Page 15 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Antoine touched down on the roof of his Fisher Hill house—an address of wealth and status he barely used.

The distance from Allston, along with the weight of its opulence, made it more a burden than a refuge.

His real sanctuary lay in the simplicity of his fortified basement in a nondescript house in Allston. Obscurity in plain sight.

Inside, the house exuded a comforting, if somewhat dated, décor—rich woods, burgundy curtains, thick dark green carpets and polished wooden floors.

The study-cum-library, in particular, was well-suited for refined entertaining, should Antoine want to host distinguished gentlemen in clouds of blue cigar smoke. Which he never, ever did.

There was a concealed skylight entry on the roof, and Antoine punched in the six-digit code.

It opened to reveal a small flight of stairs and a panel with a different code to control the lights, disable the alarms, and generally welcome the master of the house.

None of that was necessary, for Marcel would be around somewhere, ensuring everything was in order.

Instead, Antoine pressed a bell on the panel, making his presence known.

He descended the stairs, reaching the living room through one door as Marcel entered through the other.

“Good evening, sir. I had not been expecting you. Has there been a change of plans?”

It had been a few weeks since Antoine had last been here, but he couldn’t help but notice how frail Marcel sounded.

He smiled at him fondly. “There has, old friend. I’m afraid the news is not good.”

“Suitably mysterious, sir. Should I open the Chateau Margaux?”

“In a bit. For now, come and sit with me.”

“Very good, sir.” Marcel’s face became, if anything, even more inscrutable than his usual professional countenance.

Antoine knew him well enough to recognize this as his indication of surprise.

Which was fair; he couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat together. An unforgivable oversight on his part .

As Marcel moved through the living room, Antoine noticed the stiffness in his gait and the way his hand gripped the back of the chair for support. Marcel had always been a study in precision and grace, but now there was a deliberate slowness to his steps, and Antoine couldn’t ignore it any longer.

He sank into one of the wingback chairs beside the fireplace, and Marcel, after a respectful interval, eased himself into the other.

“How long have we known each other?” Antoine began.

“Since you pulled me, battered and beaten, from the icy depths of the Charles River, sir? Fifty-six years this coming February.”

Antoine raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Fifty-six years? Has it really been that long?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Fifty-six years,” Antoine repeated softly. “Half a century. And I haven’t sat with you nearly enough.”

Marcel cleared his throat, glancing away, his rheumatic eyes glistening in the firelight.

“Well, old friend,” Antoine continued, “we knew this would happen one day.”

Marcel took a brief pause to regain his poise, then replied with a hint of his usual bonhomie. “Perhaps sir might care to explain what he’s referring to, so that I will know whether to serve the Chateau Margaux, or the Cognac.”

“I encountered Minh tonight. We had a… contretemps.” His eyes drifted toward the fire, watching the flames lick at a log that had clearly been there a while. “I also killed some of his thralls this evening, Marcel, and he assured me he would seek to return the favor.”

“That might be a challenge for him, sir, as you don’t have…” Marcel trailed off. “Ah.”

“Mmm. Indeed.” Antoine looked over at him. “I had hoped to avoid conflict, but…” He gave a small, regretful shrug.

“Yes, sir,” Marcel replied, his stare fixed on the dying embers of the fire.

“You know what this means.”

Marcel took a long moment to consider the words, his fingers stiff as he folded his hands on his lap. “Respectfully, sir, my position hasn’t changed.”

“Marcel, if I don’t enthrall you, I can’t keep track of you. I won’t know if something happens to you. You won’t be able to contact me if something is amiss. You’ll be alone.”

The old retainer met his eyes, calm and unflinching. “Yes, sir, I am fully aware. ”

“Don’t you see? It’s different this time. There’s a real threat.”

Marcel smiled, and it softened the lines of his face, making him appear more like a kindly, benevolent grandfather than the stoic servant he usually was. When had he gotten so old? “I appreciate your interest, sir, and understand your reasons. Regrettably, my answer remains the same.”

Antoine’s brow furrowed. “Will you at least accept my mark? Under the Code, you’d be protected—”

Marcel lifted a hand, and for once, it was the master of the house that deferred to the retainer. “I am eighty-one years old, sir, and should the worst happen, I believe I have led a full life.”

