Page 13 of Vampire so Virtuous

“I suppose they suit you. You are what you eat, after all.”

A coincidental turn of phrase. Antoine recalled thinking the same about the Chick-fil-A man, before he’d found the woman. But she… she had been exquisite.

“I get by,” he said lightly.

“Oh, I’ve seen you ‘get by.’” Minh said, his words thick with contempt. “That girl the other night. Why is she still alive, Antoine? Why did you sit watching her after you’d fed? Tell me you weren’tanxiousfor her.”

Antoine clenched his jaw. He hadn’t detected Minh that night, and for some reason, the fact that particular hunt had been witnessed bothered him more than it should have.

“I do what I want in my own territory. You’d do well to remember where you are.”

“Like I could forget! I mean, look at you.” He waved a hand, encompassing Antoine’s black jeans and T-shirt, and the long black leather coat he was so fond of. “You dress like one of the many tramps who inhabit your territory. What’s the point of being the superior race if you can’t even act like it? You’re an embarrassment, Outcast.” He shook his head. “I can’t understand why the Curia hasn’t banished you.”

There was much Minh didn’t understand. Antoine knew the Curia hadno reason to trouble him; he’d kept a low profile for decades, carefully avoiding vampire politics. The Curia had probably forgotten about him. It was vamps like Minh who sought to rise in the ranks, though they were rarely successful. The Curia were ancient; Minh, with all his bluster, would be little more than an upstart in their eyes.

Antoine had encountered many like him: power-hungry, malevolent, born of some ill-deserved sense of superiority. He’d spent some time observing Minh years ago—it was always wise to know the new neighbors—and Minh was a sadistic, murdering bastard when he fed. He wanted to taste their fear, not just their blood, and reveled in it. Granted, that was how some vampire’s power manifested. But in Minh’s case, he got off on it.

Antoine took no pleasure in such things.

Well, except for the woman the other night. She’d been something special. Yes, he had to admit, she had been satisfying.

“As for your territory,” Minh’s words dripped with condescension as he gestured toward the street below.

An old lady was being mugged by a young man with a knife; an uncommon occurrence, but unfortunately timed to prove Minh’s point. The woman was taking it well, her screams more of frustration and affront than fear.

Antoine could intervene, of course. Once, when he was younger and more idealistic, he might have. He used to choose his prey based on their crimes, seeing himself as a vigilante or an avenging angel. But that was a long time ago, and he had since stopped caring about chattel and their petty struggles. He’d also stopped caring about the debt on his soul. Too much guilt to erase now.

Minh’s lip curled. “Look at that,” he said, as the man tugged hard at the woman’s purse. She held grimly to the strap, despite the obvious disparity in strength, screaming her outrage in a hoarse voice. “There’s, what, a half-dozen chattel in sight, cars driving past, and no one lifts a finger. See, Outcast? None of them deserve to live.”

“You’d probably take any that did come to help.”

Minh laughed, genuinely amused. “Yes, you’re right, that sounds like something I would do. I do so like the taste of the virtuous. The pain in their eyes is especially… intoxicating.” He glanced across. “Don’t you agree?”

“No.”

“Why is that, Antoine? Is it becauseyouare so virtuous?” Minh laughed again. “That’s the difference between us, isn’t it? You still cling, foolishly,to your own misery, wallowing in self-pity, crying about the weight of the privilege you’ve been given. Whereas I—and the rest of our race—have embraced who we are. Vampirism is the ultimate blessing, yet you see it as a curse. You’re not fit for such a gift. It is wasted on you.”

Minh stepped off the edge of the roof, and was gone.

Antoine clenched his jaw. That was a bit close to the bone.

Below him, the mugger was halfway up the street, the purse clutched in his hand, and the cries of the old woman echoed in futility from the surrounding buildings. Still no one had stopped to help.

Minh had been right—the chattel were undeserving, complicit in one way or another. Goodness and innocence were rare.

For old time’s sake, then.

It had only been a week since he’d fed on the woman, and her blood still coursed through him, still nourishing him. It had been the best he could remember.

If not the best he’d ever had.

But if he fed now, on this mugger, there was a karmic appeal. It would delay the craving for a few more nights, and save some innocent whose path he crossed.

He soared from building to building, each jump a graceful step through the air—half leap, half levitation. He wasn’t pushing himself; he was capable of more, especially since feeding on the woman. Her blood had been potent, leaving him stronger than usual. Each leap carried him further with less effort. His shadows were denser, obeying him more easily.

Perhaps he’d been waiting too long between feeds if one woman could have such a noticeable effect.

He leaped from the edge of the roof to the next, shadows streaming around him, stalking the mugger along the street below.