Page 17 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Antoine awoke.

The room was pitch black, the blinds still drawn, but that was no obstacle. Even so, he preferred them up, and pressed the button beside the bed and checked the time.

Half past two. In the afternoon.

When had he ever risen so early?

The blinds rose with a soft mechanical clatter, overcast daylight filtering in. The clouds softened the sun’s usual bite, but the light still stung his eyes. Bearable, though.

He stood before the window, squinting as the gardens revealed themselves bit by bit. Manicured lawns, neatly sculpted hedges, tall oaks and maples that kept the house hidden from the neighbors.

A rare treat, seeing the world in daylight. Winters were too dark for early waking, and summers uncomfortably bright.

A knock broke the quiet, two quick raps before the door opened. Marcel let himself in, his usual crisp demeanor intact.

“Good afternoon, sir. Up early?”

“So it appears,” Antoine replied. It was unusual. No, unprecedented.

Still, it was useful. Things to do. A quick shower first, then he’d check on the woman.

He remembered the feel of her smooth, warm skin and the scent of clean, damp hair—like she’d just showered. It made sense now: the martial arts center in close proximity, her sharp reflexes, the way she’d moved. She was a warrior out of her time.

As he’d pressed his lips to her hand, he’d transferred his mark. She hadn’t realized, of course—there’d been no awareness in those striking gray eyes of hers. He hadn’t marked her before, and Minh had been too arrogant and insecure to admit he couldn’t sense it.

But now she bore his mark. He’d be able to track her wherever she went.

The water cascaded over him as he stood beneath the shower, mulling over the encounter .

So he’d played a little fast and loose with the Code. The woman had been in his territory, he’d fed from her without killing her, and in times past, that was enough to count as ‘marking’ her—even though he hadn’t, then. Minh had instigated the fight, but Antoine had been the one to feed.

Was that the greater crime?

He’d used his mind-stun, not expecting it to work. But it had. In that brief moment, Minh had gone slack in his arms, his neck exposed. It had seemed so natural to do what he did.

Natural, but reckless. A foolish risk to take.

Yet, the woman had been there, and he’d felt… what? Protective? No. Possessive.

Perhaps both.

He stepped out of the shower, dried, and dressed in his usual clothes. The walk-in wardrobe was stocked with folded black T-shirts, black jeans, and identical leather coats. There were other clothes, but he didn’t spare them a glance.

Antoine reached for her mark and immediately felt her presence. Stronger than he expected, the connection more intense than any he’d made before. Had he gone too far? He only meant to track her, not enslave her or unravel her mind.

Maybe he had lost his touch.

He frowned as the mark tugged south. She was no longer in Allston. Closer to Roxbury, perhaps? Gabriel’s territory. Hopefully, he could be in and out with Gabriel none the wiser.

Marcel was waiting downstairs. “I presume you will be taking a car, sir?”

He could hardly go by rooftop in daylight, shadows or no shadows. “I suppose so.” Marcel held out a set of keys embossed with the distinctive raging bull. “No, I’ll take the Audi.”

“It’s very… understated , sir,” Marcel demurred. Despite his polite tone, his subtle disapproval still came through. “Wouldn’t you rather reflect your stature?”

“It’s an R8, Marcel. It’s only ‘understated’ when compared to pure flamboyance.”

“Very good, sir.” The Lamborghini keys disappeared with impressive sleight of hand, and another set appeared, this one with four interlaced rings.

Antoine smiled wryly. The old butler had anticipated him, as usual. “Thank you, Marcel. Don’t feel the need to wait up.” He accepted the keys and made his way to the door.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, sir. I’m used to the hours you keep. ”

That was obviously true, but Marcel’s recent frailty was more pronounced. Antoine worried for him.

The Audi’s tinted windows and a pair of sunglasses kept the October sky from irritating his eyes too much; the discomfort was a small price to pay for the chance to see the world during the day.

He drove east out of Fisher Hill, the highway slipping by, the mark leading him toward Roxbury. He drove on, drawing closer. She was near. She was… Oh.

Antoine pulled into the parking lot off Tremont Street and stared at the large building across the way: Boston Police Headquarters. Given how he’d left her, surrounded by corpses, it made sense. But then, he’d told her not to hang around. He frowned. Why had she? Most chattel would’ve run.

