Page 20 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

She closed her eyes, flicking through thoughts and memories, concentrating hard.

Combinations of taekwondo kicks; Joon staggering back when she caught him too hard.

The guilt of not seeing her dad often enough.

The balance of her bank account. The taste of the coffee, bitter and dark.

That girl in elementary school who always used to pull her hair when they passed in the corridor—what was her name?

Susan? No, Sarah. What a bitch. Eve had tipped her lunch tray over her head one day. The memory was still funny.

She opened her eyes. The sensation had faded; there was no tug anymore. That was a relief. But as soon as she thought about it, it began to return. A growing tingle—still there—if not as enthusiastically as before.

Fuck .

“She’s already marked. See for yourself.”

But if that was true, why hadn’t she felt this before?

Unless he’d been lying.

The tugging grew insistent, undeniable proof that something was there. And the more she thought of him, the stronger it got.

So don’t think of him.

Well, that wasn’t possible right now, but she’d be glad to put him from her mind soon enough.

If he’d marked her when he’d first bitten her… first drunk her blood… surely she’d have felt this before?

He had to have done it last night, in the parking lot.

Damn. When he kissed my hand and called me ‘ma chérie’. That had to be the moment—there hadn’t been another one.

Not such a romantic gesture after all. Bastard.

Yet he’d claimed he’d done it before then.

Cally frowned in confusion. Was it a bluff? Maybe not even directed at her, but at the other one.

“You mark your food?” She’d never forget the disdain in Minh’s voice.

He’d been scary. He’d been the demon. Not her one. Not Anthony Du Pont.

Wait. Minh was scary, but Antoine wasn’t? That should scare her more than anything. He was still a vampire, wasn’t he?

He’d fed from her, she knew he had. In that alleyway, that night, the two holes in the side of her neck, the dizziness, the blood loss, the disorientation… her mind still felt foggy from it all. He’d done something to her—twisted her thoughts, erased pieces of her memory, made her we aker.

He’d violated her mind and drained her blood. That bastard .

Why the hell don’t I fear him then?

Her fingers gripped the coffee cup tightly, a cold shiver crawling up her spine. Maybe he’d left some lingering compulsion she couldn’t shake off. Like a toxic obsession fantasy. Make her crave him, make her more pliable, more… willing.

But that didn’t ring true. She thought she was going to die in that damn parking lot, the way Minh had looked at her—like she was a snack.

After so casually snapping the necks of her three attackers.

Then Antoine had come out of nowhere, positioning himself between them, as if he were some kind of shield.

Her thoughts swirled like a storm she couldn’t escape, crashing against the edges of what she thought she knew. Did vampires even have hearts? Could they care?

So what do you stake, then? The emptiness in their chests?

But Antoine had protected her.

Or maybe he wasn’t protecting her at all. Maybe he was marking his territory, staking his claim. A power play between him and Minh. Nothing to do with her; she was just the pawn.

Was that all she was to him? A possession? A snack?

Her hand tightened around the coffee cup, her knuckles pale against the ceramic.

“I said she’s marked. Do you not know the Code?”

Was that why he’d protected her? Because he’d “marked” her? The word made her skin crawl, her breath hitching in her chest. Was this protection, or control?

But if she was right—and she was sure she was—he hadn’t marked her until after he’d protected her.

It didn’t make any damn sense .

She stared across her apartment, unseeing. Questions pressed against her skull, unrelenting. Why had he come to the station? Why had he stayed to make sure she left? He didn’t care about her—or at least, he shouldn’t. But there he was, waiting outside, watching like it mattered to him.

Joon had told her they’d covered up his sister’s death. He hadn’t really believed it was a vampire. But if it had been—and now it seemed most likely—who had the power to make such an investigation disappear?

Her jaw tightened. The police had been relentless, throwing words like “prison” and “jury” at her, as if her life was already over. Then, without warning, they’d simply… stopped.

Walked out. Let her go.

Just like that.

The memory of the officer’s words returned.

