Page 191 of Vampire so Virtuous

Inside, a concrete hallway led to another set of doors, beyond which plush carpets and mahogany paneling gave way to a third set of doors, white with gold-rimmed orbs for handles. Within was an expansive study, an enormous mahogany desk and two leather sofas, while against one wall sat an aquarium as big as Cally’s own living room.

No bookcases. Antoine wouldn’t like it.

She was shoved onto one of the sofas, the aquarium behind her—which was a shame; the fish were easier on the eye than Minh. Her fear mounted, but Joon’s pointless death stoked her anger, holding it at bay. Fatalism crept in. There was nothing she could do, not against such overwhelming force. She could only sit there, helpless and enraged, loathing every goddamn second.

Could hatred fuel her witch magic? Could fury?

If so, they’d all be greasy smears on the walls in the next few seconds.

Minh slumped into the desk chair, radiating impatience. “Where is my sire?”

“With the Curia, my lord.”

My lord, my lord, my lord.It made Minh sound like a pale imitation of Voldemort.Fear of the name, Harry, she thought, channeling her inner Dumbledore.I wonder if ‘Minh’ is his real name, or whether it was once also Tommy?

Whatever crossed her face had caught Minh’s eye. “What’s so amusing, chattel?”

“Your Daddy isn’t here, is he?” she replied, not caring any longer.

Minh’s eyes narrowed. “For that remark, when I feed on you, I’ll make sure you feel the full extent of the pain and fear my bite will bring.”

A different bite to both Antoine’s and Gabe’s. A different bloodline. It was something of a relief to know he wouldn’t arouse her, at least, though the thought of throwing up on his tailored suit and polished shoes held its own appeal.

“You might kill me, but whether you do or not, Antoine and Gabe are going to rip you apart.” A little mental undermining certainly couldn’t hurt.

“Not when they’ve already been torn apart,” he said smugly. “How do you think your two boyfriends will fare against an army of my spawn?”

So now I have twoboyfriends, huh?

But her brow furrowed as his words sunk in. “You had your spawn chained behind those doors, didn’t you?”

Every pair of eyes in the room swung to her.

“How could you possibly know?” Minh’s voice turned cold.

Cally waved a hand like she didn’t care, the movement buying her time as her brain raced. “Antoine doesn’t tell me anything important, of course, but the details of this little club? He and Gabe have it all mapped out.”

He narrowed his eyes, staring at her. “I don’t believe you, chattel.” His tone, however, lacked conviction.

Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you.And Minh? No doubt he would be paranoid.

“Of course not,” Cally said airily. “How could you ever expect Antoine to have controlled some of your own thralls?” She gave a dry laugh. “That’s the problem with never knowing another vampire’s bloodline. And after he fed from you…”

Minh froze, his only movement the slight twitch of his hand on the desk.

She laughed again. “Did you think it wasn’t staged? My presence there, the distraction Antoine needed? Did you really think yourmental paralysiscould hold one of Antoine’s marked chattel?”

She was dead anyway, and if Minh was angry enough to make mistakes, or distrustful of his thralls… it’d be worth it.

Impulsive and reckless, ma chérie.

Antoine’s words came to her so clearly it felt like she could hear him, the lilt of French in his voice that she adored.

On a whim, she focused on their bond, and thought hard.I’m in his basement, under the club.She had no way of knowing if Antoine could hear her.

“What are you saying?” Minh snapped, his pale cheeks darkening andhis lips pressing into a thin line.

Cally plowed on, dredging up every last scrap of information she had and flinging it in his face. “Isn’t it obvious? Roberto’s bloodline power means more thralls. But quantity doesn’t always mean quality, does itMinh?” She spat his name with as much disdain as she could muster, andGod,it felt good. “Too many for you to control, hmm? So many that it’s easy for one, two”—another dismissive wave of her hand—“or a dozen to slip through the cracks? What do you think we were doing in your club the other night?” Another little laugh, artfully delivered. “It certainly wasn’t to appreciate your choice in music.”