Through a series of metaphysical accidents, I held something close to the beast that lived in Micah. Other vamps call them nightshirt Mormons. I jerked back, as if he'd hit me, but with that one touch sound roared back into my head. I don't think he was sure what I'd do, but, for once, I was okay.
I still had his wife on her knees with my other hand around her wrist and her arm up almost to her shoulders. But it was a vain hope, because another song came on. She had to be the perfect little homemaker. His face wore the arrogance of his anger.
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