Page 59 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Pain lanced through Cally’s shoulder, a double impact pushing her back against the couch.

The doctor jerked in his chair, his head dropping forward. Blood soaked his shirt, spreading down his chest. Behind him, the upholstery of his chair was torn and shredded.

Cally slid to the floor beside him, one hand clamped over her shoulder. Every movement sent fresh pain stabbing through her, and warm, sticky blood coated her fingers.

A man stood in the garden beyond the shattered window. He held a submachine gun—pointed straight at her.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a desperate, raw panic clawing at her gut, and she threw herself sideways against the fireplace as bullets shredded the couch, ripping through fabric, stuffing, and the wall beyond.

Glass and debris rained down in a chaotic clatter.

She curled up, arms over her head, biting back a cry as her injured shoulder flared in agony.

The gun’s harsh bark echoed through the room. She flinched as more bullets chewed into the fireplace’s brickwork above her, filling the air with red dust and small, jagged shards of fired clay.

The front door smashed open, heavy footsteps bursting in. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. And she was too stunned.

Another blast of gunfire rang out from the door of the living room, loud and urgent.

Sharp, rapid pistol shots. Cally pressed herself lower, barely able to see past the couch.

Through the smashed window, she caught a glimpse of the gunman as bullets struck him, twisting him around, his weapon flying from his hands as he fell out of sight.

“Cally!” She didn’t recognize the voice.

She crawled behind the couch, huddled on the carpet, gripping her shoulder.

The doctor lay motionless a few feet away.

“Cally!” The shout came again, heavy boots pounding into the room.

A man in khaki trousers and a leather jacket came into view, a pistol held in both hands.

It was Noah. Thank fuck .

“Shit, you’re hurt.”

“It’s not serious,” she said, teeth clenched against the pain. “Check him.” She jerked her head to the doctor.

Noah crabbed sideways, staying low, switching his pistol to a one-handed grip as he pressed his fingers to the doctor’s neck. He was still for the count of ten heartbeats, before shaking his head. “He’s dead.”

Because of me. Her stomach twisted.

Noah spared her a glance, then kept his eyes on the windows. “We need to get you out of here.”

Movement flickered in the garden—another man, glimpsed past the doctor’s chair.

Two gunshots rang out in rapid succession, and the figure crumpled, as though his legs had given way.

Cally flinched against the sofa, wincing as her shoulder throbbed in protest. Noah knelt before her, his weapon pointed toward the smashed windows, his head rotating in a constant scan as he tried to cover every angle.

“Just the shoulder?”

“Yeah,” she grunted.

“Good. You’ll be fine. Let’s move.”

I’ll be fine? “I’ve been shot twice.” Was he seriously acting like this was normal?

“Yeah? You’re a marked chattel. Antoine said you had better healing than thralls.” He turned, offering her an arm. “We need to get out of here. More could be more coming.”

“What’s going on outside?”

“Zoey is there.” He pulled her to her feet when she didn’t move fast enough, and she grimaced at the pain. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Cally stared at the doctor, dead on his carpet, but Noah had hold of her uninjured arm and was already dragging her out of the room. “Come on, Cally, we need to move.”

She let him help her to the front door, then he roughly shoved her to the side before checking the street. He grabbed her again, not seeming to care about her injury, hurrying her down the path to his SUV.

“The Lamborghini…”

“We’re leaving it.”

Zoey ran around the side of the house, her pistol gripped firmly in both hands. She was dressed similarly to Noah, in tough military boots and trousers with a black fabric jacket—a stark contrast to her nightclub outfit. She barely spared Cally a glance, swiftly looking up and down the street.

“They’re both dead,” she said .

“Antoine’s in my apartment,” Cally told Noah. “He’s asleep, he’s vulnerable.” And he may have killed my mother. The thought twisted in her gut, a sickening mix of betrayal and disbelief.

“We have thralls already there,” Noah replied, pulling open the rear door of his SUV and pushing Cally inside. “Get in the back with her. I’ll drive.”

“What’s her injury?” Zoey said, climbing in the other side.

“Antoine’s going to be pissed about the Lamborghini,” Cally said, staring at the beautiful car through the window. Everything was a blur, the pace of events too much to process. And her shoulder hurt .

“Just the shoulder. Looks like two rounds.” Noah gunned the engine, pulling the vehicle around in a wide loop, driving over the neighbor’s lawn without a care.

“Are they still in?”

Noah hesitated. “Shit, good point. Yeah, they are.”

Zoey pulled a knife, flicking open the blade with her thumb.

