Page 167 of Vampire so Virtuous
They took her to an underground parking garage beneath a skyscraper and hustled her into a private elevator. Only then did they relax, and one of them punched the button for the thirty-eighth—and top—floor.
“Where are we going?”
“This is Gabe’s place,” the man with the phone replied.
“And who is Gabe?”
They shared a look. “If you don’t know, Miss, best we let him tell you himself.”
She glowered at them. “Where’s Antoine?”
A small shrug was the only answer she got.
The elevator dinged happily and slid open to reveal an expansive entrance hall—marble floor, gilded mirrors, a mahogany dresser. One of them pushed open a door, showing her into a contemporary living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows would’ve offered a dramatic view over Boston, but sturdy metal blinds covered them completely, blocking out all light. Instead, dim corner lamps cast a subdued glow over the room.
The floor here was hardwood in a herringbone pattern, with thick rugs adding warmth. Three large cream leather sofas surrounded an elegant glass coffee table, and in the corner sat a weight bench with a neatly stacked rack of dumbbells. There were no paintings, no framed pictures.
Cally knew a bachelor pad when she saw one.
A man stood with his back to them, phone in hand, the screen casting a pale glow over his fingers. He turned as the door opened, offering an easy smile.
He looked about thirty, with short dark hair and sharp, handsome features. It was obvious he owned the weight set. He wore a midnight-blue silk dressing gown that shimmered subtly under the light, the loose fabric pulling taut over broad shoulders and defined biceps.Where the robeoverlapped, it revealed the top of his bare chest. Leather slippers covered his feet.
Vampire.
Who else would own a thirty-million-dollar condo, walk around half-dressed in the middle of the day with the blinds drawn, and have an army of armed thralls in SUVs at the ready?
The man strode toward her with the effortless grace of someone entirely in control. His green eyes gleamed, and his skin wasn’t pale—hiding his vampiric nature, like Antoine always did.
“She’s just arrived. I’ll hand you over.” He extended the phone with a wink.
She wasn’t in the mood for his casual charm, but if this was the mysterious Gabe, he wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
She took the phone. “Hello?”
“Are you hurt,ma chérie?”
“Where the hell were you twenty-six years ago, Antoine?”
A long silence met this question. Across the room, Gabe wandered to a bookcase packed with vinyl albums, flicking through them absently. If it was meant to offer her an illusion of privacy, it was a nice gesture—but with his vampiric hearing, it likely made no difference.
“Is this another Baltimore question?” Antoine replied carefully.
“Closer to home,” Cally ground out.
“I have been in Boston for a century,ma chérie.What is it that I have done now?”
“You ever been to Milton?”
“No, that has never been my territory,” he replied, relief clear in his voice. “Is that why you left?”
A weight lifted from her chest. If it had been him… she couldn’t have borne it. As it stood, she wasn’t sure how much she could say with Gabe listening. “I went to follow up on something from our… meeting last night. I’ll tell you later.”
“Noah’s suggesting you owe me a new Lamborghini,ma chérie.” Antoine’s tone was deliberately lighter.
“Is he okay? And Zoey? Is she all right?”
“They are both fine. They’re being picked up as we speak.”
