the vampire landed on my back, slapping my arm down.

      "What the bloody hell did you do that for?" he gasped hotly against my face.

      "Don't worry, it's supposed to come back like a—"

      "A bleedin' boomerang. Love, that only works for the original owner."

      "Oh, no." Really? I don't think Granny ever told us that little detail.

      "Duck!"

      The vampire shoved me to the floor. I caught myself on palms and stomach, cell phone skittering across the hardwood. His body landed on top of mine, flattening me.

      I heard the whooshing skim of the halo over our bodies, and saw it turn in the air at the opposite end of the hallway. It nicked a painting of naked nymphs and soared back toward the thrower. The angel caught the halo, gargled out a wicked chuckle and stomped out of the hall.

      The vampire's fist beat the floor next to my face. "Damn it!"

      "Sorry," I muttered and kicked at him to get off me. "I didn't know. I've got to go after it."

      Grabbing my phone, I started toward the door, but my skirt caught on something and I went down, ungracefully landing on all fours.

      The vampire released my skirt. Of all the—Blood puddled on the floor near my hand. Sitting up, I noticed the bleeding wounds on his back. The halo had cut through his shirt and sheered him from hip to shoulder.

      "You're hurt!"

      He snickered, and pushed up to kneel. Easing back his wounded shoulder, he winced. "Guess I've you to thank for losing both the trophy and my skin. What's your name, love? So I can burn it from my memory. No, wait. No name will suffice."

      "Coco," I blurted. Screw him for blaming me for his inability to dodge low enough.

      Oh, Coco. He saved you!

      "Coco. As in Chanel?"

      "No, as in Rococo. My parents had a thing for Louis the Fifteenth. Now, I'd love to stick around and chat, but I have a halo to go after."

      The bird had spunk. I liked that. But she wasn't going to cock up the nab for me again. I'd been so close!

      "You're not going anywhere." I coiled up the chain.

      "It's my halo!"

      "Yeah?" Pretty, the way she held her tiny fists like that. It would be too easy for an angel to break her. "Fine. I don't need the halo, but I do need the angel attached to said halo. I almost had him."

      "Oh, right, I noticed you had him when you were dodging the halo from hell."

      I gave her the mongoose eye; it wasn't quite evil, mostly admonishing with a trim of evil.

      Hooking the chain at my hip, I slicked the blue blood off the blade. Nasty stuff, that. I had no desire to taste it because I liked all my bits the way they were currently configured. Vampire drinks angel blood? Kaboom!

      On the other hand, the blood from a Nephilim…

      "What are you?" She followed as I stomped out of the hall, veering away from the ridiculous music. "Some kind of ninja vampire?"

      How did she—Right. I'd forgotten about the bite. I was in too much pain to care about such a tasty lick right now. I'd just had half my back flayed off, no thanks to her.

      The side of her neck bled, and she was tripping on her torn skirt, but she managed to keep up with me as I angled toward a door I knew opened onto a private alley.

      "Name's Zane," I offered. "No ninja blood in me." Not lately, anyway.

      I kicked open the door, ignoring her stupid quest to follow.

      "Wait!" She managed to catch up and shoved me. Hard. "Sorry," she offered, rubbing my blood off on her red skirts. She'd slapped me firmly on the abraded flesh, which was only half-healed.