Page 25 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

“That’s me out. Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure,” Bill said, pushing back his chair and extending a hand to Antoine. “Gabe,” he added with a nod across the table, “thanks for clearing me out. Next week?”

He picked up his glass of brandy and drained the last swallow, setting it down again. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s no wonder you two keep winning. Neither of you drink.” His brow furrowed briefly. “Kind of odd, if I think about it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gabriel said mildly, and Antoine caught the faintest trickle of his power.

Bill blinked. “You’re right. Of course it isn’t.” He adjusted his jacket. “Well, have a great weekend, and enjoy the last few hands.”

Antoine waited as Bill left, the door clicking shut behind him. Then he turned to Gabriel. “Split the winnings?” He’d held on to his advantage, and the offer was generous.

Gabriel eyed their respective stacks. “Sure.”

The dealer swept the cards from the table, stacking the deck neatly to one side before pulling two one-hundred-thousand-dollar chips and two fifty-thousand-dollar chips. He slid one of each to both men. “You may exchange these at the desk on your way out, gentlemen.”

Antoine leaned back in his chair, idly spinning a poker chip between his fingers. The dealer slipped out without a word, leaving the two of them alone.

“I spoke to Minh the other week,” Gabriel began, his tone light as he mirrored Antoine’s relaxed posture.

“Is this place secure?”

“Quite. It’s the Berkshire,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “Besides, I have thralls on the staff.”

“Of course you do.” It seemed Antoine was the only one who didn’t keep an army at his back.

Gabriel watched him closely. “He seemed rather fixated on you.”

Antoine flicked one chip against another with a soft clink. “Mmm. He’s been visiting me, too. I suspect he’s eyeing my territory.”

Gabriel scoffed. “He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“He seems to not know that.”

“Evidently not,” Gabriel agreed. “He has shifted his focus your way, though. According to my thralls, his east side is wide open. He’s planning something. Not that he’s ever been subtle.”

Antoine tilted his head, feigning mild curiosity. “Oh?”

“Don’t play coy,” Gabriel said. “You know what I mean.”

Antoine spun the chip effortlessly between his fingers. “I don’t keep thralls in Minh’s territory. Or yours, for that matter.”

Gabriel’s smile was slow, almost feline. “I know. I suppose this is where I reassure you I have none in yours.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. Friends don’t lie to each other.”

“Are we friends?”

Antoine returned his attention to the green baize. “We could be, if we don’t lie to each other.”

“True.” Gabriel hesitated briefly. “Would you tell me, then, if you knew what Minh was planning?”

“If I knew Minh’s plans, I’d tell you. Happily.” Not a word of a lie, either.

Gabriel studied him before shifting slightly in his chair. “Did you know the Curia is coming to Boston?”

Antoine wasn’t quick enough to mask his surprise.

Satisfaction flickered across Gabriel’s face. “Thought not. You do have a habit of keeping yourself… isolated.”

“I keep to myself.”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Gabriel’s smile was thin. “Well, that may be difficult going forward. You know what they’re like.”

“Yes, I know what they’re like.” Antoine said. “‘Terror. Power. Excitement.’”

Gabriel smirked. “Quaint, but not inaccurate.”

“Something my sire once said,” Antoine tapped the chip on the table. “So, who’s coming?”

“Leonard, from what I hear. And he’s bringing someone new.”

Antoine blinked. “A new Curia member?” That was rare.

“Indeed,” Gabriel said, drawing out the word. “Apparently, they’ve cooked up some kind of exchange program with the Europeans, as if it were all a jolly old school trip. Can you believe it?”

Antoine barked a laugh, the chip slipping from his fingers to spin on the table. “A European Curia member? For how long? ”

“Unclear. Some time, I gather.”

“Wonderful.” Antoine let the chip fall still, its momentum spent. “So, full pomp and circumstance.”

“Precisely.”

Antoine rubbed his temple. “I’m going to need more thralls.”

Gabriel bared his teeth. “I knew you’d be pleased.”

Antoine studied him from across the table. “Tell me, Gabriel: are we friends?”

Gabriel’s expression remained composed, though amusement flickered in his eyes. “Do vampires have friends?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“But,” Gabriel continued, leaning forward slightly, “if they did, it would be a good time to have them, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” Antoine kept his tone neutral, masking the flicker of interest stirring within. “I think it would.”

“Or, if not friends, perhaps allies.”

“That would be prudent.”

Gabriel extended his arm across the table. “Allies, then?”

Antoine grasped it firmly. “Allies. Perhaps friends too, in time.”

“Perhaps.”

