Page 71 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

A fourth leaped onto the back of one of its own, using the momentum to swing behind him.

Its arm locked across his throat, aiming for the rear chokehold that was so instinctive to a feeding vampire.

That one was the greater threat. Antoine gritted his teeth and threw another stun.

His skull felt as if it were about to crack from the strain, and it wasn’t strong enough to stop the feral before its fangs found the junction of his shoulder and neck.

Pain flared—then the feral went limp, its teeth still embedded.

The fifth was airborne, clawed fingers reaching for his face.

He ducked, but not fast enough. Its nails raked his cheek, slicing deep before it sailed past, unable to halt its own impetus.

A sharp gasp from Cally behind him—but Antoine didn’t dare look.

He had to trust Minh had moved rather than taken the hit.

He clubbed away the spawn latched onto his thigh, ripping his arm free of another feral’s mouth. But for every one he shook off, another clung on, too many clawed hands, too many teeth. They fed, drawing his blood—growing stronger with every stolen drop.

He needed to end this. Now.

With a powerful drive of his legs, Antoine launched himself upward, slamming the feral on his back into Minh’s ceiling.

Plaster rained down, filling the air with dust. The impact stunned the creature, and Antoine tore it free, snapping its neck before hurling it into the face of another.

He landed and whirled, fists and feet striking wherever they could—no form, no finesse, just violent precision.

Pain burned through his chest, the bullet near his heart a leaden weight, each breath a struggle.

His shoulder screamed as he lashed out, but he kept moving.

A fist crushed a windpipe. A heel drove into an instep. A head wrenched down to meet a rising knee.

One spawn barreled into him, claws raking his ribs. Another sank its teeth into his shoulder, and he threw it off with a savage motion. His vision blurred. Blood loss made his grip falter, his strength draining .

A shape caught his eye—Cally. She wasn’t looking at the carnage. She was watching him. And in her eyes—horror, yes, but something else. Something that cut through the haze.

Her fierce fighting spirit.

Don’t stop.

With fresh resolve, he shoved a spawn off and snapped another’s neck. His limbs felt heavy, his breath ragged, but he wasn’t done yet. He grabbed the next spawn, crushed its throat, and threw it aside.

The last one lunged. He barely held it off, its teeth grazing his neck. But Cally’s steady gaze drove him forward.

Soon, the last one was backing away, hissing, its desperation to feed finally outweighed by its need to survive—or perhaps it had already had its full of his blood.

That was reason enough for none of them to be left alive.

He took a shuddering breath, then charged forward, ignoring his injuries for one last push.

A second later, he locked an arm around its throat, met Minh’s eyes, and ripped its head free.

The feral collapsed onto the blood-splattered floor with a wet squelch.

Antoine stood alone, bleeding from a dozen bites, his coat in tatters. He shrugged it off and let it fall, then stamped on the skull of the nearest twitching feral, ensuring it would never rise again.

All the while, he didn’t take his eyes off Minh.

All the while, Cally watched him.

Minh’s fingers shifted nervously around Cally’s throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he surveyed the room. His once-pristine study was now filled with corpses, and his eyes jerked back to Antoine as another sickening crunch echoed—Antoine’s boot caving in a feral’s skull.

Minh swallowed, the wet click of his throat breaking the silence.

“We had an agreement,” he said, his voice high.

Antoine nodded. “Yes, I remember exactly what I said.”

“Take her then.” Minh shoved Cally forward so hard she stumbled, and Antoine caught her with one arm. “Take her and go.”

He looked into her beautiful gray eyes, and it was so tempting to do just that.

Take her and leave. All this time, he’d fought against becoming a monster, yet she’d watched him rip apart four thralls and six spawn with his bare hands—hands now slick with blood, some of it his, some of it theirs.

Blood that stained her hoodie where he held her.

He could take her. Leave Boston. Go to France, or—hell, anywhere.

But it would never be that simple.

Moreover, he’d given his word to Minh, but would she understand ?

Cally held his gaze, unflinching, as if waiting to see what he would do. Like she already knew. Or maybe he only imagined that.

If he let Minh live, the bastard would regroup. Keep coming.

Yet staring at her, he still hesitated.

“He killed Joon,” she said quietly. “He killed my friend.”

Antoine moved without warning. He’d been faster and stronger than Minh in the parking lot, and so much had happened since then. Now, he was more powerful still, thanks to Minh’s blood, the blood of his spawns, and Cally’s, his bound witch. Despite his injuries, it was no contest.

He grasped Minh’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and spun him around, locking him with an arm around his throat.

Then, he extended his fangs and bit.

Minh stiffened in shock, trying to fight him, his hand gripping Antoine’s wrist, trying to pry him off. But he had no chance. His blood flooded Antoine’s mouth. Antoine grimaced, but forced himself to swallow. Powerful blood, as Gabe had so casually reminded him. How much power remained to be seen.

