Page 45 of Vampire so Virtuous

Wait. Did that mean it hadn’t been the demon who had drugged her in the alleyway? Had it been the other? The outcast?

Motherfucking son of a bitch.

Even if he had, apparently, saved her. Then kissed her hand.

With the compulsion she’d felt, he wouldn’t have needed drugs. He could have done whatever he wanted, and she would have been powerless to stop him, like she’d been powerless to stop the demon.

All her spirit, all her defiance, all her skills… useless against either of them.

Cally felt her world tilt. Just like that, she had not one but two demons in her life: one bent on harming her, while the other thought nothing of mind-raping her and drinking her blood. She was trapped between them.

And surrounded by the corpses they’d left behind.

She doubled over, emptying her stomach onto the ground.

Then she wiped her mouth and fumbled for her phone.

She wanted to run, to leave the bodies where they lay, but she knew what would happen. They’d be found quickly, and it would be clear they’d been killed by a martial artist. That would lead the police straight to the dojang.

No, there was no escape. They’d find her, and if they didn’t, they’d arrest Joon. She’d left him there alone, no alibi.

She couldn’t let it happen.

Cally pressed three digits, and her fingers didn’t tremble despite theanxiety gnawing at her recently emptied gut.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“I’ve been attacked by three men. I need an ambulance… and the police.”

She wanted to go back to the dojang—and Joon. But that would involve him. So instead, she sat on the hood of the car while she answered questions: her name and contact number, her location, details of the incident.

“Three men attacked me, and I defended myself. Yes. Well, I practice taekwondo. Yes. No, they are, uh, dead.”They are all dead. I am going to prison for a long time.She wanted to add, ‘I didn’t kill them,’ but it was futile.

“Stay on the line.”

The dispatcher sounded a lot less friendly. Apparently, when you use deadly force to defend yourself, you’re no longer the victim. Her empty stomach clenched again, and she swallowed hard. If she’d had anything left, she’d be throwing it up.

Could she even claim self-defense when it looked like she’d snapped their necks after they were unconscious?

Why would anyone believe her?

Thirteen – Antoine

Antoine touched down on the roof of his Fisher Hill house—an address of wealth and status he barely used. The distance from Allston, along with the weight of its opulence, made it more a burden than a refuge. His real sanctuary lay in the simplicity of his fortified basement in a nondescript house in Allston. Obscurity in plain sight.

Inside, the house exuded a comforting, if somewhat dated, décor—rich woods, burgundy curtains, thick dark green carpets and polished wooden floors. The study-cum-library, in particular, was well-suited for refined entertaining, should Antoine want to host distinguished gentlemen in clouds of blue cigar smoke. Which he never, ever did.

There was a concealed skylight entry on the roof, and Antoine punched in the six-digit code. It opened to reveal a small flight of stairs and a panel with a different code to control the lights, disable the alarms, and generally welcome the master of the house. None of that was necessary, for Marcel would be around somewhere, ensuring everything was in order. Instead, Antoine pressed a bell on the panel, making his presence known. He descended the stairs, reaching the living room through one door as Marcel entered through the other.

“Good evening, sir. I had not been expecting you. Has there been a change of plans?”

It had been a few weeks since Antoine had last been here, but he couldn’t help but notice how frail Marcel sounded.

He smiled at him fondly. “There has, old friend. I’m afraid the news is not good.”

“Suitably mysterious, sir. Should I open the Château Margaux?”

“In a bit. For now, come and sit with me.”