Page 77 of Vampire so Virtuous (Boston Vampires #1)

Gabriel returned his gaze impassively. “We are vampires, my friend. We do what is necessary.”

Roberto gestured, and both Tobias and Nico flashed to Antoine’s side, grabbing his arms. They weren’t fast enough; he saw them coming, but what good would it do to evade them?

Antoine kept his focus on Gabriel. “Stay away from her.”

“On the contrary,” Gabriel said. “I intend to go straight to her.”

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

Gabriel adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. “I think you have more pressing concerns.”

Rage flooded Antoine. All his desperation, all his helplessness, igniting a fury that burned so raw and violent it smashed through the remnants of his control.

He tore his arm free of Nico’s grasp as if it were nothing, and punched Tobias, sending him reeling, half his face crushed.

He lunged forward, hands reaching for Gabriel, whose eyes widened in surprise.

But before he could take another step, a blow struck his leg, and it crumpled beneath him.

Jorge stood beside him, pushing him to his knees with one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his wrist. “Be still, you fool,” Jorge snarled, “or permanent entombment might yet be the only choice.”

Antoine struggled, getting his leg beneath him. The older vampire cursed as Antoine pushed back to his feet.

“Raphael!” Jorge snapped, urgency in his voice. “He’s too strong!”

Consternation gripped the Curia. Leonard leaned forward in his chair, eyes narrowing. Gabriel retreated several steps, his hands raised placatingly.

Roberto sprang up with a strangled, “How can this be?”

Belle covered her smile with one hand.

But Raphael was at Antoine’s side in an instant, seizing his other wrist to help Jorge force him back down.

Antoine resisted, struggling against their hold, but the older vampires’ grips didn’t lessen. With their combined power and strength, there was nothing he could do. He was forced back to his knees.

Roberto gave a strained chuckled. “What an amusing end to the evening’s frivolities.” He waved at Nico. “Fetch chains and bind him.” He watched Antoine warily. “Make sure they’re strong.”

“Noah!” There was still no answer.

Antoine reached for his bond with Cally, feeling the tug eastward. He fought against their hold, but Leonard appeared before him, blocking his escape.

“Enough of this,” the Curia leader said, raising his hand.

I’m so sorry, mon amour. I have failed us.

The blow descended, and Antoine knew only darkness.

*

Waves tossed the large boat, cold, biting wind whipping through the air as salty spray stung Antoine’s face.

He knelt on the deck, steel chains wrapped tightly from neck to waist, his arms pinned to his sides. But it wasn’t the chains that crippled him. It was his despair.

Tobias stood nearby, his face still a mess, his remaining eye glaring hatred at Antoine. Nico lounged against the rail, gripping it as the boat pitched and yawed.

Roberto was inside, sheltered from the elements.

Raphael was somewhere on board, seeing the Curia’s work done.

Even Gabriel had wanted to come, but when Roberto refused, he’d simply waved at Antoine and said he had places to be anyway.

Antoine strained against the chains, his muscles burning with the effort, but without leverage, he’d never break free.

Far behind them, the lights of Boston may still have been visible in the night sky, but Antoine couldn’t turn to look.

Mon amour, je suis désolé. Sorry was so inadequate. He’d doomed her. Please forgive me.

How long would it take for her power to grow to the point it killed her? Would she live if Gabriel fed from her?

Was knowing she lived as a chattel to that traitorous bastard worse than the entombment he faced?

He tried to tell himself that at least she would live, but the thought brought scant comfort.

A loud rattle of chains marked the anchor’s fall, the engines of the boat dropping to an idle. The fierce wind whipped around the deck as it pitched and tossed amid the waves. Roberto appeared with four thralls carrying a steel box between them. It looked like a coffin.

Cally would find that ironic.

“ Noah! Noah!” He’d almost given up trying. They were too far out to sea.

Where was Belle? Why hadn’t she helped, when she’d promised? Why hadn’t he gone with her? At least she understood—they could’ve taken Cally with them.

But Belle would’ve turned her. He knew she would.

The thralls dropped the steel box onto the deck, pulling back the lid. It was empty inside.

“Put him in,” Roberto ordered.

Nico and Tobias stepped forward, lifting him as though he weighed nothing.

Antoine struggled against the chains, but it was futile. Even if he could get a hand free, they’d just chop it off.

“ Non! ” The word slipped out before he could stop it, but they forced him into the box regardless, his struggles amounting to nothing but a reason for Roberto to chuckle

The lid slammed down on him, cutting off his last view of the dense dark clouds. Boston had long since slipped beyond the sea’s curve, leaving only a faint orange glow to mark its presence.

“ Non!” he shouted. “Please don’t do this!”

The rattle of more chains as they wrapped the box, turning it as they needed to, tossing him around.

“Noah!” A frantic call, unanswered once again.

The box was lifted and carried across the ship.

“Please, Roberto. Raphael, please!”

The world lurched. His box fell, twisting and turning, then struck hard. He was thrown against the side.

Water rushed in, seeping through every crack—icy and gray—soaking into his clothes and chilling him to the bone. Or was that his fear and despair?

“Cally!”

The box sank quickly, water filling it so fast he barely had time to draw a last breath.

For what good it would do.

If he could just get a hand free.

He struggled against the chains, scraping his skin raw, the scent of blood mixing with the water. Yet it made no difference. They were too strong, too tight, and too many.

His lungs burned, but he refused to breathe.

All his power, all his strength, and it still wasn’t enough.

The box was still sinking, already far beneath the surface. He had to get out. He had to breathe.

Water rushed into his lungs, choking him.

His body screamed for air, but there was nothing—only the pain building in his chest. There was no air to be had but still his body tried to breathe, and he convulsed under the weight of his need.

His head thrashed, desperate for a release that would never come.

His chest tightened, an agonizing vice, and he forced his legs to push, his head slamming into the box with a dull thud.

The pressure of the water hampered his movements, and it wasn’t enough.

Over and over.

His skull cracked against the box, again and again, a punishing rhythm that did nothing but add to his pain. The box didn’t budge, and his body screamed in frustration.

Even with all his strength, even with the burning hunger in his lungs, there was no escape. No release. The agony was overwhelming, but it wouldn’t kill him. There was no peace to be had.

Forever in this watery grave, madness his only respite.

Antoine reached for their bond, grasping at it like a lifeline. It tugged him west, to where she waited for him. But instead of the solace he sought, it only tore open the wound of his failure.

Je suis désolé . Je t’aime.