Cally pressed back against her door. “What are you going to do with that?”

“We have to get the bullets out before you heal over them.”

“You have to what?”

Behind them, a massive explosion erupted, rocking the vehicle with a wave of sound. A fireball leaped up into the sky through the rear window, followed by the clatter of shrapnel as metal rained down.

“At least Antoine won’t have to collect the Lambo now,” Noah said, watching in the rearview mirror.

“Hold still, please,” Zoey said, sliding across the seat with the knife in hand. It had a large, jagged gray blade with a wicked point.

“Now wait a minute,” Cally began, “can’t we go to a hospital?”

“No need,” Zoey said. “You’ll be mostly healed by the time we get out of the waiting room.”

“What about infection?” Cally tried.

“You’re practically immune,” Zoey said with exasperation. “Now, do you want to heal with the bullets in you or out of you?”

Cally rolled her eyes. “My life is so fucking weird these days.”

Zoey grinned and leaned forward, cutting away her hoodie around her shoulder.

“Favorite hoodie,” Cally protested.

“Hold still, please,” Zoey said. “You too, Noah.”

“Sure.”

The knife sliced into her flesh, and Cally hissed in pain, gritting her teeth. She could feel the tip of the blade working deeper into her, and she scrunched her eyes up, trying to hold still.

“Braking, left turn,” Noah warned.

The car slowed and swung around a corner, and Zoey waited until the maneuver was finished before she probed again. “I’ve almost got the first one,” she said.

Cally clenched her jaw, tears in her eyes, but at last the knife slid out and the worst of the pain faded.

“One down,” Zoey said. “I think the other one is deeper.”

“Oh joy.”

She dug with the knife again, just as the car was struck from the side. “Shit!” Zoey shouted as the knife skidded across Cally’s shoulder, slicing into her arm. Cally cried out.

Zoey grabbed her by the head, forcing her down. She was a lot stronger than her five-foot-four frame suggested. “Noah?”

“Two cars,” he grunted.

Cally couldn’t see much—just the top of the windscreen and the side of Noah’s head as he drove. The car sprang forward as he stamped on the gas, pushing her back into the seat.

“Get your seatbelt on,” Zoey said, reaching over the rear seats into the trunk.

Cally couldn’t reach it, bent double across the center seat, but Zoey released her, and she sat up, grabbing the seatbelt.

It caught as she pulled too hard. Outside the window, a gunmetal-gray SUV raced almost level with them.

It swerved around another car, then swung back across the road to sit just off their rear.

Cally clicked her belt into place as Noah swerved wildly, skidding across the road, barely missing a pickup that flashed past the window and was gone. “There’s a third car. We need support, Zoey.”

“On it.” Zoey dropped back into her seat, a heavy black bag landing between her and Cally. She had a compact machine gun of some kind in her hand, and rested it across her lap as she pulled out her phone, pressing buttons. “Keep your head down.”

“Who are you calling?” Cally asked.

“Antoine.”

Cally blinked in surprise—he was up and it wasn’t even noon yet. “Why the phone? Can’t you do the mind talking thing?”

“Out of range,” Zoey replied brusquely, and lifted the phone to her ear. “Where are we, Noah? ”

“Northwest on Route 28, coming up on Blue Hills Parkway.”

“Did you catch that, Antoine?” Zoey listened for a few seconds. “Can we make Fisher Hill?”

“No chance,” Noah grunted, swerving around a pickup truck and clipping its fender, jerking the SUV to the side.

Zoey listened again. “Can we make Avery Street?”

“Shit. Gabriel’s place?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe, if they don’t get too rough down I-93.”

Zoey concentrated on what Antoine was saying.

“Got it.” She dropped the phone into her lap and grabbed her weapon.

Cally glanced at the phone; she needed to talk to him, but this wasn’t the time.

“Head for Gabriel’s. We’re being met. They’re en route.

” Zoey reached for Cally’s head with surprising speed, pushing it down hard enough to make her shoulder protest. “Head down, please, Princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” Cally said into the footwell.

“Brace,” Noah said, swerving left as red traffic lights flashed overhead. Then he spun the wheel, and the car skidded right, horns blasting all around. “Did he say anything about cops?”

“He said do whatever it takes to get her safe,” Zoey replied, righting herself in her seat and opening her window.

“My kind of instructions,” Noah said, and the car shot forward, houses flashing past as they tore down a two-lane road. He straddled the middle line, flashing his lights at the oncoming traffic, occasionally ducking back in only to swing out again.

“They’ve fallen back,” Zoey reported.