Page 19 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Good Cop opened the door to Cally’s cell and leaned against the jamb. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” She sat up on the thin bed in surprise.

He jerked his head toward the exit.

“I’m free to go?”

“Yep.”

Just like that. No explanation, no apology. Just ‘run along.’

So why was she still sitting there?

Cally swung her legs over the edge of the bed, hesitating, half-expecting him to say it was a joke. But he only watched her, expression unreadable. The corridor outside was empty. Bad Cop was nowhere to be seen.

“One question,” he said as she neared the door.

She paused. “What now?” Of course it was never going to be so easy.

“Do you know Anthony Du Pont?”

Cally was too tired for games. “Never heard of him.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He scrutinized her reaction. “That fifth man you told us about, the one who attacked Minh? Black jeans, black T-shirt, 80s leather coat, right?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “If you follow me, I’ll help you retrieve your belongings.”

*

Cally walked away from police headquarters, trying not to obviously hurry while hurrying the hell away, still in disbelief they’d actually let her go.

The day was fading, the cloudy sky tinged with the golden glow of evening. It was beautiful. She breathed in deeply, tasting the air, made sweet with the relief of freedom.

She pulled out her phone to order an Uber, but her mind wasn’t on the task. It was on the mysterious name she’d been given: Anthony Du Pont. If the implication was to be believed, he wasn’t just her rescuer from the night before, but somehow known to the police .

The leather jacket couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it?

Was this Anthony Du Pont a vampire? A different one? The same one? Antoine ?

She must be losing it. The whole thing sounded insane.

Maybe Joon was right. Maybe she was long overdue a visit to a therapist. Had she imagined it all?

No. She couldn’t forget the paralysis. That had been real. So had the red eyes. The glimpse of fangs. The strange words they’d used, and their unnatural speed.

Maybe the real name of her smooth, exotic savior was Anthony Du Pont.

Was it a coincidence his name had come up as she was released? Had he pulled some strings?

If so, why?

Maybe she owed him both her life and her freedom. Or maybe he was in this up to his neck. Like he’d sunk his teeth into hers.

She needed to do some digging. It was a distinctive name; there had to be something to find.

From across the street, a swish of movement caught her eye. A man, striding toward the parking lot, his long leather coat trailing behind him.

Tempting to follow.

He was only a hundred yards away.

Too tempting.

He could be anyone, of course. Plenty of people still went for that grungy, post-punk look.

He reached the parked cars, the fading light glinting off the windshields. It wasn’t quite dusk yet. Didn’t vampires spontaneously combust in daylight?

Cally quickened her pace, wondering what she’d even say when she caught up with him. ‘Hey, I know you’re a vampire, thanks for getting me out of jail?’ Stellar conversation starter.

But he was gone.

A sleek sports car pulled out of a space, its heavily tinted windows flashing briefly in the setting sun. The engine gunned, tires gripping the asphalt as the driver flicked the vehicle around a tight corner and sped off too fast toward the exit. In seconds, it vanished into traffic.

Cally stared after it, shifting her backpack on her shoulder.

Had he been watching her? Waiting for her to leave?

If so, why not talk to her?

He must’ve seen her walk out, so why disappear right after ?

It didn’t add up. Unless his only interest was seeing her walk free. But why would he even care?

I’ll find this guy. And when I do…

Cally gripped the strap of her bag, her knuckles whitening.

She didn’t yet know what she would do.

But it was going be fucking spectacular.

*

Cally had barely made it home when her phone rang, Eve’s name flashing on the screen.

“Heya.”

“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been in—” jail. “—communicado.”

“Can’t you just say ‘busy’?”

“Sorry.” She rubbed her temple. “So, look, I’m pretty beat. Why are you calling?”

“Originally? To invite you out for lunch. But then you didn’t answer, and you never don’t answer.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” She heard the weariness in her own voice.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” Thanks to Anthony Du Pont… maybe.

“Okay, Miss One-Word-Replies. So, Zara wants us all to bring the black power stones tomorrow night.”

Oh, no. Not the coven again. She had to find a way to let Eve down gently.

Just not right now.

She hesitated too long, and Eve’s tone cooled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“No, of course not. I’m just—”

“Cally Davis, if you try and wiggle your tight little ass out of this, I’m coming over to spank it.”

