Page 49 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Antoine paced the living room again, glancing at the clock for the hundredth time.

He pulled out his phone and called Noah. “Is she still there?”

“Still there. Still watching the house. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

Helpless. That was the feeling creeping over him, and it had been centuries since he’d felt anything like it.

One visit from Belle, and he’d regressed to the vulnerable, powerless vampire he’d been when he’d first been turned.

All his power, his territory, his history—none of it seemed to matter in the face of her sadistic little smile.

Oh, how he hated her!

And now she had Cally.

He reached the door of the living room, stared at it in frustration, then pivoted, turning on his heel and pacing back across the room. Marcel lifted his gaze from his glass of Bordeaux, as if about to speak, but thought better of it and went back to swirling his drink.

What was it about her? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

Even when she wasn’t in the tender care of Belle, she filled his thoughts.

It wasn’t just her blood—though that was as alluring, delicious, and potent as it had ever been, and had completely spoiled his enjoyment of any other in comparison.

He thought back to her unhesitating competency in Minh’s nightclub, the speed with which her feet had lashed out.

There had been no fear in her, even when facing creatures far stronger than her.

The taste of her lips.

The way she’d bitten his neck.

Again he saw the thrall fall backward, his face a mask of blood, his knee blown sideways by her perfectly timed kick. Could any other chattel have struck so fast, so hard?

“So am I stronger than a normal human?”

Four times he’d marked a chattel before her, but nothing had ever been like this. Something was different, and the obvious answer was Minh’s blood.

There was no doubt he was stronger, but he was growing stronger still, which made no sense . He’d barely had a mouthful or two before Minh had pulled away—and it had tasted like shit, too.

Antoine let out a low, humorless sound, causing Marcel to look up from his glass.

So Minh was Roberto’s spawn. Thank you, Belle, for sharing that information .

Though how she’d come by it, he had no idea.

Still, it explained a great deal: the number of thralls Minh commanded, his audacity in challenging Antoine, and his alliances with vampires who were far stronger than he.

Even the moves on Antoine’s territory, before the Curia had even ratified such action.

And there was more. Minh wasn’t his only enemy. Nico, Tobias and Matteo, too—all of whom had territories bordering Antoine’s, or close to it in Nico’s case.

Then there was Roberto, freshly elevated to the Curia. Untouchable, powerful, and deeply invested in Minh’s success.

“How do you expect to have the allies you need if I am not given the gift I want?”

And Cally had heard her, throwing herself into her path.

For him.

Antoine shook his head and checked the time again: shortly after four. Dawn was still three hours away.

“I will come for her at dawn.”

“Ah, such ardor. Very well, one night.”

“And no blood.”

And then Cally had gone and made her own deal—in her own name, no less—which, of course, Belle had accepted at once.

Was she feeding on her, even now?

*

Paris, France, 1750

“Oh Antoine, my pet?”

At the sound of her call, his stomach clenched into a tight knot.

But it was inevitable she would summon him as soon as she returned, yet he’d been so engaged in his book that despite his superior vampire hearing, he hadn’t heard her enter. Now he wasn’t there to greet her. He would likely pay for that.

He carefully slid his book down the side of his chair, rose swiftly, and straightened his clothing as he walked through the house.

Her residence in Paris was smaller than her chateau, but still a grand mansion.

Situated on the ?le Saint-Louis—a quiet, exclusive island on the Seine—it offered discreet luxury and something more valuable still: privacy.

While many aristocrats followed Louis XV to Versailles, Parisian vampires naturally kept to themselves, posing as wealthy intellectuals, financiers, or reclusive writers.

She waited for him in the grand entrance hall beneath the crystal chandelier, gazing up at him as he emerged at the top of the wide, sweeping staircase.

It wasn’t the first time he’d entertained thoughts of dropping that chandelier on her head. But it was a fanciful daydream; nothing more. And tonight, she wasn’t alone beneath it.

Antoine promptly applied his glamour, the way Belle had taught him.

“There you are!” she greeted him blithely.

Antoine had become adept at reading her mood, yet this one was unnervingly benign, as if she were genuinely pleased to see him.

“I have brought you gifts,” she said, nudging the two children before her.

One boy, one girl—reminding him of the street urchins in Nantes that had so inadvertently led to this new life.