“Do you know who Anthony Du Pont is?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

Her stomach twisted. They’d said his name like it was the answer to everything, as if it explained why the interrogation ended so abruptly, why she was free. And maybe it did.

Covering up vampiric activity, even with the police involved. Who had that kind of power?

He’d done it once—yesterday. Had he done it before, twenty years ago?

She set the coffee cup beside her laptop and opened it, fingers hovering above the keyboard.

Let’s find out who you are, Anthony Du Pont.

*

Cally leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen.

It had been surprisingly easy to find an answer. Or at least a partial one.

She’d barely been at it an hour and had already collated a dozen references: charity galas, where Anthony Du Pont was mentioned by name for ‘giving generously’; a new hospital wing, with the mayor thanking the esteemed Mr. Du Pont, ‘who sadly couldn’t be here today.

’ And various others in the same vein. Do-gooder causes, always with a political angle.

Probably laundering his dirty creepy stalker money.

She pulled up the image of the hospital wing and the smiling mayor, curious what time of day it had been, and how bright the sun was. Was that what kept Antoine away? A picture taken in mid-summer, the sky blue. Maybe there something to the sun theory after all.

The article was old, from the archives of a local newspaper, and that mayor wasn’t William Long. Must’ve been the one before.

She frowned, checking dates. No, not Long’s predecessor, or even his predecessor.

A new search told her the hospital wing had been built twenty years ago.

Anthony Du Pont would’ve been in school. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. How the hell had he pulled it off?

She found the answer in the Boston Public Library archives. He was Anthony Du Pont the Third, son to Anthony Du Pont Jr., and grandson to Anthony Du Pont Sr.

How old was he?

A ninety-year-old vampire that looked barely thirty, hiding in plain sight, using his money and political connections to make every inconvenience disappear. No record of a mother or siblings, just a line of single ‘fathers’.

How had no one seen this before? It was so obvious , like he was daring them to question him.

Yet why would they? What reason was there to investigate a family like his? Old money, Boston elites, celebrated patrons of the city’s progress. Who’d see a conspiracy buried under all that good PR?

Perhaps this was the image he wanted—a carefully curated disguise—but now she knew the truth, and it painted a much darker picture.

She dug deeper, bouncing between public records and half-buried archives. But there was only so much Google could do; everything older than a couple of decades was frustratingly incomplete. She’d have to dig into the archives at City Hall.

The thought gave her pause. Older records would lack modern data protections. If she could get her hands on something concrete, there’d be nothing shielding Anthony Du Pont Jr—or even Sr—from exposure. He’d take his mark off her to avoid that, wouldn’t he?

She rose, thinking quickly. If she could find an address, she could… wait, would that be online?

She slid back into her chair and started typing again. A quick search led her to the Suffolk County Registry of Deeds. A few clicks, and there it was. 71 Leicester Street, Fisher Hill.

She leaned back, staring at the screen. The address was public. Anyone could have found it.

Another search turned up the house itself. No interior photos. Never listed for sale, because why would it be? It had conveniently passed from father to son for three generations. The estimate said 9,600 square feet. Eight bedrooms.

Rich bastard .

The external photos showed blinds on every window. Perfect for keeping out pesky things like sunlight.

Her heart was pounding. She had an address, and she wanted the mark gone. She wasn’t his property to label as he saw fit.

She could go there.

But what then? Was she going to show up at a vampire’s house, unannounced?

The idea was absurd. Reckless.

And yet, why not? He wasn’t going to hurt her. If he wanted her dead, he’d had plenty of opportunity. Instead, he’d saved her. Protected her. Kept her out of prison.

For reasons she didn’t understand, Anthony Du Pont had gone out of his way for her.

And he’d done something to her. Something she needed to undo.

She wanted…

Damn it, she shouldn’t want to see him again, but she did. Was it to get answers, or was something else pulling her in?

Eve was always accusing her of being impulsive. Hell, Joon did, too.

And now she was proving them right.

The draw to challenge this cape-wearing creep, to get in his face… Instead, she reached for her phone.

“Eve? It’s me. Can I come and see you?”