A Short Story from A World in Crimson
When Christie’s sister, Angie, is trapped in a violent marriage, she turns to Sloane, a powerful non-binary vampire, for help. Dressed in sharp men’s attire and armed with deadly fangs, Sloane is a force to be reckoned with. As they confront the abusive Hank, tension electrifies the air. Hank’s ignorance of Sloane’s true nature leads to a brutal reckoning, where Sloane’s supernatural strength and cold fury ensure Angie’s safety. In a world where darkness prevails, Sloane is a formidable protector, delivering justice with a bite.
“You two are looking awfully pale,” Angie says in her distinctly Baltimore accent. Her voice trembles just enough to notice. “I can whip up some of my famous crab macaroni and cheese to get you feeling right as rain.”
Christie, Angie’s older sister, and I give each other a sideways glance. Christie’s skin takes on a quiet shade of green at the thought. She underwent the change only a few months ago, so human food could make her quite ill. I know she will try to force it down to make her baby sister happy.
And she deserves a bit of happiness. I glance at her bruised eye, the deep purple hue contrasting sharply with her otherwise fair skin. It’s a struggle to keep my rage in check, but I soften my expression. “That sounds wonderful, Angie,” I say, trying to keep my tone gentle. “But we’re actually here to talk.”
Christie stands beside me, her eyes downcast but resolute. She hasn’t said much since we arrived, but her determination radiates off her in waves. Our eyes lock, and she gives a tiny nod, confirming the plan.
Angie glances nervously at Christie, then back at me. Her shaking hand rises to the back of her head to smooth her. No need, though—the golden beehive is immaculate. “Talk? About what?”
“About your husband,” Christie says, her voice steady but low. “We know what he’s been doing to you.” My companion waved her hand toward her sister and the telltale sign of the beating she took that pathetic S.O.B.
Angie’s eyes widen, her hand instinctively moving to cover her bruised eye. “Are you talking about this? I told mama I just tripped and fell into a counter.”
“The counter, huh?” Christie says, hissing like a house cat. Personally, I couldn’t hold back an unamused snort.
“Yes!”
