Page 5 of Vampire so Virtuous

Footsteps echoed through the alley as the man stumbled his way out, finally rounding the corner. With relief, Cally quickened her pace.

Home soon enough.

Two – Antoine

The craving gnawed at him, ever present, rarely and reluctantly sated, like a monster curling in his stomach, draining his strength and urging him to act.

How long has it been since I fed? A week? No, six nights.

He crouched on the corner of an apartment block roof, watching the alley below, hoping for suitable prey to wander along.

He didn’t have to wait long. A man shambled into view at the mouth of the alley, his movements sluggish and disjointed, as though every step was a struggle. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed from the effects of some powerful high. A bucket of Chick-fil-A rested in the crook of his arm, the greasy cardboard crumpling with each unsteady sway. He lurched forward, slow and off-kilter, as if his body could hardly keep pace with his disoriented mind.

The sharp scent of fried chicken mixed with the faint, sickly-sweet reek of whatever drug clung to him, and Antoine’s nose wrinkled. The man’s blood would be thick, cloying, laced with chemical residue. It wouldn’t affect Antoine, of course, but he wasn’tthathungry.

The man took another slow, deliberate bite, chewing lazily, as if the food was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Antoine couldn’t suppress the disgust that curled in his stomach. Modern-day America, where the diet is junk-food and—well, you are what you eat.

Not like my Paris.

Yet Boston had its charms too, and one had just rounded the corner.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties: tall and slender, wearing a pale blue blouse and jeans tight-fitting enough to hint at a lithe physique, hugging herself against the mild September night. She would taste like a young Bordeaux. Bold, fruit-forward, and fresh, with a touch of spice. He could already picture his fangs sinking into her neck.

Antoine checked quickly; the stoned man was still too close and shuffling even slower than before. The young woman’s long strides were rapidly closing the gap.Merde, they were too near one another. She was almost tempting enough to justify murdering the drugged man just so he could feed on her. But then she would see, and he’d have no choice but to kill her too.

It was a passing fancy; that wasn’t his style. He’d have to let her slip on by, the nicest morsel he’d seen in too long.

She walked gracefully, like a dancer. Just watching her, he knew she’d be delicious. Such a shame.

He saw when she noticed the man, the falter in her step, her speed fading, the glance over her shoulder. Of course: the reluctance of a woman traveling alone to draw close to a man, particularly when it could be avoided. Especially in a secluded alley such as this.

His interest returned. Would she turn back for the safety of the main road, or slow enough for the man to shamble out of sight?

Irritatingly, the stoned man was breathing heavily and moving at a glacial pace, staggering with each step.Be just my luck for him to drop unconscious right in front of her.He judged their relative speeds, eyed the distance still to travel, and grunted with satisfaction. There would be a small window of opportunity, which was all he needed.

The seconds crawled by, both she and he waiting for the unsteady man to trundle out of their way. He veered from side to side, ricocheting off the dirty alley wall. Perhaps his ungainly passage was what had caused her hesitation, or maybe it was the lingering smell of greasy chicken. Either way, she was now a good distance back from him, unknowingly making Antoine’s task much easier.

Finally, the stumbling figure turned the corner. She quickened her pace, as if to make up for lost time. It was regrettable she was about to be delayed again.

Antoine dropped from the rooftop, letting the fall turn into a swoop, his shadows trailing out behind him like a cloak. Three stories—fifty feet—plenty of height to swiftly close the gap.

One second, two, and he touched down silently behind her, his shadows collecting around him once more.

She reacted swiftly. It caught him by surprise, and delight. Somehow, she’d sensed him, turning within the circle of her own space. Fast for a chattel, but he was effortlessly faster. He needed only step-cross-step to stay behind her, like fencers sparring in a circle.

Her foot lashed out, swooshing through the air, passing harmlessly through where, a fleeting second before, his head had been.

Impressive.

He waited for her to finish the move, but she was slower in recovery than she had been in reacting—bewildered, having thought she’d sensed something, yet found nothing there. Her leg lowered and her body straightened. Antoine noted the way her supple form maintained perfect balance and control, and his mouth watered.

One hand curved around the side of her neck in a caress so familiar, gathering her against his chest. With the other, he tugged away the collar of her blouse, exposing the delicate contours of her throat. Her scent was impossible to ignore: her blood particularly rich and heady, her faint natural musk, an intriguing trace of balsamic with a wisp of basil, all undercut by a clean freshness with a subtle citrus edge. He swept her blonde hair aside, revealing the gentle swell of her carotid artery, blue-tinged against her pale skin. She stiffened, reacting in shock and trying to pull away, but Antoine held her easily, and then his lips were against her.

“Get off me!”

A trickle of his power, and her mind clouded, until she was hardly aware of what was happening to her.

Always for the best.