Page 52 of Vampire so Virtuous

“Let’s come back to the, er”—Good Cop made a show of consulting his notebook—“Outcast.”

For some reason, she hadn’t shared Antoine’s name with them. Minh’s was fine—he was the one who had killed the men—but she didn’t want them having Antoine’s. He’d done nothing but save her.

Nothing except ‘mark’ me and ‘claim’ me.Like a puppy with a streetlight.

The words made her stomach twist, a faint pulse deep inside her chest. She shifted in her chair, brushing it off. Probably just low blood sugar. Or stress. Or both.

The cop looked up from his notebook. “You believe these two men knew each other?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The way they talked.”

“What did they say?”

Chattel. Code. Vampires. Thralls.

“I’ve claimed this one, Minh.”

“You mark your food, Antoine?”

“Exchanged insults, mostly.”

“And this new man attacked the other?” Good Cop prompted, frowning and reading his notes, as if trying to understand. He wasn’t a very good actor.

“No,” she said wearily. “Minh attacked him first.”As I’ve told you four times.

“Go on.”

Cally suppressed an eye-roll. “Minh attacked him, and”—shit, I almost said ‘Antoine’—“the outcast defended himself.”

“How?”

“He moved around Minh and put him in a headlock.”Then sank his fangs into his neck and drank his blood.

“And then?”

“Then nothing. They swapped some more insults, and they both left.”

“Ma chérie, I regret I must take my leave of you.”

The memory surfaced before she could block it, bringing with it that same low pull beneath her ribs—stronger now, impossible to ignore. Was she fixating on Antoine?

The door to the interview room opened, and another officer came in, bending to whisper to Good Cop.

“That’s not an answer,” Bad Cop pressed.

“Five-minute break,” Good Cop announced, rising from his chair and following the newcomer out.

The door closed behind them and Cally slumped, exhausted.

Bad Cop tapped his pen repeatedly against the table’s edge, the staccato rhythm grating on her nerves. “I don’t get why you couldn’t stop when you had them beaten,” he said after a long pause. “You could have walked away. You could have at least pleaded self-defense. You’d probably have walked free. You’ve thrown your life away, and for what? Revenge?”

Cally said nothing, her eyes on the table. She would’ve preferred five minutes of silence, but even that wasn’t to be.

“I have a daughter not much younger than you. I’d hate to think—”