Page 7 of Hot Girls Date Demons

I sit upright immediately.

Years in emergency medicine have conditioned me to react before I think.

At the far end of the car, three young men—late teens maybe, early twenties—have cornered someone.

I don’t know how I missed this man earlier—he’s huge.

And they’re just punk kids.

But they’re annoying.

Loud.

Drunk.

Stupid enough to mistake cruelty for entertainment, and possibly dangerous.

“Come on, man!” one of them laughs.

“What's with the costume?”

“Nice threads, Dracula!”

“Comic-Con's next month.”

The other two snicker.

The man they're harassing sits perfectly still.

He's dressed entirely in black.

Black coat.

Black shirt.

Black boots.

And he's huge.

Not gym huge.

Not football player huge.

Bigger than that.

Broad shoulders.

Long, dark hair brushing his collar.

Massive hands folded loosely in his lap.

Something about him immediately sets every instinct I possess on edge.

He’s dangerous.

But…

I don’t feel like I’m in danger.