Page 70 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

“About two hundred feet, straight down.” Antoine pointed at the rain-slicked sidewalk.

“Then let’s get her back,” Gabe’s voice was firm. “Do you want to go in the front, or take the parking garage?”

Antoine remembered the blaring music and winced. “I’ll take the back.”

Gabe bared his teeth. “Suits me. We’ll make so much goddamn noise they won’t even know you’re there.”

“Somehow I doubt that, but either way, see you in two hundred feet.”

Gabe gripped his arm. “Stay in the shadows.”

Antoine smiled wryly. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

He turned and headed for the parking garage, while behind him, Gabe and his thralls moved toward the main club entrance.

Antoine had thought about bringing his own thralls—Noah and Zoey in particular wouldn’t want to miss this—but it would have delayed them, and Cally had already been with Minh too long. He could feel her across their bond, her life vibrant, pulsing, calling to him.

I’m coming, ma chérie.

He had no way of knowing if she could hear him. Prior chattel bonds hadn’t worked that way, but this one was different. Maybe she’d sense something.

Feeding on Minh’s spawns had given him another boost to his power—disgusting as they’d tasted, whatever Gabe had said—and he used it now, pulling his shadows around him as he flew into the parking garage, his feet barely touching the ground.

It was full of cars, but his attention was on the shutter gate that screamed ‘private entrance.’ He accelerated, throwing his weight behind the strike, his momentum and strength driving his shoulder into it, dead center.

The impact reverberated through the garage. The steel shuddered, but all he had to show for it was a dent the size of his shoulder.

“ Ow ,” Antoine said through clenched teeth, glaring at the gate as he rolled his shoulder. “What the hell is that thing made of? ”

He stepped back. No control panel. No security camera. Just reinforced steel, built to keep out chattel, thieves, cops—and, apparently, him.

Fine.

Antoine slammed his fist into the steel.

The first blow barely dented it, but with the next, the metal creaked and split.

He persisted grimly. The same fate would befall anything else that got between him and Cally.

Blood streaked his hand as he hammered it again and again, the shutter finally bending under the force.

Antoine didn’t hesitate. He gripped the warped edges of the gate, and tore at the weakened metal. This time, the locks sheared away, the structure compromised. With one final, wrenching pull, the gate ripped open, revealing the ramp beyond.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

It had taken too long, and as he clambered through, he wondered how far Gabe had come. I should’ve borrowed a thrall for communication.

But it didn’t matter. Nothing would stop him from reaching Cally.

The ramp spilled him into another parking garage, filled with the same gray SUVs Noah had said pursued them from Milton—as if there had been much doubt.

Now that Cally knew a vampire had killed her mother, it was inevitable how it would play out.

At some point, he’d have to tell Cally that it was Nico’s territory, then try and persuade her not to walk into the Curia’s house and challenge him in front of everyone.

Hadn’t Nico been there when Matteo had stopped her?

And Matteo was dead now. How different the world was with the Curia’s new mandate.

There was a set of double doors, a keypad beside them. Antoine ignored it, putting his shoulder to the doors. They looked a lot less robust than the steel shutter, and sure enough, burst open with a splintering of wood.

He was in.

Where had Gabe got to?

He focused on Cally, letting the tug guide him. Through another set of doors, the décor shifted to something he’d expect from Minh. Still, there was still no sound from the club overhead; the soundproofing was absolute.

Good. No one to hear the screams.

Another pair of doors, this time in ivory and gold, and still he hadn’t seen a single one of Minh’s thralls, or any security cameras.

It felt too easy, as if his path had been prepared for him.

But Cally was on the other side of those doors, and that was all that mattered.

Antoine gripped one of the ridiculous ivory globes in each hand, then yanked so hard the doors came off their hinges, flying down the corridor to crash against the walls and skid along the floor.

Minh stood in the center of the room, before a large desk. Four thralls flanked him, all with pistols drawn and aimed at Antoine.

“Don’t you knock?” Minh drawled.

But Antoine had eyes only for Cally. Minh held her by the neck, using her as a shield, and she was as beautiful as ever.

Her eyes glared, full of anger, not a trace of fear in her bearing.

She stood tall, somehow conveying her disdain for those around her, despite the hand encircling her throat.

