Page 4 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

“Doing your gargoyle impression?”

Antoine had heard him arrive but ignored him, and now turned his head deliberately, taking in Minh’s stance across the roof.

The younger vampire kept his distance, cautious as ever.

Shoulder-length black hair, sharp, angular features, and eyes still vivid red from a recent feed, all framed by a tailored suit that belonged in a boardroom, not on a rooftop.

Impractical, but Minh always relied on appearances to mask his shortcomings.

He tried to appear relaxed, leaning against the wall with forced nonchalance, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him.

“Minh.” Antoine’s tone was flat. “No announcement? No request to enter my territory?” The sharpness was deliberate, a reminder of the customs Minh so easily ignored.

Minh smirked, ignoring the questions. “You realize how ridiculous you look, crouched on the edge of buildings?”

Antoine’s eyes skimmed Minh’s perfectly pressed suit before returning to the streets below. “I value practicality.”

“Of course you do,” Minh drawled, stepping off the wall.

“Rumor has it you’ve taken up residence in a basement.

Bare walls, concrete floors, the whole ‘creature of the night’ aesthetic.

” His footsteps barely made a sound as he moved closer, polished leather shoes whispering over the concrete.

“And if someone sees you? Perched up here like an oversized pigeon?”

“Then they’ll wonder what kind of fool climbs a roof in loafers.” Besides, he was hidden by the lip of the building, his shadows embracing him. And chattel rarely looked up.

Minh came to stand beside him, staring down at the street.

Antoine didn’t move, the faintest tightening of his posture the only sign he’d noticed.

“Such an inelegant way to hunt. So much unnecessary effort. Much easier at the club. They walk in, begging for it.” He looked sideways at Antoine. “Not that I let just anyone in.”

“I suppose you prefer the subtlety of a velvet rope and a glass of wine.”

Minh’s red eyes darkened with irritation. “How trite you believe sophistication is beneath you.”

Antoine’s lips pressed thin, but he stayed silent. For all his bluster, Minh was no threat—barely a century old. It was partly why Antoine tolerated his presence, like an irritating child pulling at his sleeve for attention.

Minh would be throwing grand parties and charming women out of lace dresses if he had the chance, and perhaps that was the purpose of his nightclub: some modernist take on the supposed romanticism of the vampiric world Minh embraced far more than Antoine ever would.

But there was nothing romantic about drinking the blood of chattel, no matter how one tried to dress it up.

At the end of the night, it was only food.

“Look at them,” Minh said, gesturing down to the humans walking the street three stories below. “Dirty, unwashed, common chattel. You don’t have any standards at all, do you?”

Given how Americans overused soap and other products, calling them ‘unwashed’ was rich. Did Minh really think some of his beloved club-goers didn’t come from Antoine’s territory?

“Chattel are chattel.” Antoine replied. “They can all dress up for the occasion.” He didn’t look away from the street below, aware Minh was watching him.

“I suppose they suit you. You are what you eat, after all.”

A coincidental turn of phrase. Antoine recalled thinking the same about the Chick-fil-A man, before he’d found the woman. But she… she had been exquisite.

“I get by,” he said lightly.

“Oh, I’ve seen you ‘get by.’” Minh said, his words thick with contempt. “That girl the other night. Why is she still alive, Antoine? Why did you sit watching her after you’d fed? Tell me you weren’t anxious for her.”

Antoine clenched his jaw. He hadn’t detected Minh that night, and for some reason, the fact that particular hunt had been witnessed bothered him more than it should have.

“I do what I want in my own territory. You’d do well to remember where you are.”

“Like I could forget! I mean, look at you.” He waved a hand, encompassing Antoine’s black jeans and T-shirt, and the long black leather coat he was so fond of.

“You dress like one of the many tramps who inhabit your territory. What’s the point of being the superior race if you can’t even act like it?

You’re an embarrassment, Outcast.” He shook his head.

“I can’t understand why the Curia hasn’t banished you. ”

There was much Minh didn’t understand. Antoine knew the Curia had no reason to trouble him; he’d kept a low profile for decades, carefully avoiding vampire politics.

The Curia had probably forgotten about him.

It was vamps like Minh who sought to rise in the ranks, though they were rarely successful.

The Curia were ancient; Minh, with all his bluster, would be little more than an upstart in their eyes.

Antoine had encountered many like him: power-hungry, malevolent, born of some ill-deserved sense of superiority.

He’d spent some time observing Minh years ago—it was always wise to know the new neighbors—and Minh was a sadistic, murdering bastard when he fed.

He wanted to taste their fear, not just their blood, and reveled in it.

Granted, that was how some vampire’s power manifested. But in Minh’s case, he got off on it.

Antoine took no pleasure in such things.

Well, except for the woman the other night. She’d been something special. Yes, he had to admit, she had been satisfying.

“As for your territory,” Minh’s words dripped with condescension as he gestured toward the street below.

An old lady was being mugged by a young man with a knife; an uncommon occurrence, but unfortunately timed to prove Minh’s point. The woman was taking it well, her screams more of frustration and affront than fear.

Antoine could intervene, of course. Once, when he was younger and more idealistic, he might have.

He used to choose his prey based on their crimes, seeing himself as a vigilante or an avenging angel.

But that was a long time ago, and he had since stopped caring about chattel and their petty struggles.

He’d also stopped caring about the debt on his soul. Too much guilt to erase now.

Minh’s lip curled. “Look at that,” he said, as the man tugged hard at the woman’s purse.

She held grimly to the strap, despite the obvious disparity in strength, screaming her outrage in a hoarse voice.

