Page 29 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Cally sat in her rented Zipcar outside his house, trembling with rage… and other things.

Goddammit, why had she been so reckless? Walking in there, challenging him like that?

All she’d wanted was that cursed mark removed. To get her life back, to regain some control.

Her threats to expose him, the weapons she’d thought he’d be vulnerable to. Her best efforts, and he’d hardly batted an eyelid.

Maybe it had been too much of a gamble, but what was the alternative? Pretend it never happened? Ignore the constant tug drawing her to him?

He might’ve fed from her again, but at least she was still alive.

He’d been so smug, laughing at her.

And then, his body against hers. His breath brushing her ear, his lips skimming her neck.

The unbelievable pleasure as he took her blood again.

Her body had betrayed her, responding helplessly.

His presence smothered her, intoxicating and inescapable.

His body pressed against hers—intimate, claiming. She hadn’t been prepared.

She shivered, squeezing her thighs together, warmth pooling deep inside.

He’d felt it. He’d known .

She’d felt him, too. Pressing against her ass. The sick bastard had enjoyed it.

That… degenerate. That seducer. An immortal French neck-romancer, a Cassanova wrapped in blood and sex.

Insufferable jerk.

But he wasn’t the only one who’d enjoyed it.

She thumped the steering wheel, the horn releasing a pathetic hoot in protest.

It didn’t help that he’d actually been charming . Almost protective, in his overbearing, marked-you-you’re-mine way. He’d treated her like an equal… until he hadn’t. Until he took what he wanted, proving how little control she had .

It didn’t help that he was also infuriatingly attractive. That decadent French accent, the brooding intensity in his eyes, the chiseled chest barely veiled by his robe. Had he been naked under there? She’d woken him up; it was more than likely.

Why had she gone to see him? Had he been right? Had she wanted to?

She’d walked into his house, unannounced and uninvited, practically offering herself to him on a plate.

Why? That wasn’t her.

Was the mark controlling her?

Her fingers brushed her neck, skimming over the bite. The wound was already healing faster than it should. She swore under her breath. Better not let Joon see this.

Great. Now she had to add “part-time vampire snack” to her increasingly weird life.

Shit, I forgot to ask about Joon’s sister.

Screw it. She was here, she was still alive, and he’d already fed from her. He had no reason to do that again, right?

As Eve would say, what’s the worst that could happen?

He’d fed from her; he’d already done his worst.

He wasn’t going to kill her. She’d threatened and attacked him, and somehow got away with it. She’d given him reason enough to kill her, and he’d laughed it off.

A cold shiver made her skin prickle. How close had she got to dying in that house? Was his mark the only reason she was still alive?

She climbed out of her car and marched back to his house. The gate had shut behind her, and she pressed the buzzer on the intercom once again.

“Did madam forget something?”

Marcel. His perfectly proper tone grated, but she forced herself to sound polite. “Yes, Marcel. I forgot to ask Antoine a question.”

“Very well, madam.”

The gate clicked open.

Marcel greeted her at the door. “Welcome back, madam. He’s still in the living room.”

“Thank you, Marcel.” He was so polite, it was hard not to be nice to him.

What was the relationship between those two?

She hadn’t expected the vampire to have a human companion.

He was endearing, almost the English butler type despite the American accent.

Not at all what she would’ve expected from Anthony Du Pont. Or Antoine, as he was now.

She wondered if vampires had a last name .

Marcel closed the door behind her and opened the living room door with a small bow. “Ms. Davis, sir.”

Antoine stood beside his chair, the lamplight throwing soft shadows across his face. The blinds remained tightly shut, sealing out the sun with ruthless precision.

Of course they were. It also gave her something to think about, should she ever decide to find a permanent way to free herself from this mark.

The UV lamp hadn’t worked, but what about direct sunlight? Would it be enough to weaken him—or kill him outright? How hard would it be to smash one of those blinds while he slept?

Then again, assuming he didn’t sleep in a coffin and didn’t wake up halfway through her plan, would sunlight even work the way she imagined? There was no reason to think it would, not when everything else had proved so frustratingly ineffective.

Perhaps better to rethink that idea.

“Back so soon?”

His voice still carried that same charged, erotic undertone. No one had the right to sound so good. It did things to her—things she didn’t want to admit to herself. Staying angry had helped her resist before; now, she wasn’t so angry.