She looked at him, and her anger seemed to fade, replaced with something else, something poignant.

Loss? Had she resigned herself to die? Guilt?

Did she blame herself? The emotions were too thick and fast to identify clearly.

Antoine tore his gaze from hers with an effort, focusing on Minh. “You have a choice. You can hand her to me now, unharmed, and I’ll leave your domain and return to mine. Or you can take any other option, but if you do, I give you my word this will end with your head separated from your neck.”

“Bold words, Outcast, but foolhardy when I hold all the cards.” Minh’s eyes glazed over as he communicated with his thralls. Antoine braced himself, expecting them to attack. But they didn’t move. Was it Gabe causing a distraction?

The moment passed, and Minh’s attention snapped backed to him. “I believe there are still other options to explore.”

Echoing down the corridor came the thud of many feet. Not the clomp of boots; this was softer, muffled, like the paws of dogs—only too heavy. Antoine checked over his shoulder, but the hallway remained empty.

“Kill him,” Minh said lazily, and the thralls opened fire as one.

But there was a half-second delay between Minh’s command and the thralls processing it—and Antoine was so much faster than them. He spun aside as shots cracked through the space he’d just occupied. A blink later, he was among them.

They were too slow. Even by thrall standards, Minh’s were weaker, slower— whether due to his younger age or the sheer number he controlled, Antoine didn’t care.

He ripped out a throat in passing, skin and flesh tearing like paper.

His strength was greater now than ever, and he was already onto the next.

Gun muzzles flashed, the bullets going who-knew-where—but Antoine didn’t hesitate.

An uppercut shattered a jaw, snapping the thrall’s head back so hard the neck hyperextended, fracturing cervical vertebrae.

The force of the blow lifted the man into the air before he crashed onto the sofa.

Antoine spun behind the third, gripped and twisted the thrall’s head, snapping it almost a full circle.

A sickening crunch resounded through the room.

The last thrall he struck with a straight-armed punch to the chest, the force hurling him into Minh’s desk.

He crumpled, ribs shattered, heart likely ruptured—dead before he hit the floor.

Cally stared at him, eyes wide in horror.

No—not at him, but at his chest.

Antoine looked down, and only then did he feel the burning agony of the bullets he hadn’t even felt strike in the few seconds he’d been fighting. One shot above his heart, the other inside his shoulder, and his arm sagged, sluggish. He took a pace back, grunting as the pain finally caught up.

Minh looked delighted. “That should make round two interesting.”

His words drew Antoine’s attention to the scrabbling of feet in the corridor.

The first feral spawn skidded around the corner, moving so fast it slammed into the opposite wall, rebounding without pause.

Two more followed even as the first steadied itself, rushing on into the room. And three more behind them.

Gaunt. Emaciated. Draped in rags. Eyes gleaming red, fangs already bared.

The first one was already halfway down the corridor. With the doors torn off, nothing stood in their way.

Minh watched them approach, eyes glittering, his fingers still wrapped around Cally’s throat like a lover’s caress. He showed no fear, even though ferals were known to attack anything.

Somehow, he was controlling them, just as Gabe had suggested. His bloodline power—it was the obvious answer. But this many spawns, kept feral? It was a blatant violation of the Code, and he’d clearly been building them well before the Curia’s new mandate.

But none of that mattered now.

Antoine stepped forward, placing himself between the charging spawns and Cally. It hurt to breathe, but he could live without air if he had to. It hurt to move, which might slow him, but it was only pain, and Belle had ensured he was used to pain.

From a dozen feet away, the first thrall leaped, arms spread wide, jaw unhinged, soaring toward him with no thought to defense—only hunger.

Antoine stepped into the attack, meeting it grimly with a driving fist that caught it under the jaw. One spawn was no threat—he was still so much faster, so much stronger—but the fraction of a second he lost on that blow let the others arrive.

The first feral crumpled midair, flung back into the advancing pack, yet they flowed around it—the last even vaulting over it—and then Antoine was beset on all sides.

He struck one with his mind-stun, the sharp, biting pain of overextending his power coursing through him, dragging his senses into disarray.

The feral froze in mid-motion, but another clamped onto his arm, teeth sinking deep before he could tear free.

A third gripped his leg and yanked, and only his sheer strength kept him from being dragged down.