Page 7 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Antoine let the unconscious body slide down to the grass and looked around. He was still alone in the park.

He swallowed hard, grimacing.

This one was a student, a young man in his prime. No way his blood should taste like rusty nails steeped in stagnant water—bitter, acrid, and devoid of life.

Antoine turned in a swirl of shadows and strode off across the park.

The blood was working—the craving abated, at least somewhat—but where was the strength? The flavor? It was almost like feeding on dead blood—except that would come straight back up again.

Was he ill? Could vampires even get ill?

He’d never heard of such a thing.

He reached the edge of the park and leaped for the nearest building.

That student had been his second feed since the woman, and both of them had tasted like shit when neither should. Neither had suppressed the craving as fully as it ought to. Hell, after the mugger, he’d been hungry within two nights. It had been years since he’d needed to feed so often.

The woman’s blood had lasted a week. More—he hadn’t needed to take the mugger; he’d chosen to. Such inferior blood compared to hers. She’d tasted so unbelievably good that he could still remember every nuance of her flavor.

He paused in mid-step on the rooftop.

Was that it? Was that the reason?

Her blood had been so potent, it hadn’t merely been her exquisite taste.

And she’d reacted so fast, albeit only by chattel standards.

She was a warrior. Antoine knew something of combat himself; it was hard to live through the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries without becoming embroiled in mankind’s favorite pursuit.

Was that why she was so different? No, he’d fed on warriors often enough.

Something else, then .

Maybe he could find her again, take a little more, enough to taste her and confirm her blood wasn’t the reason for this.

‘Take a little?’ Why wouldn’t I feed as usual, if I were going to feed?

He was making excuses, justifying himself. How strange that one mere chattel should cause such a reaction. Yet, he was already leaping through the air, heading back toward the alley where he’d first found her, like this was what he should’ve been doing all along.

Was she really so special?

Worse, was he somehow fixating on her?

So maybe I am fixated. I want to taste her again.

It felt good to admit it.

Though I still have to find her.

It was a little over a mile to where he’d first seen the woman.

Antoine flitted from building to building, staying to the rooftops, trailing shadows.

It was easy to stay hidden from chattel; they rarely looked up, and their night vision was poor.

Even if they caught a flicker of him, they’d dismiss it as a trick of the light or a figment of their imagination.

Or, in some cases, outright denial that they could possibly have seen what they’d seen.

He touched down lightly on the corner of the building where he remembered seeing her.

The alley was empty, not that he expected otherwise.

There was always the chance she’d never return.

He could wait nights, weeks, maybe never see her again.

But what did he have, if not time? Patience was a centuries-old companion.

It was a bitter reflection on the pointlessness of his life.

Maybe Minh would offer a much-needed distraction. Antoine hadn’t survived for almost three hundred years just to allow some sadistic vampire with a superiority complex to take his territory. He knew how to play the game, he’d simply refused to. Maybe that needed to change. Before it was too late.

His blood pumped faster, the anticipation of conflict stirring him. How long had it been? Decades, at least. So much time had passed. He’d claimed his territory in the early 1950s, when Harvard and MIT were expanding, and the city was undergoing postwar redevelopment.

With its deep historical and cultural significance, blend of old and new architectures, and, of course, the river, Boston reminded him of Paris. A foolish comparison, in hindsight—he hadn’t seen Paris in over two centuries.

Then there was the woman. Antoine felt a flicker of thrill at the thought of a chase. Finding her wouldn’t be easy, but it gave him purpose; something he hadn’t had in a long time. At the very least, it was a diversion. A break from nights spent—how had Minh put it—‘doing his gargoyle impression’?

Putain! Antoine laughed, startling a crow into the air with an offended c aw .

Screw Minh. He still liked the view.

He was going to put that vampire in his place and enjoy doing it.

The Code forbade them from killing each other, but there were other ways to take his territory within the Code’s limits. Not that he needed more holdings. Still, Minh’s club held appeal, for the entertainment if nothing else.

Antoine paused, surprised at his own thoughts. Something had reawakened in him, a hunger he hadn’t felt in years.

Not the craving. This was something else.

A hunger for power.

