Page 55 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Cally huddled in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around herself, staring out the window as the world sped by.

It was early enough that the roads were empty, and Antoine took full advantage.

She glanced at him. The windscreen was already so tinted it must be worse than driving at night.

“How can you see with those on too?”

“Just fine,” he said, his face scrunched up. The car sped up again, like he was desperate for the journey to be done.

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Ours.”

She took a breath in through her teeth with a hiss. “I want to go to mine , please.”

He glanced over, the sunglasses briefly reflecting her before he turned back to the road. “That’s not a good idea. Not while we’re both…” He hesitated, brow furrowing. “It would be better if you let me protect you.”

“Don’t you have thralls outside my apartment?” It came out harsher than she’d intended.

He winced. “Actually, no. Noah and Zoey are in the SUV behind us.”

She shifted to peer in the side mirror. “I don’t see them.”

“They’re a little ways back.”

Of course they were. Antoine was doing one-twenty.

She settled into the soft leather of her seat. “I still want to go to mine.”

“We’re going to Fisher Hill.”

She fought to keep her voice calm. “No way, Antoine. We’re not living together. I desperately need a shower, and I need to burn these clothes.” And I want to be alone.

He glanced over again, his nose wrinkling. She knew he could smell her—hell, she could smell herself, even without ‘superior vampire abilities.’

“Fine. You can pack a bag, then we’ll go to Fisher Hill.”

She said nothing, letting him take it as assent. But once I get home, I’m not leaving.

For a while they drove in silence. It should’ve been awkward—and maybe it was, for him—but Cally was too wrung out to care. She’d managed a little sleep on Belle’s sofa, so it was less physical tiredness, more just… emotional exhaustion.

“Belle said it was your increased power from feeding on Minh that woke my dormant witch blood.”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“She was wrong.”

He stared at her for so long that she couldn’t help but nod toward the road. He swung his eyes back. “What do you mean?”

“That vision I had? It was before you bit Minh in the parking lot. And Eve says I did… magic stuff… even before then.” Still not convinced of that.

They’d passed Fisher Hill and reached Brookline, and Antoine turned north toward Allston. The traffic was growing heavier, despite the early hour.

“Have you been bitten before?”

“Would I know?”

“It doesn’t seem likely,” he said, answering his own question. “Most vampires would leave a body. But dizziness and loss of blood? Memory loss, disorientation—a passage of unaccounted time?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing like that. Only when you did.”

He frowned at the windscreen. “What else did Belle tell you?”

“She said the symbiosis of witch and vampire awakens the dormant blood when the vampire is powerful enough. I asked her if she could do it, and she didn’t exactly say she could, but she did say that most powerful vampires wouldn’t want to risk being bound to a witch.

” She stared out of the window. Then, her frustration boiled over.

“I can’t fucking believe it!” She turned to glare at him. “This is all your fault, you know.”

Antoine glanced at her, his jaw tightening, then his lips twitched. “Not entirely, no.”

“You saying some of it’s mine?”

“Well, next time you walk down an alley alone, wear a T-shirt saying, ‘I’m a witch, don’t bite me.’ ”

She stared at him, then couldn’t help but laugh. It was all just so ridiculous—she was a witch, practically married to a vampire. Worse than married; Fatum con- whatever-it-was. The churn of emotions, from hopelessness and despair to anger, fear, and… hysterical laughter.

Then it faded and her eyes filled with tears. “My life is over.”

“ Non, ma chérie, it is not,” he said gently. “I won’t let that happen. In fact, you will lead a very long and very full life.”

“Wrapped in cotton wool by my vampire jailor. What kind of life is that?” She hunched in her seat and faced the window again. “You only want me because I’m your little battery bunny.”

“ Non, ma chérie ,” he said again. “I wanted you before I learned you were a witch.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “This probably doesn’t help, but having had time to consider the idea, I am pleased we will be together. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’re right,” she said. “That doesn’t help at all.” Although it did.

“Do you know how many chattel have sought me at my house in the last hundred years?” he went on, as though he hadn’t heard her. “Precisely one.”

“You told me that before.”

He made a soft sound, as if to himself. “Well. You are strong.”

He’d called her beautiful, too.

“I can’t believe you called me aggravating.” She rolled her eyes. “In comparison to you ? Pot calling kettle, color check, over?”

He frowned in confusion. “Color check? What do you mean?”

She looked back out the window. “Never mind.”

“I called you a number of things,” Antoine said, as he pulled an illegal overtaking maneuver at speed around a pickup truck, the irritated blast of its horn fading in their wake.

“But I’ve had time to think of more. You are also mesmerizing, passionate, utterly fearless, alluring, and impossible to ignore, ma chérie. ”

“You’re still a jerk.” But it was nice to hear him say those things. Strangely comforting.

He chuckled. “It is a mystery, though. Your witch blood. I wish there were someone I could ask about it.”

“Seriously, do you vamps not keep libraries? Records? Ancient tomes bound in human skin? Recipes for which blood types go best with which cheese?”

“Not really, and they would only be personal collections, if at all. Not something to which you can apply for a library card.” He turned into Quint Avenue. “Radcliffe Road, correct? ”

“How do you know where I live?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Of course. Your thralls told you.”

“Indeed, ma chérie. What number, please?”

“You don’t know the apartment block?”

“I could ask Noah if you don’t wish to tell me.”

“Go on then. He’s about five miles behind us.”

“He’s less than a mile behind us, and he says it’s number twenty, at the end of the street.” He turned into Radcliffe Road, the Lamborghini bouncing uncomfortably over the potholes.

“How did you do that?” she asked. “Can you talk to Noah whenever you want?”

“I can talk to my thralls whenever I wish, though there are some limits on the range.” His eyes flicked to her. “We have no secrets now.”

