Page 12 of Vampire so Virtuous
Cally grimaced. “Will you hate me if I say I’m not interested?”
He tried to hide his disappointment. “It’s up to you. I think it’s good to—”
“Have a goal?” Cally finished for him. “I think you may have mentioned that. Once or twice. A month. For the past six years.”
Joon gave a dry chuckle. “All right, all right.”
Cally peeled off her hand protectors. “Well, I do have a goal.”
“Oh?”
She hesitated. “I know it usually takes three or four years to go from third dan to fourth, but—”
“That’s more of an average,” Joon said quickly, his interest sharpening. “You want to go for it?”
“It’s only been eighteen months, but the Open is months away anyway. Let’s say we aim for fourth dan by the time it comes around.” She tilted herhead at him. “Do you think that’s doable?”
Joon scratched the back of his neck, his brow furrowed as he considered it. “If you keep going at this rate, I’d say it’s doable.” He paused thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think that’s a decent goal. You’re very driven, aren’t you?”
“Now I’m ‘driven’?” She gave him a flat look. “I thought you were complaining I wasn’t goal-oriented enough.”
He looked sheepish. “I might’ve.”
Cally looked fondly around the dojang. “I love it, I guess. Oh, it might’ve started because my dad wanted me to learn, but I’m good at it and I enjoy it.”
And it helps me find peace. I need some of that right now.
Four – Antoine
“Doing your gargoyle impression?”
Antoine had heard him arrive but ignored him, and now turned his head deliberately, taking in Minh’s stance across the roof. The younger vampire kept his distance, cautious as ever. Shoulder-length black hair, sharp, angular features, and eyes still vivid red from a recent feed, all framed by a tailored suit that belonged in a boardroom, not on a rooftop. Impractical, but Minh always relied on appearances to mask his shortcomings. He tried to appear relaxed, leaning against the wall with forced nonchalance, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed him.
“Minh.” Antoine’s tone was flat. “No announcement? No request to enter my territory?” The sharpness was deliberate, a reminder of the customs Minh so easily ignored.
Minh smirked, ignoring the questions. “You realize how ridiculous you look, crouched on the edge of buildings?”
Antoine’s eyes skimmed Minh’s perfectly pressed suit before returning to the streets below. “I value practicality.”
“Of course you do,” Minh drawled, stepping off the wall. “Rumor has it you’ve taken up residence in a basement. Bare walls, concrete floors, the whole ‘creature of the night’ aesthetic.” His footsteps barely made a sound as he moved closer, polished leather shoes whispering over the concrete. “And if someone sees you? Perched up here like an oversized pigeon?”
“Then they’ll wonder what kind of fool climbs a roof in loafers.” Besides, he was hidden by the lip of the building, his shadows embracing him. And chattel rarely looked up.
Minh came to stand beside him, staring down at the street. Antoine didn’t move, the faintest tightening of his posture the only sign he’d noticed. “Such an inelegant way to hunt. So much unnecessary effort. Much easier at the club. They walk in, begging for it.” He looked sideways at Antoine. “Not that I let just anyone in.”
“I suppose you prefer the subtlety of a velvet rope and a glass of wine.”
Minh’s red eyes darkened with irritation. “How trite you believesophistication is beneath you.”
Antoine’s lips pressed thin, but he stayed silent. For all his bluster, Minh was no threat—barely a century old. It was partly why Antoine tolerated his presence, like an irritating child pulling at his sleeve for attention.
Minh would be throwing grand parties and charming women out of lace dresses if he had the chance, and perhaps that was the purpose of his nightclub: some modernist take on the supposed romanticism of the vampiric world Minh embraced far more than Antoine ever would. But there was nothing romantic about drinking the blood of chattel, no matter how one tried to dress it up. At the end of the night, it was only food.
“Look at them,” Minh said, gesturing down to the humans walking the street three stories below. “Dirty, unwashed, common chattel. You don’t have any standards at all, do you?”
Given how Americans overused soap and other products, calling them ‘unwashed’ was rich. Did Minh really think some of his beloved club-goers didn’t come from Antoine’s territory?
“Chattel are chattel.” Antoine replied. “They can all dress up for the occasion.” He didn’t look away from the street below, aware Minh was watching him.