She crossed to the chair she’d sat in earlier, moved her bag, and perched on the edge of the seat, skipping the pretense of waiting to be invited.

“I want some answers.” As an afterthought, she softened her tone and tagged on, “Please.”

For once, he made no snarky remark but simply moved to his chair, settling with practiced ease, elbows resting on the arms, fingers steepled, adopting the same infuriatingly composed posture as before.

This time, when he crossed one leg over the other, the movement shifted the robe, exposing a brief flash of bare leg.

He was absolutely naked beneath it.

Focus, Cally. Focus.

He waved a hand, granting permission.

“Where were you twenty years ago?” Let’s start there.

He blinked, as though caught off guard. “Boston, generally. Did you want specifics? It was a while ago.” His accent carried that maddeningly exotic charm.

“Have you ever been to Baltimore?”

His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t believe so… Oh, yes, I passed through in the early nineteenth century. Fell’s Point, the harbor.” A wave of hi s hand. “I was a sailor for a time. Harbors tend to stick in the memory.”

“Not since then?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

She hesitated, but could see no reason not to be frank. “A friend of mine had a family member murdered there. Blood loss. Puncture wounds on her neck.” She touched her own, fingers brushing the already healed bite. “The police covered it up.”

He surprised her by nodding gravely, without mockery. “I’m sorry for that. Vampires tend not to care if their”—he held her gaze, just a slight pause—“ prey lives or dies.”

Was his word choice deliberate provocation, or him being open?

“And do you care?”

He gestured at her, as if to say, You’re still alive. “I try not to kill when I don’t have to.”

“ Try not to?” She scoffed. “How noble. You’re a vampire , Antoine. You’re a monster.”

Her disdain was impossible to miss. She winced, bracing for his anger, an apology already forming on her tongue.

But instead, she saw something else—a flicker of hurt.

Not anger. Hurt. The realization startled her, throwing her off balance.

Could words wound a vampire? Something as obvious as calling him a monster?

“There are no excuses, no justification. Only reality.” He looked down.

“Life and death matter less when you’ve lived as long as I have.

Everyone alive when I was born is dead, and so are their children, and their children’s children.

I’ve lived through times more brutal than these.

” His voice dropped. “Yes, I’m a monster.

Is that what you want me to say, to be?” He shrugged lightly, but it was less nonchalant, more reluctant.

“Despite what I am, I do try not to kill.”

It was a more open answer than she’d expected. She found herself believing him. He could have killed her the first time he’d fed. He could have tonight. Yet here she was—alive, intact. Mostly.

“I’ll accept that,” she said, partly to make amends for the hurt she’d caused. Soothing a vampire’s injured feelings? Not what she’d expected to be doing. “Do you know which vampire might’ve killed my friend’s sister?”

His lips pressed together as he gathered his thoughts.

“In all honesty, no. I could inquire, though. Most vampires are territorial, with few exceptions. But what good is the information? It’s regrettable that your friend’s sister is dead, but people die every night, and relatively few are taken by vampires.

There’s nothing either of you can do. At best, it would only reopen old wounds; at worst, it could lead you down a very foolish path.

” He fixed her with a steady gaze. “I’d suggest letting the past lie. ”

She didn’t like it, but she knew he was right. She wouldn’t tell Joon—nothing good would come of it.

“Why did Minh keep calling you an ‘outcast’?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but his perspective on life and death made her remember Minh’s words, and the question slipped out.

If he minded her prying, he didn’t show it. “No reason, really. Just to annoy me. He thinks I don’t… embrace what he sees as the vampire’s raison d’être .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Reason for existing.”

“No, I know what that means. I mean what does it mean that you don’t embrace it?”

He waved a hand lazily. “I don’t go around killing, playing vampire politics, or spending copious amounts of money on gothic architecture and useless fripperies.”

She pointedly surveyed the opulence around them—high coffered ceilings, decorative paneling, a grand marble fireplace, and antique furnishings likely worth more than her entire apartment. “Google says this place has eight bedrooms.”

“My other house doesn’t look like this one.”

“Oh,” she said dryly. “ Two houses. Well, that really drives home your point, Mr. Vampire.”

He inclined his head, eyes dancing with amusement. “I concede this round to you, Ms. Davis.”

Why did he have to be so charming? That wasn’t helping her at all.