The imagery was vivid. Too vivid. And she was way too exhausted for Eve in this mood—relentless, teasing, and impossible to deflect. “I’m not trying to—”

“After what happened last time, I thought you’d be keen to learn more.”

Cally bit back a groan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” It was easier to give in. At least she didn’t have to think about it until tomorrow. And Eve was right—she was curious, especially after their last spell.

“Later then, babe. And don’t worry, you can redeem the spanking offer anytime.”

Eve giggled before the line went dead.

Cally shook her head. They’d never fooled around, but she knew Eve would be up for it—subtlety wasn’t her strong suit. Still, Eve was like the sister she’d never had, which made it weird.

All she really wanted was her bed, but she pulled off her clothes and headed for a shower, her mind occupied with the only question that mattered:

Who the hell was Anthony Du Pont?

*

Cally woke up feeling energized—which was a surprise.

She’d expected the stresses of the previous day to keep her awake, but she’d been so exhausted that as soon as her head hit the pillow, sleep had come quickly. And for once, mercifully, there’d been no nightmares.

Sunlight streamed through her window, filling the small bedroom of her apartment. She’d lost track of what day it was, but a quick check of her phone granted some relief. Saturday.

She had most of the day to herself, to focus on the single burning question that wouldn’t leave her alone.

Who are you, Anthony Du Pont?

She rose, slipped on her robe, and padded into the bathroom.

Twice she’d met him now—of that, she was sure.

At first, she’d thought it was the other one who’d bitten her, especially at the horrible realization that there were, indeed, demons.

She had watched him casually snap the necks of the men who attacked her.

Red glowing eyes, and not the reflection of car lights after all.

It was amazing she hadn’t had more nightmares.

But then Antoine had shown up, and she’d immediately known they’d met before. She’d felt it in the pit of her stomach, a visceral reaction, like a gut punch, her body instinctively recognizing him.

Antoine. Anthony Du Pont. One and the same?

Antoine was a vampire, so what was Anthony? Who could walk into a police station—dressed with a retro dystopian vibe, no less—and get all the charges dropped on a triple homicide, where the suspect looked as guilty as a puppy sitting next to a chewed remote?

She went to put the kettle on, leaning against the counter while she waited.

Antoine had protected her from Minh, that much was clear. Or had he wanted to intercede for his own reasons? Hell, she couldn’t discount that they were working together.

No, she could. The animosity had been real.

Sinking his teeth into the other vampire, the ruthlessness with which he’d acted—it all happened so fast. Red eyes locked onto hers as he drank deeply. The memory made her shiver.

And afterward, the way he’d taken her hand, bowed above it, and called her ‘ ma chérie .’ She didn’t speak French, but she still knew what that meant.

It had been… gallant. And not in a forced way, but with sincerity that felt genuine.

Strangely comforting.

His gorgeous pale blue eyes capturing hers as he brushed his lips across her hand.

She pressed her palms flat against the cool counter top.

Goddammit, Cally, are you falling for the stereotypical dark, brooding psycho?

She couldn’t deny there was a sensation in the pit of her stomach. No, it was lower than that. She wanted it to be in her stomach. Perhaps nausea, or revulsion. But, in truth, he didn’t make her sick.

Which was a shame. It would make everything a lot easier.

She felt another jolt, stronger this time, and it seemed to pull at her whole body.

Yes, yes, I get it, I get it. Memories of my mysterious vampire are for some insane reason turning me on. Can we pay attention now?

She frowned. He was mysterious, alluring—that much she could not deny— but the more she dwelled on the sensation, the more wrong it felt.

This wasn’t just attraction, it was the same feeling from the police station.

Something unnatural, something… more than just from her . Had he done something to her?

And it was getting stronger, like it was physically pulling at her.

She focused on the feeling, trying to identify it, and it was like…

well, it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

Like a compass needle, drawn inexorably to magnetic north.

As if she were tethered by a single strand of spider’s web, tugging relentlessly at her soul. An unseen force, demanding she follow.

What had he done to her?

She concentrated on pouring boiling water into the mug, stirring the coffee and adding milk. Small, deliberate actions that required no thought, and she poured all her attention into them .

Think of something else, anything else.