“There’s, what, a half-dozen chattel in sight, cars driving past, and no one lifts a finger.

See, Outcast? None of them deserve to live. ”

“You’d probably take any that did come to help.”

Minh laughed, genuinely amused. “Yes, you’re right, that sounds like something I would do. I do so like the taste of the virtuous. The pain in their eyes is especially… intoxicating.” He glanced across. “Don’t you agree?”

“No.”

“Why is that, Antoine? Is it because you are so virtuous?” Minh laughed again.

“That’s the difference between us, isn’t it?

You still cling, foolishly, to your own misery, wallowing in self-pity, crying about the weight of the privilege you’ve been given.

Whereas I—and the rest of our race—have embraced who we are.

Vampirism is the ultimate blessing, yet you see it as a curse.

You’re not fit for such a gift. It is wasted on you. ”

Minh stepped off the edge of the roof, and was gone.

Antoine clenched his jaw. That was a bit close to the bone.

Below him, the mugger was halfway up the street, the purse clutched in his hand, and the cries of the old woman echoed in futility from the surrounding buildings. Still no one had stopped to help.

Minh had been right—the chattel were undeserving, complicit in one way or another. Goodness and innocence were rare.

For old time’s sake, then .

It had only been a week since he’d fed on the woman, and her blood still coursed through him, still nourishing him. It had been the best he could remember.

If not the best he’d ever had.

But if he fed now, on this mugger, there was a karmic appeal. It would delay the craving for a few more nights, and save some innocent whose path he crossed.

He soared from building to building, each jump a graceful step through the air—half leap, half levitation.

He wasn’t pushing himself; he was capable of more, especially since feeding on the woman.

Her blood had been potent, leaving him stronger than usual.

Each leap carried him further with less effort.

His shadows were denser, obeying him more easily.

Perhaps he’d been waiting too long between feeds if one woman could have such a noticeable effect.

He leaped from the edge of the roof to the next, shadows streaming around him, stalking the mugger along the street below.

The man was oblivious, glancing over his shoulder to confirm he had no pursuers. Like every other chattel, he didn’t look up. He slowed and turned onto a side street. Despite the late hour, it was still too busy for Antoine.

There was no rush.

It gave him time to reflect on Minh’s presence in his territory. Twice in a little over a week—that he knew of.

Any other vampire would have already challenged the young upstart, putting him in his place, kicking him out to lick his wounds and learn respect. But Antoine found the prospect tiresome.

What was Minh after? Was he testing the waters, or was this a prelude to a takeover ?

He doesn’t really think he could defeat me, does he?

Beneath him, the mugger slipped down an alley between a mini-mart and an apartment block, crouching between two dumpsters as he upended the purse into his lap.

Antoine touched lightly down before him, his swirling shadows blocking the streetlight, deepening the gloom around the dumpsters.

The mugger was so fixated on rifling through the woman’s wallet, he didn’t look up, merely muttering in irritation as the light faded.

Antoine shoved one of the dumpsters aside, the screech of metal drawing the mugger’s attention.

His eyes widened, fear thick in the air.

Before he could react, Antoine yanked him to his feet by his greasy hair and sank his teeth into the man’s neck.

He never had a chance to struggle. The mugger reeked of sweat and grime, his blood flat and lifeless like the musty air of an old tomb—utterly devoid of vitality.

Damn, but it tastes like shit.

Antoine grimaced, eyes squeezing shut in disgust, as if that would block the foul tang. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to settle, and he forced himself to ignore the man’s lust-filled moans, drawing from him again, then again.

Finally, he’d taken enough to justify pulling away. He sealed the wound with a lick across the man’s grimy skin, and the mugger slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The blood sat heavily within him. His stomach roiled.

Merde. The hell have I drunk?

Antoine stared in confusion at the unconscious man. The mugger wasn’t that far gone. Malnourished, yes, but lean and fit enough to run. There were likely drugs in his system, though that didn’t matter. Antoine had fed on worse, far too often.

So why, then, did his blood taste so bad?

Antoine gathered himself and leaped to the nearest rooftop. It was only two stories, but he barely made it, stumbling over the edge before dropping to one knee beside a humming HVAC unit. His shadows curled around him.

From the best blood I’ve ever tasted to the worst.

He wondered if Minh had tried to poison him—set up the mugging, tainting the man’s blood, hoping or knowing Antoine would react as he had.

But it was too convoluted, even for such an overdressed charlatan.

Was it even possible to poison the blood of a chattel?

Antoine wouldn’t know how. His own system filtered out narcotics that could kill the host. As long as the blood was fresh, its quality didn’t matter.

Besides, there was no way Minh knew of Antoine’s vigilante past.

Was there ?

Mind reading was a rare vampire gift, traced to only a few bloodlines. But while young, Minh was old enough—he had the power potential. The thought was troubling.

Yet this didn’t feel like an attack. It was too weak, too ineffective. The man’s blood was bad, yes, inexplicably so, but all that mattered was that the craving had lessened.

Minh, though… Minh was an issue he would need to address sooner or later.

How did he always know where Antoine was?

Once the question formed, the answer was obvious.

Merde. He has thralls in my territory.

That was irritating.

Minh knew the Code. Was he choosing to ignore it? Did he see Antoine as such an ‘outcast’ that he believed he could act with impunity?

“Vampirism is the ultimate blessing, yet you see it as a curse. You’re not fit for such a gift. It is wasted on you.”

Tell me, Minh, did you receive yours gift-wrapped, or was it simply handed over with a flourish?

Antoine gritted his teeth as he recalled the presentation of his own ‘gift.’