Page 79 of Vampire so Virtuous

“Naturally, my home is yours,” Belle replied, her thick French accent hiding any tension that might have seeped through.

“The spawn should leave,” the man said imperiously, stepping forward.

It was the first time Antoine had heard that word, but the implication was clear: she was his sire; he was her spawn. It wasn’t an attractive term, but as all vampires were made and not born, everyone in the room was also spawn. More concerning still, they each had a sire—and presumably, their sires were even more powerful. Antoine had no desire to ever meet any of them.

“I wish him to stay, Lord William,” Belle replied, lifting her chin.

“What we have to discuss is not for his ears, Belle d’Aubigny.”

She bowed her head in acquiescence. “As you wish, my lord.” Then she waved a hand at Antoine. “Leave us.”

*

Antoine had use of a simple room in Belle’s château. Its only furnishings were a bed, a chest for clothes, and a table with a chair beside the fireplace. The room wasn’t large, with no windows to worry about, no light to disturb his sleep. It was barely more than a cell, but it served his needs.

Dawn was nearing. Antoine sat in the chair, dressed only in his breeches, reading a book. The fire provided some light, but he didn’t need it.

The door opened without so much as a knock, and he looked, irritation flickering across his face. What thrall would dare? Belle never visited him here; she merely summoned him when she wanted him. But the sharp reprimand he had ready died on his lips as Lady Beatrice entered.

“My, what a plain little room,” she said, with obvious distaste.

Antoine rose promptly, setting his book on the table. “My lady, I was not made aware that you would be visiting.”

“If you had known, it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” she replied, letting the door close behind her. Her eyes roamed over his bare torso.

He stepped toward the bed, casually reaching for the shirt he had discarded there. “Is there something I can assist you with, my lady?”

“Your English is impressive. Do you have a name?”

“Antoine, my lady.” He lifted the shirt and began to slip one arm into a sleeve.

“Oh, don’t feel a need to dress on my account,” she said, waving a hand airily. “Such a fine figure you have.”

He hesitated. Was that a command? Would it offend to continue?

“Thank you, my lady.” Safer to let the shirt fall from his arm. He tossed it over the back of the chair, then asked again, careful not to sound dismissive, “How can I help you?”

She approached him, one hand lifting to trail a nail across his chest,leaving a thin red line in its wake. “I’m sure there are various things you could do for me.”

Antoine suppressed the urge to pull away. He was used to being summoned for Belle’s amusement, and it seemed such was his lot in life. Despite her deceptively delicate appearance, this woman was far more powerful than Belle. He knew firsthand how much more powerful Belle was than he, and the Lady Beatrice would be faster, stronger, and possess powers he couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He was at her mercy—if she had any.

“As my lady desires,” he answered softly.

“Tell me,” she said, flicking one fingernail across his nipple, “what manner of services do you perform for your mistress?”

“Whatever she wishes of me, my lady,” he replied diplomatically, allowing for, but not hinting at, any innuendo. There was already enough promise of sex.

Her hand drifted lower, fingertips grazing his abdomen, teasing with a hint of her nails. “Does she fuck you?”

Antoine felt himself begin to respond to her. This close, she was as beautiful as Belle in her own way, and for the past two years, he had been trained to perform as his mistress desired. Her question was nothing if not direct, yet he felt torn by some sense of loyalty.

“She takes from me what she wishes, my lady.”That was true enough.

“I’m sure she does.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, laden with the promise of pleasure—hers, not his. Her hand descended further, trailing a finger across the growing bulge in his breeches. Antoine suppressed a shiver, fighting his body’s response. She still hadn’t made clear her intent, and it was not his place to presume. “Does she feed from you?”

Again, he hesitated. The questions were strangely intimate, and he wasn’t sure if he had permission to answer so directly.

“As I have said, my lady, she takes from me what she wishes.”