Page 125 of Vampire so Virtuous

Can I trust him?She’d trusted him to carry her hundreds of feet above the ground, but this was different.

“I don’t know, Antoine,” she said tentatively, glancing over the edge of the roof toward the shadows of the garden.

“May I offer you a drink while you decide?” he asked gently, then gave her his rare grin. “A drink for you, I mean.”

She gave a small laugh. “All right. A drink then, Mr. Charming Vampire.”

“A step up from ‘bastard’; I’ll take it.” He pressed a few buttons on a keypad and the skylight opened, revealing a staircase. “After you.”

She descended to the top floor of the house and into a small, empty room. There was another keypad, this one with far more buttons and a blinking red light. The room could originally have been an attic, but it had been properly floored, walled, and painted in neutral colors. There was no furniture, just a door leading on into the house.

Antoine followed her down. “You never drank any of the Château Margaux, and it is one of the finer—” He stopped so abruptly that she glanced at him; he was staring at the panel. At the blinking red light. “It appears we are not alone.”

Thirty – Cally

“Wait here.”

“Hell no, I’m coming with you.”

“Ma chérie, waithere.” He pointed a finger at the floor like she was a puppy.

Cally folded her arms. “The safest place is by your side, and we don’t have time to argue. Let’s check on Marcel.”

He glared at her, then, with a mutter of “Têtue,” he opened the door and walked out.

Judging by his tone, that was probably French for ‘hardheaded’—or worse. She followed him anyway.

Another staircase led to the bedrooms, but despite his disapproval, he didn’t disappear in a burst of vampiric speed. They moved through the house to the living room, seeing no sign of an intruder. Antoine threw open the door and strode in, then stopped abruptly.

“Belle.”

Marcel knelt in the middle of the floor, head bowed, looking older and more vulnerable than Cally had ever seen.

A woman sat in Antoine’s chair, his book open on her lap, facing the door. Her beauty was captivating, with high cheekbones, graceful features, and an air of effortless poise. She seemed about Cally’s age, but the paleness of her skin and her red eyes marked her for what she was.

“Of course you would be reading this,mon amour,” Belle said by way of greeting, tapping the page with her fingertips. “Am I your Mercédès, or your Villefort?” She noticed Cally and paused, running the tip of her tongue over her lips in a way that promised pleasure laced with pain. “Hmm,” she said, “perhapsthisis your Mercédès.”

Antoine strode to Marcel and helped him up. Belle didn’t object, merely watching with a studied disinterest. “Is he a thrall?” she asked.

“No.” Antoine’s response was curt.

“Marked?”

“No.”

“And her? A thrall?”

“You already know they aren’t.” He spoke softly to Marcel, who cast him an apologetic glance before stiffly heading for the far door.

“Ah! A diversion, then!” She was suddenly behind Cally, so fast there wasn’t even a blur of movement. Her breath warmed Cally’s cheek, tinged with the faint scent of iron. “So young,” she murmured wistfully. One hand skimmed Cally’s bare back while a fingertip brushed across her cheek. “So fresh.”

Cally forced herself to remain perfectly still, aware that pulling away would only lead to being yanked back. Her heart raced, and she fought to quell it, even as Belle idly traced circles on the side of her neck, just where her fangs would sink.

Antoine had been watching Marcel leave, but now he turned, the most rigid Cally had ever seen him. “Welcome, Belle,” he said flatly. “Uphold our traditions, and keep my domain tranquil.”

It felt ceremonial, but it was delivered without a vestige of emotion, as if he were masking. He hadn’t acted this way with Minh, and Cally didn’t need his staid lack of reaction to know Belle was the far greater threat. Her skin tingled, and the stillness in the room only amplified her sense of danger. She fought to steady her breathing, focusing on the grounding connection of her feet against the floor, refusing to let the tension crack her composure.

“She smells like you,” Belle said. “She smellsdélicieuse.” She leaned in, inhaling deeply through her nose, then hummed in pleasure.