She continued to intrigue, and he couldn’t forget the taste of her—like the finest of wines, deep, complex, invigorating, and oh-so-potent.

Then he shook his head at his own sentimentality. He knew better than this. She was just chattel, after all.

“When I’m finished with her, I’ll be sure to leave her somewhere even you won’t miss her.”

Antoine clenched his jaw. Minh had already targeted her once. Would he do it again? Minh being Minh: petty and cruel.

It would be much easier to keep the woman safe from Minh when his territory was free of the infestation of Minh’s thralls, and bolstered by his own.

But first, he had to extricate her from the hands of the police—which wouldn’t be easy when he didn’t even know her name. He could hardly walk up to the front desk and expect to get anywhere fast. Antoine picked up his phone. The line rang twice before it was answered.

“Anthony! What a pleasant surprise! I thought you were out of the country.”

“Afternoon, Bill,” Antoine replied, suppressing his French accent, though it was still hinted at in the drawl he affected instead. “Hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I assume this isn’t a social call, but it’s still good to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

“I’m actually calling to help you—or, more accurately, the city.

I’m across the street from police headquarters, and I’m fairly certain they’re holding a woman accused of a triple homicide.

Now, it so happens that I witnessed the event and know she’s innocent.

But rather than waltz in and present myself to the desk sergeant du jour , I wondered if… ? ”

“My God, Anthony, you’re full of surprises!

When I saw your number, I assumed you were after planning permission for extending that fantastic property you have in Fisher Hill.

I never figured you for the white-knight type.

” Antoine allowed a diplomatic chuckle. “I’ll call Gerry now. You’re outside the HQ, you say?”

“Looking at it as we speak. But I didn’t want to inconvenience our hard-working Police Commissioner.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s the prerogative of being the mayor, and God knows I get few enough opportunities to pull rank around here. I’ll call you straight back.”

“Kind of you, Bill.”

“Not at all. Talk soon.”

The line went dead, and Antoine stared across the street. White knight type? No, he wasn’t that. Never that. The woman was of use to him, nothing more.

*

“It’s all arranged, Anthony. Head in whenever you like.”

“Grand, thanks Bill.”

“Come by the club tomorrow evening and tell me all about it?”

Antoine grimaced. “I’d be glad to.”

“I’ll make sure your name is on the list.”

Antoine ended the call. He almost felt summoned . He’d go tomorrow, because it was politic to do so, but Antoine wasn’t a curiosity to be paraded before the mayor’s social circle. It was insulting.

Antoine stepped out of his car then grimaced as he looked down at himself.

Black jeans, black T-shirt, and his full-length leather jacket: nothing like the style ‘Anthony Du Pont’ was known for.

I should’ve gone home and changed . Too late now .

He checked his glamour—his skin given a touch of color, eyes tinted the pale blue he preferred.

He was so used to wearing it, he barely thought about it.

But better to be sure than walk into police HQ with red eyes.

Inside the HQ, a bustle of activity filled the space with numerous chattel, both police and civilians occupying the large area.

A metal detector waited inside the entrance, and Antoine gave his phone and sunglasses to an officer before passing through and holding out his hand.

The cop returned them both, his eyes guarded as he took in Antoine’s appearance with practiced caution.

In the sort of clothing Anthony Du Pont typically wore, Antoine never received anything but deference and respect. But in here, a full-length leather jacket signaled ‘concealed weaponry’ more than it did ‘generous contributor to the annual police ball.’

“I’m meeting Gerry McCarthy. Where will I find him?”

The man’s eyes first widened, then hardened. “You can’t just walk in off the street and demand to meet the Commissioner.” A hand came up, as if to halt Antoine’s progress, the other too quick to rest on the hilt of his holstered weapon.

Definitely should’ve got changed . “I believe you misheard me,” he said, his voice sharp and laced with enough power to draw the man’s attention. “I’m here to see the Commissioner.”

The effect was immediate. The cop blinked, his face falling slack. “You’re here to meet the Commissioner,” he repeated in a monotone, stepping back as his hands fell to his sides, his eyes unfocused.

Hmm. May have overdone it.

That was a puzzle—he hadn’t used more power than he had on the man in the street the night before. Then again, the cop wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb.