Hawk moves fast.

One second Harley opens the door.

The next, he’s at it, shoving her to the side, and slamming his palm flat against the wood with a force that makes the whole frame rattle. He’s blocking someone. I can't see the guy’s full face yet, but I catch enough.

And I remember too.

Dark leather jacket.

Black shirt. The older brother. At least, he claims to be.

His eyes are red, veins crawling under his skin and up his jaw. His fangs are out. And he’s grinning, like he enjoys ...