She stared at him. “He’s a mile away. You call that a limit?”

“I’ve managed three or four times that. I don’t actually know what the limit is.”

She kept staring. “It’s… it’s…”

“Magic?” Antoine said. “Welcome to my world.”

He pulled up in a numbered parking bay, uncaring whose it was, and peered dubiously out of the window at Cally’s apartment. “I am not sure a Lamborghini often takes this space.”

“I doubt anyone will manage to steal it while you’re sitting in it.”

She opened her door, climbing out, but he got out too.

“No way you’re coming up.”

“I am not leaving you alone, ma chérie. ” Then he turned, deliberately walking the short distance to the main entrance porch.

Cally slammed the car door and glared at him, but it was wasted—he didn’t look back.

And he was steaming . Like actual steam drifting up from his coat and head.

She caught up with him as he reached the shadows of the porch. “Sun a bit bright?”

“It is uncomfortable, yes. It’s harder when it’s not overcast, like today. I will be happier inside.”

She muttered to herself and opened the main door, leading him up the stairs. “You won’t like my apartment.”

“As it will smell of you, ma chérie, I expect I will like it just fine.”

She fished her key from her jacket pocket and unlocked the door, shaking her head at the chain of events that had led to this. Then she stepped in, and he followed.

“You don’t need an invitation?” she asked, pausing by the door as he entered the living room, looking around and taking everything in. He seemed to be breathing deeply.

“Ah,” he said, pulling off his sunglasses and sliding them into his coat pocket. “You mean like in Buffy ? No, I do not need an invitation.”

“You’ve seen Buffy ?” she asked, incredulous. She closed the door and folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t burn up in sunlight, you don’t care about crosses, silver, UV light, or invitations to enter. You don’t sleep in a coffin.”

“I do drink blood,” he said, taking off his coat and draping it carefully over the arm of the couch.

There was no hunger in his eyes, just a smile on his lips, so natural and easy and…

it tugged at her. He was wearing his black T-shirt under the coat, as always, and the muscles of his bare forearms flexed as he casually slid his fingers into his jeans’ pockets.

It was distracting, and she looked away. “Why are the stories so wrong?”

“Why would we want you to know what we are? For example, I am not, in fact, dead. I am very much alive, ma chérie, as you are.”

“Then why does the sun bother you?”

“We are nocturnal creatures and born of dark magic. Reason enough, I suppose.”

“And you’re immortal.”

“ Oui. The blood nourishes us, and we heal and regenerate so fast that we do not grow old or die.”

“All the pros, none of the cons.” She shook her head.

“Not true.” His eyes darkened, something colder flickering behind them.

“Drinking blood to live is a heavy burden on the soul. And immortality? It is both a blessing and a curse.” His voice grew distant.

“A long, lonely life can become your own personal hell.” Then his gaze softened.

“Forgive my excitement, therefore, at the promise that you offer.”

It was said with such gentle sincerity that Cally shivered. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Have a seat… make a coffee… stay the fuck out of my bedroom.”

He flopped down on her couch, looking as comfortable as he did in his wingback chair. “I will stay right here. Would it be possible to borrow a book?”

Cally felt her lips twitch at the thought that came to her. “Sure.”

She walked off into her bedroom, picked a vampire romance from her collection, made her way back, and tossed it to him. “You’ll enjoy that. ”

He caught it without looking. “Thank you, ma chérie. Take your time. I will be quite content.”

Cally left him to it, returning to her bedroom and closing the door. She considered wedging the dresser in front of it, but it seemed like a lot of effort. Besides, it wouldn’t stop him if he chose to come in.

She kicked off her shoes, pulling off her clothes and throwing her dress into the hamper like she never wanted to see it again.

She had a vampire in her apartment, and at some level, that thought still sent a thrill of fear through her. But this was Antoine, and not only were they now apparently bonded for life—what a mind-fuck that was—but he’d never tried to harm her.

Other than taking her blood whenever he felt like it.

The irritating thing was that she liked him, with his polite manners, his sardonic sense of humor, his charming way of calling her ‘ ma chérie ’ while never seeming to mind that she didn’t respond.

His thick, dark hair, gorgeous pale blue eyes, and those full lips that so often quirked at the corners—and, once in a rare while, curved into a particularly captivating smile.

Ironically, and most concerning of all, he made her feel safe.

She didn’t need someone else to feel safe—a third-dan black belt in taekwondo and a wide streak of independence, encouraged by her dad from an early age, had always taken care of that. She didn’t particularly want to feel safe—so long as she wasn’t in danger.

Still. It was nice.

She’d felt safe with him before he’d been personally motivated for her wellbeing, in a life-or-death, got-her-own-vampire-bodyguard way.

And damn, but her robe was in the bathroom.

Cally cracked her door an inch, checking that he wasn’t standing outside her room, then dashed across the hallway into the bathroom, closing the door before he had a chance to see her naked.

She slid the lock into place—stiff from disuse, but it shifted in the end. Again, it wouldn’t hold him out. It was another reminder that he could take what he wanted whenever he wanted—and had done so. Three times.

It made her feel so furious, so helpless, and she hated him for that.

And yet…

She flicked the shower on to warm up, mulling over the ‘and yet.’

And yet what, Cally? What else is there?

Okay, so maybe there was something else about him taking what he wanted. Something primal. Something… rousing. Stimulating .

Just like when he fed on her.

Damn it, Cally, you’re not supposed to like that!

She took a long time in the shower, thoroughly washing away all signs of her night with Belle.

She did her hair twice, then rinsed out the conditioner.

But these were basic tasks, ones that didn’t occupy her mind.

Her thoughts kept returning to the man— vampire —sitting on her couch, reading her book.

Apparently here to stay.