Antoine shook his head. “You have plenty of life left in you, my friend. And if you became my thrall, you could have the same again.” This time, it was Antoine that lifted his hand, signaling that he wasn’t finished, and Marcel inclined his head.

“I respect your wishes and won’t press the matter, but the offer stands.

If you change your mind, you need only to let me know. ”

Marcel nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, sir. And now, with the matter settled, I think I will open the Margaux.”

Antoine answered in a lighter tone, aiming to alleviate the mood. “Be my guest. Do you mind my company while you drink it?”

The old retainer smiled, his eyes moist. “I would be delighted, sir. It has been too long since we last conversed. I shall fetch the bottle and a glass.” He rose and made his way to the door, returning a few minutes later with a tray.

He placed it on the small table before sitting once more.

“These bones may be too old, and I might not be able to defend myself easily, but the house…” He looked around fondly. “The house is not defenseless.”

Antoine leaned back, silence lingering between them. “It might not come to that. But in the meantime, the least I can do is pour you a drink.”

“The least you can do, sir, is let it breathe.”

Antoine let his hand fall and leaned back. “In my defense, it’s been nearly two and a half centuries since I last had the stuff.”

“May I ask a question, sir?”

“Of course.”

Marcel paused, as if weighing the right words. “It is no secret Minh regards you as an ‘outcast,’ sir. Do you think it is possible he will use that as a justification to ignore the Code?”

A faint pop came from the fire as a flame sputtered and died. Antoine’s fingers tapped absently on the arm of his chair.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll be very disappointed.”

*

Nantes, France, 1749

“Oh Antoine, my sweet.”

He heard her calling from the drawing room, and her tone was pleasant. That either meant she was in a good mood, or she wanted to play. As his pain and misery put her in a good mood, it was usually the same thing.

“ La Curia est partie, alors ?” he asked as he entered. She was sitting alone, holding a letter.

“Yes, they have gone. It is safe to come out, mon amour .”

“ Pas en Francais? ”

“Because we need to practice, my pet. English is the future.”

Antoine paused mid-step in surprise. “English? The future? What makes you say such a thing?”

“Vampires must always have an eye to the future. The British are in India, Jamaica, Barbados, and now the colonies. Whether or not they retain their holds, they have spread their language around the globe. Deberíamos practicar nuestro espanol también. ”

“Spanish too?”

She tutted. “You need to be more adaptable, my pet. It is only through embracing change that vampires will survive.” She tapped the letter pointedly against the arm of her chair. “The visit from the Curia has made that quite clear.”

“What did they want?”

“To offer me a new territory.”

Antoine frowned. “What’s wrong with this one?”

Belle laughed, her eyes sparkling at him. “Nothing, my pet, nothing.” She paused deliberately. “They have offered me Paris.”

“That is… quite a coup, my lady.”

“It’s not the whole of Paris, c’est dommage , but yes. Yes, it is.” She looked decidedly smug.

His brow furrowed. “How has a new territory come available?”

“An excellent question, my pet. But it is not a new territory, it is an old one. The vampire who was there has been, how do you say, expulsé ? He broke the Code.”

Antoine took a small step forward. “And will I remain here?”

“Do you mean, will you get my territory in Nantes?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“ Certainement pas! ” She laughed, clearly amused.

“No, my pet, you will remain by my side,” she said in fractured English.

“I am not done with you yet.” She rose from her chair, leaving the letter on her seat, and approached him.

Her movements were slinky, her expression heated, and Antoine braced himself for what was about to come. He knew well the moods of his mistress.

She trailed a fingertip down the open neck of his shirt. “Lady Beatrice suggested to me I had been remiss in respect to you.” She circled him, trailing her hand across his collarbone and over his shoulder. “Do you think I have been remiss in respect to you?”

“No, my lady, not at all.”

She laughed lightly, then pressed her body against his back.

“Good answer, my pet.” Her hand slipped beneath his chin, pulling his head sharply to the side, exposing his neck.

She held him there, in that awkward position, her playful tone evaporating.

“What did you say to Beatrice that might have given such an impression?”

He tensed, the strain in his back a sharp reminder of her strength, far beyond his own. He dared not resist. “I do not know, my lady. I merely answered her questions.”

