The sun was high in the sky, casting a bright glare through the window.

  Billy Jean, who'd been tied up for hours on end, was glaring daggers at Michael Joke, snoozing away in bed.

  Was he planning on hibernating?

  What, was he part bear or something?

  Just then, a pigeon flapped onto the balcony, cooing softly,

  “Goo-goo...”

  Its feathers were patchy and ratty, like it'd been through a war-zone.

  The flesh looked rotten, and its eyes were all milky, like it was lost in a fog — a dead ringer for a virus-infected pigeon.

  It perched on the balcony railing, basking in the sun and trying to fluff up its scraggly feathers.

  Billy Jean's murky eyes lit up like a light-bulb.

  “Roar... Hey, Feathered Friend, do me a solid and untie these ropes?"

  The Zompige ruffled its feathers, looking downright offended.

  “Coo-coo... Who you callin' Feathered Friend?"

  “ Roar ... Feathered Ma'am? Feathered Grandma?"

  The more Billy Jean tried, the more riled up the pigeon got, strutting back and forth on the railing, feathers flying.

  Billy Jean, seeing she was getting nowhere, had a light-bulb moment.

  “Roar... Oh, I got it. Gorgeous Feathered Lady, that oughta do the trick, right?"

  Now, this pigeon was far from gorgeous, but a little flattery never hurt.

  These days, even a pigeon had an ego the size of a blimp.

  The Zompige finally snapped,

  “Coo-coo... I'm female, you dolt!"

  Billy Jean: Uh...

  Awkward silence.

  “ Roar ... My bad, Feathered.sis. Forgive me."

  “Coo-coo...Cut the crap. What do you want?"

  “Roar... You're all business, Feathered.sis. I just need a tiny favor. Peck these ropes off me, will ya? Thanks."

  The Zompige gave Billy Jean, still trussed up like a turkey, the once-over.

  “Coo-coo... I don't work for free. What's in it for me?"

  “ Roar ... I'll owe you one. Big-time."

  The pigeon cocked its head, thought for a sec, then nodded.

  “Coo-coo... Deal."

  The Zompige fluttered into the room and got to work with its sharp beak, pecking away at the ropes until Billy Jean was free.

  Billy Jean stood up, joints popping like firecrackers from sitting so long.

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  She shot a glance at Michael Joke, still sawing logs, and a devilish grin spread across her face.

  The Zompige, spotting the hunk in bed, asked,

  “Coo-coo... Did he tie you up? Is he your man?"

  “Roar... No, he's breakfast."

  “Coo-coo... He's a vampire and didn't off you. Must have a soft spot for you. And you're gonna chow down on him? That's just cruel!”

  The pigeon clucked in dismay, feeling sorry for the handsome guy.

  Billy Jean swatted the pigeon off her shoulder like a pesky fly.

  “Roar... Scram. You don't know squat. You're just a horny bird."

  Horny bird? The pigeon thought.

  Just a minute ago, she was all “Feathered.sis” this and “Feathered.sis” that.

  It flapped its wings, circled the room, and landed back on Billy Jean's shoulder, just in time to see her pull a wicked steak knife from her bag, blade glinting.

  “Coo-coo... Wow, you'd really sink your teeth into that handsome mug. You're a cold-hearted vixen.”

  The pigeon chirped.

  “Roar... Food's gotta fill the belly.”

  Billy Jean Roared back, eyes glowing blood-red as she inched toward Michael Joke, knife in hand.

  His hands were a work of art — elegant, clean, and chiseled, with delicate wrists and faint blue veins peeking through the skin.

  Billy Jean's mouth watered, lips twitching with a hankering for that sweet, fresh blood.

  Back in the day, she'd always use a knife to draw blood, pour it in a glass, and sip away.

  Never once did she touch anyone directly.

  But last night, for some wacky reason, she'd gone bonkers and slurped straight from him, licking and savoring like it was the best thing since sliced bread.

  In fact, she couldn't get enough.

  Suddenly, a big paw of a hand clamped down on Billy Jean's knife-wielding hand.

  She snapped back to reality, locking eyes with a pair of deep, dark pools.

  “Billy , you're still up to no good even tied up.”

  Michael Joke's voice was gravelly from sleep.

  Caught red-handed, Billy Jean decided to go all in and lunged at Michael Joke.

  "I'm starving. Need breakfast."

  In a flash, Billy Jean found herself wrapped up like a mummy in the blanket by Michael Joke.

  She thrashed around on the bed like a giant, wriggling worm, but couldn't break free.

  Michael Joke couldn't help but chuckle.

  She looked kind of cute, all squirmy like that.

  He gave her exposed noggin a gentle pat.

  “Hang tight. I'll take you out to chow down after I freshen up.”

  "I don't want to go out, I want you. Now, I'm so hungry,need to feed."

  Billy Jean writhed inside the blanket.

  Ignoring Billy Jean's tantrum, Michael Joke swung his legs out of bed.

  His dark eyes swept the room and zeroed in on the Zompige, perched on the chandelier like a statue, watching the whole shebang.

  The pigeon shuddered under his icy glare, losing a few more feathers, like it was shedding in a snowstorm.

  It flapped its wings, desperate to make a break for the balcony.

  At that moment, a thin electric wire coiled around its claws, yanking it back.

  “Coo-coo...”

  The pigeon fought like a wildcat, feeling its claws sizzle and more feathers go flying, like there was an invisible hair-removal laser in the air.

  Seeing Michael Joke's palm crackle with a mini lightning bolt, Billy Jean jumped into action.

  "Michael , stop. Don't kill it."

  “Billy , just because I let you live doesn't mean I'll spare every other vampire.”

  "It's my friend. Please, just this once. Let it go."

  “A measly Zompige,if I want it dead, it's dead.”

  Michael Joke's voice was like ice, but he hesitated, all because of her plea:

  “It's my friend.”

  In the end, he stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it rattled.

  Billy Jean and the pigeon both jumped.

  "What are you waiting for? Get out of here before he kills you."

  Though the pigeon didn't get the whole story, it knew she'd saved its bacon.

  “Coo-coo... You owed me one, and now you saved my life,we're square,but you're loyal, and I'll call you a friend."

  The pigeon flew off into the wild blue yonder.

  Billy Jean: A bird friend?

  After getting his morning routine out of the way.

  Michael Joke unwrapped Billy Jean from the blanket cocoon.

  Seeing Billy Jean gearing up to pounce again, he whipped out an electric whip and cracked it.

  Billy Jean froze like a deer in headlights, body rigid with fear.

  The whip zipped past her, smashing into the bedside table and reducing it to splinters.

  “Do you want to end up like that table?” he asked.

  Billy Jean shook her head like a bobble-head, click-click.

  Even if she wouldn't die from getting smashed, sewing herself back together was a pain in the neck.

  She didn't want that.

  “If you don't want that, then play nice, okay?”

  Billy Jean nodded meekly, click-click.

  Michael Joke, seeing her wobbly head movements, worried it might roll off, so he didn't push his luck.

  He fished out a set of sportswear from his spatial ring and handed it to Billy Jean, who was still rocking the bathrobe.

  “I don't have any duds for the ladies,you can wear mine for now,we'll hit the stores for some dresses later.”

  Billy Jean took the clothes and shuffled toward the bathroom.

  Michael Jote watched her slow, shuffling gait and a twinkle of amusement lit up his eyes.

  He quickly frowned again, ticked off with himself for getting all gooey-eyed over her.