“We had a deal,” Minh choked out desperately, as he realized he couldn’t escape. “The girl… unharmed.”

Yes, they’d had a deal. Antoine had given his word, and he remembered exactly what he’d said. Minh had chosen to explore other options.

He reached into his shoulder, pushing the wound wider to retrieve the bullet and pull it out of his flesh.

The one above his heart made him screw his eyes shut with agony, and, irony of ironies, the disgusting taste of Minh’s blood helped him through it.

The pain was worth it; he’d be healed soon enough.

He let the bullets fall to the floor and drew harder. Minh’s blood churned in his stomach like he might vomit, but his wounds were healing fast, suggesting there was power to be taken, no matter how foul it was.

From this point on, it would be only Cally’s blood he drank, and the thought excited him.

Minh's fingers scrabbled at Antoine’s arm, his strength failing. “If you kill me, my sire will—”

Antoine snapped his neck. Never before had the sound been so satisfying as it was then, in the quiet of Minh’s study.

Minh’s body fell limp, and Antoine held him, lingering just long enough to savor the moment. Then, with grim determination, he tightened his grip and pulled.

It took more effort than he’d expected—Minh was a century-old vampire, not a fresh spawn. Gradually, his neck stretched, spine grinding and snapping. Then, with a sudden jerk, the flesh tore, and Minh’s head came off.

There was enough blood left to make a mess. Antoine shoved the body away, and it slid across the floor. He dropped Minh’s head. It bounced once, rolling to rest against a twitching spawn.

The last spawn still alive, its broken neck jerking and grinding as it healed. A single stamp ended it—and, with any luck, the end of Minh’s line.

“Is it over?” Cally asked. “Are we done?”

Antoine turned to her cautiously, not sure what he would see. But there was no horror in her eyes, only grim satisfaction. She didn’t bother to glance at the remains of Minh.

“Yes, we’re done.”

She took a step toward him, one hand raised, but stopped short of touching him. “Are you still hurt? Your injuries… they healed so fast.”

“Minh’s blood healed me, but…”

“But what?” Her gray eyes were full of concern. For him.

“But it tasted like shit.”

“Do you need to feed?”

He shook his head. “No. And I wouldn’t here anyway, not surrounded by these… putrid abominations.” He stared at the mess in the room.

“What were those things?”

“Vampire spawn,” Antoine said in disgust, “but taken to the limit of what they could be.”

“Minh said he could control them. Like you control thralls.” She stared at them in horror. “He said it like he was proud of that.”

“I think it’s part of his bloodline, but not something I’ve ever heard of. Either it’s a closely guarded secret, or no one has ever tried it before now. It goes against our…” Antoine grimaced. “Code.”

“You mentioned a Code before. In the parking lot. Vampire rules?”

“They used to be,” Antoine said wearily, “but of late, I’m not so sure anymore.”

Cally nodded, then tentatively reached for his hand. “Shall we go? I’ve had enough of this place.”

He took her hand in his, threading his way through the mess on Minh’s carpet to the door. “Soon, ma chérie . We should wait for Gabe.”

“Gabe? Is he here?”

“Somewhere upstairs. He should be—” Antoine cut himself off as he heard a noise down the corridor, and shoved Cally behind him. “That’s either him or more spawns.”

“Better be him,” Cally said.

It was. Gabe came around the corner flanked by his thralls with weapons drawn, but they swiftly pointed them at the ceiling when they saw Antoine.

“There they are!” Gabe announced with a grin. “Antoine, you look like hell.”

“That’s because I did all the work.”

“Not so, my friend. Walking through that club, having to listen to that music?” Gabe gave a mock shudder. “Worse than any Curia meeting.”

“And his thralls?”

“Dead,” Gabe said offhandedly, then nodded the way he’d come. “Including the two by the doors back there, who had gone catatonic. Minh’s dead too, I surmise?”

“He is. His territory is yours.”

“Huh,” Gabe said. “You’re handing it over? Just like that?”

“I told you I had no plans to expand. Besides, his territory is intermingled with yours. It should all be one area.”

Gabe shook his head. “You know, I actually believe you’re giving it to me just so the lines on the map are tidy.” He looked past them into Minh’s study and winced. “Shouldn’t you clean it up before you pass it over?”

Antoine chuckled and reached back for Cally’s hand. He did it without thought, not really knowing why, but when her smaller hand slid into his, it felt like a part of him he hadn’t known was missing had slotted into place. He drew her alongside him and didn’t let go.

“At least the fishtank survived.” He set off down the hallway, Cally walking at his side.

“I’m going to gut the place anyway,” Gabe said. “Turn that nightclub into a restaurant.”

“Jazz and blues, with a cocktail bar,” Cally said, then gave a shrug as they looked at her. “No windows—it wouldn’t suit a restaurant.”

Gabe grinned. “The lady has spoken. A jazz lounge it is.”

Antoine gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go home.”

“Mine, or yours?”

“Ours.”