“Oh?” Her lips brushed against his neck, her breath hot against his skin. “What did she ask you?”

He gritted his teeth as her fangs pierced him, the sharp sting overshadowed by the cold, sinking feeling in his gut. It wasn’t just the pain—it was the helplessness, and the way his body responded despite himself. “She… she asked what services I perform for you, my lady.”

Belle waved one hand before his face in a ‘go on’ gesture, then took a long swallow of his blood.

Speaking felt like dragging his words through melted wax, each syllable a battle as she fed. She no longer clouded his mind—not since the first time, when she’d controlled him. “She asked me if you fucked me, my lady, and… and if you fed from me.”

Her hand rotated before his eyes again, and he felt her throat convulse as his blood pulsed into her mouth.

“I answered her honestly, on both accounts.” And she said you’d been ‘naughty.’ Is what you’re doing now ‘naughty’?

“She asked if you had taught me the vampire laws, and she… she suggested that perhaps you should. That is all, my lady, I swear.” Lady Beatrice hadn’t shown much interest in talking past that point.

Belle pulled back, licking her teeth, and Antoine felt a trickle of blood run down his collarbone. “So she asked if I fed from you, and you confirmed it?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“ C’est très intéressant, ” she breathed.

“And yes, I do believe it is time you learned our rules. We have a Code, my pet. It was written long ago by the Curia. C’est barbant.

It is very tedious. It is very long, and very thorough, and tells us what we cannot do.

” She slid her fingers over his chest, her touch lingering, before pushing them up to his collar.

With a sharp tug, she tore his shirt from him, the fabric shredding effortlessly beneath her strength.

“If I am expected to explain it all to you, I am going to need some payment in return.”

“Of course, my lady.”

She moved around him, tugging open her bodice as she came, then reached for his head, pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his hair.

“The three core rules are: Vampires must not kill vampires. Vampires must not feed on vampires. Our domains are sacrosaint . But above all else, we must stay in the shadows.” She guided Antoine’s mouth to her nipple.

He pulled back enough to speak. “But you feed upon me, my lady.”

“How can I not?” she laughed, breathlessly. “You are so délicieux .”

He frowned as she clenched him against her breast. “My lady, if the vampire in Paris was evicted for breaking the Code, and you have broken it by feeding upon me, and Lady Beatrice knows this, and”—he hesitated briefly—“called you ‘naughty,’ why then have they rewarded you with that same territory?”

She laughed with delight. “Because, my pet, rules are just rules.” Her fingers pushed more tightly into his hair, forcing him to his knees before her.

“Nothing matters beyond power.” She reached for her skirts and tugged them up and out of the way, then pulled his head between her legs.

“Power is everything, my pet. Remember that.”

*

Boston, Massachusetts, Present day.

“I want you to do something for me, Marcel.”

“Of course, sir.”

Antoine settled into his wing-back chair, the firelight flickering across his face. “Regretfully, I’ll need thralls in the nights ahead. I can’t be everywhere at once. If Minh follows through—and I fear he will—he’ll bring chaos to my territory. We need to strengthen our defenses.”

“With thralls, sir? You’ve always shown… Is it that serious?”

Antoine didn’t answer, his fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the armrest. “Find me those I need. They must have no families, no lives of significance, no occupations that would notice their absence. Use the dregs, the”— his smile was faint, almost bitter—“outcasts.”

“Beggars and homeless men?”

“ Exactement. ”

Marcel tilted his head. “French, sir? Were you back in Paris?”

“Nantes, actually.”

“Ah.” Marcel said. “I know how much you detest it, sir. I will be most scrupulous in my research. It means leaving the house for the day.”

“Mmm. I know. Travel with care and take the gun, Marcel. Ensure you are back before dusk.”

“Very good, sir. I will have a list for you within the day. How many?”

“Oh, twenty or so, if we can find them. Choose veterans, if possible. Society often discards them to the streets, and their skills will be useful.”

“Yes, sir. And, if you’ll allow me, sir, I’m sorry that this step is necessary for you. But I know you’ll take care of them.”

“They will be thralls, my friend,” Antoine replied. “Regretfully, their main purpose in life is to die.”