"Bitch! You are going to regret messing with me." Simon’s sudden courage came from his less-than-subtle reach for the switchblade in his pocket. He extended it and growled. “On your knees where you belong, whore.”
“You really need to look up the definition of whore because I’m pretty sure the fact I only screw one guy makes me the opposite.”
“Whatever, slut. I said kneel.” He waved his puny blade, and I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
“I can’t believe your knife is as small as your dick.”
His eyes narrowed in rage. “We’ll see if you’re still calling it small when I choke you with it.” He lunged for me and swung. Rather than dodge, I leaned in so that the tip of the blade slashed open my cheek.
Yes, I let him injure me to prove a point. The cut barely bled and immediately sealed shut without leaving so much as a dimple. Pretty cool, huh? Super-duper healing would have been handy when my appendix blew up a few years back and I ended up in intensive care for a week eating shitty hospital food.
“What the fuck? Who are you?” Simon gasped. Nothing like seeing the wide-eyed look on the face of my prey when they realized just how screwed they were.
I tossed my hair as I posed. “Take a wild guess. You may have read about me in the news.” While Simon had been given the title, Midnight Diddler, mine ended up being much cooler.
“You’re the Vigilante Vampire,” he exclaimed.
“I am.” And I quite approved of my social media name, especially since they also called me a hero for taking out the trash.
No longer as confident, Simon suddenly decided to bolt.
Silly man. I let him get a head start and watched as he sprinted into the woods, then I did the slow villain stalk. The trail meandering through the suburban copse of trees was pretty. Softly falling snow passed through the bare branches and dusted the ground, a blanket of white that clearly showed Simon’s shoe prints.
Not that I need those to find him. Like a certain famous toucan, I followed my nose.
I allowed Simon to run until he thought himself safe. When he slowed to a walk, I tackled his ass and flipped him onto his back.
He squeaked, like a mouse caught by a cat.
I knelt on his chest and smiled. “Did you really think you could escape me?”
“Leave me alone.”
“The same way you left those poor women alone? I think not.”
“I didn’t hurt them,” he huffed.
“Mental trauma counts.” Some of the victims required counseling afterwards, not to mention poor Sue-Ellen, the virgin, whose first experience with a dick would leave her unprepared for the fact they were usually much larger and more fearsome.
He had the nerve to beg. "Don't kill me. I'll give you anything you want."
“There’s only one thing I want from you, Simon,” I stated, licking my lips as the pulse in his neck fluttered rapidly, teasing and tempting me.
“I won’t do it anymore. I promise,” he blubbered.
“No, you won’t.” I made sure of that. I struck quick as a viper, my fangs penetrating his flesh, letting his blood flow. I gulped to quench my thirst, and didn’t stop until Simon’s heart ceased beating.
I could have stopped before he died, but better to have one less pervert walking the streets. Santa could thank me later for clearing the backlog on his naughty list.
You might wonder how I went from a menopausal, dumpy, perpetually single, aging poorly data manager to a crime fighting cougar—with fangs.
My story, make that my second chance at life, began two years ago around Christmas…
Chapter One
"…hereby sentence Theodore Gavin to six months community service." The gavel thumped to confirm the ruling and I couldn’t help but pop out of my seat in the courtroom.
"Six months of community service? You must be kidding. He killed my cat." I'd promised myself I wouldn't lose control. I knew this verdict might happen because the lawyer prosecuting the case had warned me the sentencing might be light because the little fucker being charged had money. But there was light, and then there was this farce. Fluffykins deserved justice!
