Page 133 of Vampire so Virtuous
Then there was Roberto, freshly elevated to the Curia. Untouchable, powerful, and deeply invested in Minh’s success.
“How do you expect to have the allies you need if I am not given the gift I want?”
And Cally had heard her, throwing herself into her path.
For him.
Antoine shook his head and checked the time again: shortly after four. Dawn was still three hours away.
“I will come for her at dawn.”
“Ah, such ardor. Very well, one night.”
“And no blood.”
And then Cally had gone and made her own deal—in her own name, no less—which, of course, Belle had accepted at once.
Was she feeding on her, even now?
*
Paris, France, 1750
“Oh Antoine, my pet?”
At the sound of her call, his stomach clenched into a tight knot.
But it was inevitable she would summon him as soon as she returned, yet he’d been so engaged in his book that despite his superior vampire hearing, he hadn’t heard her enter. Now he wasn’t there to greet her. He would likely pay for that.
He carefully slid his book down the side of his chair, rose swiftly, andstraightened his clothing as he walked through the house.
Her residence in Paris was smaller than her château, but still a grand mansion. Situated on the Île Saint-Louis—a quiet, exclusive island on the Seine—it offered discreet luxury and something more valuable still: privacy. While many aristocrats followed Louis XV to Versailles, Parisian vampires naturally kept to themselves, posing as wealthy intellectuals, financiers, or reclusive writers.
She waited for him in the grand entrance hall beneath the crystal chandelier, gazing up at him as he emerged at the top of the wide, sweeping staircase.
It wasn’t the first time he’d entertained thoughts of dropping that chandelier on her head. But it was a fanciful daydream; nothing more. And tonight, she wasn’t alone beneath it.
Antoine promptly applied his glamour, the way Belle had taught him.
“There you are!” she greeted him blithely.
Antoine had become adept at reading her mood, yet this one was unnervingly benign, as if she were genuinely pleased to see him.
“I have brought you gifts,” she said, nudging the two children before her.
One boy, one girl—reminding him of the street urchins in Nantes that had so inadvertently led to this new life. The boy was about eleven, the girl maybe a year younger, but it was difficult to be sure when both were dressed in little more than rags, their wide-eyed awe and hunger betraying their hope that such a magnificent house could only mean food.
And it did. But not the kind they wanted.
“My lady,” Antoine said stiffly, trying to mask his distaste, “may I please remind you that I have no desire to feed upon children?”
They spoke in English so Belle could practice, and the children stared in confusion.
“Oh, these are not for snacking upon,mon amour. They are for company. You are always so miserable and lonely.”
“No.” Antoine shook his head. “You think I don’t know your intentions? You will wait until I have formed a bond with them, then you will kill them.”
He knew he would be punished for speaking so—perhaps the children would be killed before his eyes—but he refused to play her games. Not with innocents so young.
