I stood up in time to see Dolph’s six-foot, eight-inch frame wrapped around the much smaller body of the vampire. Dolph had his arms around the vampire’s shoulders, with his own hands behind the vampire’s head. It was a classic full nelson, and Dolph was big enough that against most humans he’d have won, but he was struggling to keep the hold on the vampire, as the uniform struggled to pin one of the vampire’s arms. Then the uniform’s face went slack, and he tried to hit Dolph in the face. Dolph saw it coming, and ducked using the vampire’s trapped head as a shield.

I yelled, “Don’t look the vampire in the eyes, damn it!” I went back over the table, sliding to the fight, because it was the quickest way I could think to get to Dolph. One of the other uniforms was struggling with the officer who had been mind-fucked by the vampire. The vampire reared back and bucked against Dolph’s hold, and his hands came loose. There was movement by the door, but the vampire was twisting in Dolph’s grip, and I was out of time to see what the backup was going to do.

I kicked the vampire in the ribs, the way I’d been taught, visualizing the kick going into the ribs, through the body, and a few inches out the other side. That was the goal I’d been taught in judo, and even now that I was taking mixed martial arts the old training kicked in, and I aimed through the ribs and the wall beyond. I forgot two things: one, that I was more than human-strong now, and two, that I was wearing three-inch stilettos.

The kick drove the vampire stumbling away from Dolph, a hand going to his ribs, as he leapt for me still on the table on my side. I kicked him again, this time aiming for the sternum, aiming to take the breath out of him, as if he’d been human and needed to breathe all the time. In a fight, you fall back on training, no matter what you’re fighting.