Their hands parted, the brief connection severed, and they both eased back into their chairs.

Antoine studied him a bit longer. The willingness seemed genuine, but was such a thing possible?

Was honor even a concept for their kind, or would this alliance last only as long as it served Gabriel’s purpose?

“Have you met any of the Curia before?” Gabriel asked lightly, the shadow in his eyes belying his tone.

Antoine shifted in his chair, carefully schooling his expression. “Yes, I’ve had that pleasure.”

*

Nantes, France, 1749

“ La Curia arrive ,” Belle said, reading the letter she had received.

Antoine looked up, his brow furrowing at her tone. “ Qu’est-ce que la Curia ?”

She tapped the letter against her lips, offering him a frolicsome smile. “ Terror. Pouvoir. Excitation. ”

Did she mean the Curia was exciting, or their power was? He had learned that what Belle found exciting, he often found terrifying. It seemed the Curia was both.

“ Quand? ” he asked.

“ Trois jours, ” she replied, and a faint crease of consternation flicked across her perfect face.

Three days was little time to prepare. She whipped her thralls into a frenzy, ensuring the chateau was spotless from top to bottom. Extravagant gifts were prepared: gold and precious metals, intricate artwork, and scented oils in jewel-encrusted bottles.

“When they are here, we speak English,” she said the morning of their arrival. “You speak English, yes?”

“I do,” he replied tentatively.

She raised a delicate eyebrow. “Better than me, no?”

Her accent was thick, the French intonation shaping her words; they became zey , English stretched into Eeeng-lesh . But it was unwise to appear more proficient than her in anything.

“I spent some time in England,” he said carefully, wary of incurring her displeasure. But she only rested a finger gracefully against her chin.

“I was thinking,” she mused, “maybe it is better if you go away while they are here. But perhaps it is better if you come, no?”

“As you wish.”

She gestured at him with the letter. “So fond you are of your blue eyes and creamy skin. Do away with your glamour. It would not be wise while they are here.”

He bowed, letting his glamour fade. “As my lady desires.”

She traced her lips with the tip of her tongue, her eyes darkening. “I will wait until they are gone before we explore my desires.”

He bowed again, his face carefully guarded.

Her hunger for him had not lessened over the many months, and she was cruel and sadistic in their lovemaking.

He healed rapidly, and she often gave him cause to.

She liked to feed from him, sinking her teeth into his neck as she rode him, her bloodlust fueling her as she climaxed around him.

In the early days, she had punished him for faltering too early.

But he had learned. He had trained himself to endure, to keep pleasuring her while she drank from him.

They waited in silence for an hour or two. She sat in her chair in the hall, he stood beside her. Time stretched, thick and heavy. She was lost in thought, her stillness a rare thing. Antoine found himself wondering again, what did the Curia represent to inspire such caution in his mistress?

Eventually, the door opened. A thrall entered, followed closely by a man and a woman. “ Vos invités, Madame Belle. ” The thrall bowed and departed with an alacrity that Antoine envied.

The man stepped forward, his red eyes flicking over Antoine before settling on Belle.

He was of slender build, not as tall as Antoine, with a face that might have been attractive were it not for the cruel sneer that seemed permanently etched there.

He wore elaborate, formal attire—a knee-length velvet coat over a waistcoat and breeches—in a distinctly English style, quite different from the current French fashion.

The lady brushed past him, the wide skirts of her gown sweeping against his legs. Her gaze lingered on Antoine before resting on Belle. She was almost as beautiful as Belle, but far fairer, though he sensed a darkness in her that made him suppress the urge to shiver.

“Enter, uphold our traditions, and keep my domain tranquil,” Belle said softly, her words carrying easily within the empty hall. Antoine sensed the ritualistic weight of them, and for that phrase, her accent had been less pronounced, as though she had uttered it before. Or practiced.

“Your trust is met with solemn commitment,” the man replied, bowing ever so slightly.

“He isn’t a thrall, is he?” the woman asked, her voice sensuous but laced with scorn.

With his distinctive red eyes, it was obvious Antoine was no thrall. Her remark was an insult, though whether aimed at him or as a slur toward Belle, he couldn’t be sure.

Belle laughed, a musical, carefree sound, artfully done. “Oh no, Lady Beatrice, he is merely a diversion.”

Antoine kept his face impassive. Given how easily Belle could subdue him when she chose, and the evident trepidation she had shown at the arrival of the Curia, the power levels in the room were clearly high.

He didn’t include himself in that. If Belle wished to dismiss him as a mere toy, it was wise not to offend.