Simpler, baser, yet no less intoxicating when fed.

Was Minh right? Had he been wallowing in self-pity?

It didn’t take much self-reflection to find the answer.

Antoine tapped two fingers to his temple, then flicked them outward in a casual salute. Thank you, Minh . He owed the upstart for the wake-up call.

Still, no matter how disillusioned the old Antoine had been, Minh must know he stood no chance.

Antoine narrowed his eyes, considering the implications.

Minh must have a backer. Or be setting a trap. There was no other way he could hope to win.

Could his sire be involved?

That made an uncomfortable amount of sense. And yet, Antoine had heard nothing of visiting vampires.

But then you wouldn’t have, would you? You’ve had your head up your ass.

Well, he couldn’t fix the past, but it was high time he focused on the present.

He had to assume Minh was coming after him, and that somehow he had a way of mitigating the two-century gap in power. Anything else was foolish, and vampires didn’t live long if they were foolish.

How long did he have? Minh wouldn’t be pushing in if he wasn’t ready to act.

Regardless, it still made no sense . What could Minh do?

Antoine played no political games, had no businesses or ventures to undermine.

His wealth wasn’t vulnerable—assets spread far and wide—for it was easy to make money with a two-hundred-year investment plan.

The only thing Minh could do was kill him, and for that, he lacked both the power and the support of the Code.

Antoine frowned, wondering what he was overlooking. Minh must know something he didn’t, but what?

One thing was certain: Antoine needed to recruit thralls, more was the pity. He couldn’t be everywhere at once. Minh had his own, and they were likely already embedded in his territory, waiting to stir trouble.

Killing vampires was forbidden by the Code. Thralls, however, were fair game. Expected, even. Disposable fodder.

Which was why Antoine hated using them.

But first, he had to find the woman.

She’d been in his thoughts ever since he first tasted her; now the catalyst for his newfound motivation.

Not bad, from one taste. Her potency was greater than he’d realized.

Perhaps she was still nearby. Chattel rarely strayed far from their habitats. Most lived and died within a few miles of where they were born, no matter how vast the world.

He should’ve marked her when he had the chance. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The area wasn’t dense with office buildings; it was mostly apartments, restaurants, shops, a gym or two. If she’d been here once, it was plausible she lived close.

Still, the alleyway was empty, and there was no point sitting idle.

She’d come in from the end, so it was time to see where she might’ve come from.

He was familiar with the area; it was his territory, after all.

He knew what he would find: a run-down parking lot and a street of shops, selling everything from carpets and furnishings to cannabis oil.

She hadn’t been shopping at the latter. Her blood didn’t taste of anything added.

There was a gym, a couple of beauty salons, the numerous coffee shops that seemed to plague Boston, a few restaurants.

In short, too many options.

The gym was a possibility; she certainly had the figure for it. But beyond that, she could’ve come from anywhere.

Still, it was a place to start.

Antoine dropped down to the sidewalk and let his cloak of shadows diffuse, drifting away like mist. When mingling with chattel, most vampires used a glamour to color their skin and change their eyes, but Antoine wore his almost constantly, preferring not to see pale skin or red eyes.

Instead, he favored a pale blue; it suited his European ethnicity, and besides, it had been the color of his eyes before Belle turned him.

Or so he thought. It was hard to remember exactly; it had been so long, but the shade seemed to suit him well enough.

After so long on the rooftops, it felt strangely limiting to walk at ground level, unable to see far and without the readiness of a swooping descent.

Most vampires walked around like chattel; he didn’t know how they could bear it.

But then, his ability to fly—or at least leap with enthusiasm—was part of his bloodline.

Perhaps that was why Minh was so irritated Antoine preferred rooftops. Climbing up must ruin his loafers.

The gym turned out to be poorly equipped and mostly empty.

A possibility, perhaps, but a remote one.

He turned, looking out across the road, seeing all the ways she could’ve walked to this point.

He shook his head; he knew it was a waste of time.

Yet still, futile though it may be, at least he had an objective for once, and it was such a rare feeling it filled him with excitement and energy.

With a leap, he crossed the road, pulling shadows about himself again, and went to explore the spiderweb of possibilities across this Boston locale.