The boy was about eleven, the girl maybe a year younger, but it was difficult to be sure when both were dressed in little more than rags, their wide-eyed awe and hunger betraying their hope that such a magnificent house could only mean food.

And it did. But not the kind they wanted.

“My lady,” Antoine said stiffly, trying to mask his distaste, “may I please remind you that I have no desire to feed upon children?”

They spoke in English so Belle could practice, and the children stared in confusion.

“Oh, these are not for snacking upon, mon amour . They are for company. You are always so miserable and lonely.”

“No.” Antoine shook his head. “You think I don’t know your intentions? You will wait until I have formed a bond with them, then you will kill them.”

He knew he would be punished for speaking so—perhaps the children would be killed before his eyes—but he refused to play her games. Not with innocents so young.

Belle’s eyes flashed with a red tinge, her anger so strong it broke through her glamour. “You refuse my gift?”

He took a breath, releasing it as he fought the urge for a rash response, carefully considering his words. “I accept the spirit of your gift, my lady, but must decline the manner of it.”

“Ah, such meaningless platitudes. How diplomatic, my pet.” She opened the door and unceremoniously pushed the children through, closing it behind them as they protested, their high-pitched demands for food echoing faintly. “Come, Antoine. Come and serve me while I tell you about my night.”

And this was where he would pay for his refusal.

At least the children would live… for another day.

*

“There you are, my pet. I have brought you a gift.”

Belle entered, hauling a young woman by the scruff of her neck. Scrawny, her shift in tatters, her hair a tangled mess as though she’d been dragged through Paris. Barely eighteen or nineteen, pretty and innocent, the way Belle liked them.

Antoine steeled himself. It had been a week since the two children, and part of his punishment had been to go without food. His control was fraying, and the girl gasped when she saw his eyes. His glamour wasn’t holding. He let it drop, and she screamed, struggling futilely in Belle’s grip.

“Oh hush,” Belle said with irritation, shaking her. The woman jerked like a marionette on a string, quieted into fearful submission, unable to take her eyes off Antoine.

He couldn’t look away either, and took an involuntary step forward.

“Do you like her?” Belle asked.

“Yes, my lady.” He swallowed his saliva.

“Do you accept my gift?”

“Yes, my lady.” Whatever Belle had planned, the poor woman meant food. Antoine’s hunger was too great to resist her games.

“Feed, my pet,” she said, pushing the girl toward him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d fed him this way—letting him grow weak with hunger, then presenting him with a scared, helpless victim.

At least the woman would soon forget her fear, and as his fangs pierced her neck, he clouded her mind.

His ability was in its infancy, a pale shade of what Belle could do, yet the girl went limp in his arms, moaning in pleasure.

Her fingers splayed across his thigh, then rose toward his groin. He caught her wrist.

The hunger was so intense that pulling away was an effort. A rivulet of crimson ran down her neck, staining the collar of her shift.

“Good, my pet,” Belle said. “Now, channel your power into your touch. Use it to mark her flesh, as though branding her. ”

“Will it hurt her?” The question slipped out before he could think.

Belle laughed. “You are too much. She is a chattel .”

It had been a foolish thing to ask.

Antoine concentrated, feeling his power swell within him, vibrant and buoyed by the fresh blood of the young woman. He pressed his thumb against her bare arm, pushing his essence into her.

“ Doucement ,” Belle cautioned. “You do not want to damage her mind.”

He stopped immediately.

“ Exactement .” Belle said. “Now, can you feel her?”

It was as if a tether had formed between them, an invisible line stretching from her soul to his.

“What does this mean?” Antoine asked in wonder.

“It means she is yours, my pet. You will always be able to find her. She will always be able to feed you. Keep her in your room, though. I do not wish to see her.”

No more hunting terrified prey that cringed or screamed at his presence. No more hunger, no more losing control, no more accidental deaths because he had left it too long between feeds.

It was easy to say the words. “Thank you, my lady. It is a wonderful gift indeed.”

*

They talked, once she awoke and learned he wasn’t going to kill her.

Her name was éliane. She had come to Paris to be a dancer, but the city had proven less welcoming than she had hoped, and she had no place to call home.

“This is your home now,” Antoine told her. “You can stay with me. You’ll be safe here.”

She seemed pleased.