Page 11 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Was this it? Was this his death? Was she going to leave him here? Could he even die?

He would welcome it, when it finally came.

The craving was the worst. Initially, he was merely thirsty. But it grew until he couldn’t help himself, and he cried out, begging to be released.

She didn’t come.

The craving overtook him, driving him to madness until he feared he might try to drink the earth itself. His hands were torn and bloody from scratching furrows in the stone, yet each night, when he awoke, they had healed—mostly, at least.

Then, one night, he heard a noise. Before long, the weight was dragged from the flagstones. It barely registered in his consciousness, for he could smell blood.

He didn’t wait for her to pry them away. He couldn’t. There was nothing but thirst; no control, no resistance. Not anymore.

He surged upward, his desperation fueling him, shoving away the flagstone to crash to the floor. If he’d been able to think, he might’ve wondered if his legs still had the strength. But his vampiric body cared not for such weakness—not with blood so near.

She stood in the doorway, watching with curiosity, but he barely spared her a glance. All his focus, all his intent, was on the poor wretch she’d brought him.

When he finished feeding, he could no longer tell if it had been a man or a woman. His stomach roiled painfully.

“ La prochaine fois, ne bois pas le sang une fois qu’ils sont morts ,” she told him.

Next time? There would be a next time?

His mind had cleared, the craving abated. He stared at his bloody hands, at the remains of the human he’d killed. Then he dropped to his knees, his stomach clenching in waves of pain.

Don’t drink the blood once they’re dead, she’d said.

“ Tu vas m’obéir maintenant? ”

Obey? She left him no choice, not when the craving turned him into such a monster.

He had no fight left. “ Oui, madame.”

*

Boston, Massachusetts, Present day.

Another time, Antoine might’ve left the territory and let Minh get on with it. There was nothing to be gained from a war he didn’t want to fight, and there were plenty of other places he could go if he chose. He had no ties to Boston beyond familiarity. Houses could be sold, cities explored.

But that was before he’d found the woman. And now, she was a target.

He had to take Minh’s threats seriously, which meant the clock was ticking. How long did he have before Minh made good on them? Could he buy time to find the woman if he removed Minh’s thralls first? Minh didn’t seem the sort to get his hands dirty. Not when he had others to do it for him.

He didn’t like to kill, but for thralls, he’d make exceptions.

They were hardly human anymore. Thralls drank vampire blood, becoming obedient slaves.

Stronger and faster than common chattel, but still pitifully weak compared to even the youngest spawn.

He wouldn’t even feel bad about it—Minh had already taken their lives.

Antoine returned to the alley from which it had all started, but now the game had changed. Minh had admitted his thralls had been watching, so Antoine wreathed himself in shadows and took a different perch, a short distance from his usual.

Now, who can see what I can see?

Several streets overlooked the building Antoine had been using. He shook his head at his own carelessness. How have I grown so predictable? If his foolishness somehow let Minh find the woman first, her death would be on his hands. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

He jumped across to another building, one offering a view of the nearby streets. From this vantage, it was easy to identify the limited spots from which his usual perch could be observed, and it didn’t take long to locate the first thrall.

A beggar, slumped against a wall, a threadbare blanket draped across his knees.

Yet there was no sign asking for help, no battered paper cup beside him to collect meager donations.

If he’d been a real beggar, he’d have known there was no charity to be found in this neighborhood.

Now Antoine knew what to look for, it was obvious.

Antoine swooped down and seized the man by the throat, pinning him helplessly as he leaped back to the rooftop, dragging the thrall with him. His victim choked out a garbled noise, but Antoine’s grip ensured the sound barely carried.

“Do you know who I am?” Antoine asked, his fangs flashing with sadistic humor he didn’t truly feel.

The thrall’s wide-eyed stare was answer enough, the acrid stench of urine providing an exclamation point to his silent reply. Antoine had the right man.

“Where’s the woman?”

The thrall’s expression shifted—confusion, pure and simple. He didn’t know. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of her existence.

Antoine snapped his neck and let the body tumble from the rooftop. Such an unfortunate suicide. But life as a beggar was hard.

One down. How many thralls did you send, Minh?

In quick succession, Antoine found and dispatched two more. All were disguised as beggars, as if Minh believed they were a common sight in Antoine’s territory. If Minh had been cleverer, it could’ve been taken as a calculated insult.

But the thralls were a distraction, and he knew that too.

He had to find the woman before Minh did.

These thralls had been sent after him, which meant others were hunting for the woman.

Minh wasn’t likely doing it himself—it wasn’t his style.

He’d only show up at the end, once her location was certain.

Antoine had to act faster. Four nights of searching had turned up nothing, not even a hint. Worse, he’d been forced to feed again. The craving was sharper, the blood he took less satisfying. Because it wasn’t hers ?

How could that be? It made no sense!

In desperation, he tried a new strategy, picking a chattel at random—a young man walking alone. It didn’t matter there were others out on the street, not for this .

Throwing an arm around the man’s shoulder like an old friend, Antoine fed a little power into his voice. “Come and talk to me.”

The man stopped, the command not unreasonable enough to provoke resistance.

“Yes,” said the man, unblinkingly. Antoine curled his lip in distaste. He was manipulating random chattel. How far had he fallen?

“Have you seen a woman around here? Blonde, slender, about 5’8, very beautiful?”

“Yes,” came the monotone reply.

A flutter of hope. “Where?”

“At the gas station.”

The hope swelled, tight and urgent. That wasn’t far. Maybe he could check their surveillance footage.

But the man kept talking. “Walking a dog in the park. At the mini-mart.” A faint smile. “Angela, at my office.”

Antoine released him in disgust. Of course. What had he expected? He had no specifics to guide him, no leads to follow.

The man stumbled forward a few steps, dazed, half-falling into the road. Antoine turned away, fists clenched. She wouldn’t have been so clumsy, even if he’d used his power on her. She was sharp, observant. If he’d been human, her kick would’ve left a mark.

Antoine froze, realization dawning. How could he have been so blind?

“Wait,” he called, stopping the man before he wandered off. “Tell me, is there a martial arts center nearby?”