Page 194 of Vampire so Virtuous
Gaunt. Emaciated. Draped in rags. Eyes gleaming red, fangs already bared.
The first one was already halfway down the corridor. With the doors torn off, nothing stood in their way.
Minh watched them approach, eyes glittering, his fingers still wrapped around Cally’s throat like a lover’s caress. He showed no fear, even though ferals were known to attack anything.
Somehow, he was controlling them, just as Gabe had suggested. His bloodline power—it was the obvious answer. But this many spawns, kept feral? It was a blatant violation of the Code, and he’d clearly been building them well before the Curia’s new mandate.
But none of that mattered now.
Antoine stepped forward, placing himself between the charging spawns and Cally. It hurt to breathe, but he could live without air if he had to. It hurt to move, which might slow him, but it was only pain, and Belle had ensured he was used to pain.
From a dozen feet away, the first thrall leaped, arms spread wide, jaw unhinged, soaring toward him with no thought to defense—only hunger.
Antoine stepped into the attack, meeting it grimly with a driving fist that caught it under the jaw. One spawn was no threat—he was still so much faster, so much stronger—but the fraction of a second he lost on that blowlet the others arrive.
The first feral crumpled midair, flung back into the advancing pack, yet they flowed around it—the last even vaulting over it—and then Antoine was beset on all sides.
He struck one with his mind-stun, the sharp, biting pain of overextending his power coursing through him, dragging his senses into disarray. The feral froze in mid-motion, but another clamped onto his arm, teeth sinking deep before he could tear free. A third gripped his leg and yanked, and only his sheer strength kept him from being dragged down.
A fourth leaped onto the back of one of its own, using the momentum to swing behind him. Its arm locked across his throat, aiming for the rear chokehold that was so instinctive to a feeding vampire. That one was the greater threat. Antoine gritted his teeth and threw another stun. His skull felt as if it were about to crack from the strain, and it wasn’t strong enough to stop the feral before its fangs found the junction of his shoulder and neck. Pain flared—then the feral went limp, its teeth still embedded.
The fifth was airborne, clawed fingers reaching for his face. He ducked, but not fast enough. Its nails raked his cheek, slicing deep before it sailed past, unable to halt its own impetus. A sharp gasp from Cally behind him—but Antoine didn’t dare look. He had to trust Minh had moved rather than taken the hit.
He clubbed away the spawn latched onto his thigh, ripping his arm free of another feral’s mouth. But for every one he shook off, another clung on, too many clawed hands, too many teeth. They fed, drawing his blood—growing stronger with every stolen drop.
He needed to end this. Now.
With a powerful drive of his legs, Antoine launched himself upward, slamming the feral on his back into Minh’s ceiling. Plaster rained down, filling the air with dust. The impact stunned the creature, and Antoine tore it free, snapping its neck before hurling it into the face of another. He landed and whirled, fists and feet striking wherever they could—no form, no finesse, just violent precision. Pain burned through his chest, the bullet near his heart a leaden weight, each breath a struggle. His shoulder screamed as he lashed out, but he kept moving.
A fist crushed a windpipe. A heel drove into an instep. A head wrenched down to meet a rising knee.
One spawn barreled into him, claws raking his ribs. Another sank its teeth into his shoulder, and he threw it off with a savage motion. His vision blurred. Blood loss made his grip falter, his strength draining.
A shape caught his eye—Cally. She wasn’t looking at the carnage. She was watching him. And in her eyes—horror, yes, but something else. Something that cut through the haze.
Her fierce fighting spirit.
Don’t stop.
With fresh resolve, he shoved a spawn off and snapped another’s neck. His limbs felt heavy, his breath ragged, but he wasn’t done yet. He grabbed the next spawn, crushed its throat, and threw it aside.
The last one lunged. He barely held it off, its teeth grazing his neck. But Cally’s steady gaze drove him forward.
Soon, the last one was backing away, hissing, its desperation to feed finally outweighed by its need to survive—or perhaps it had already had its full of his blood. That was reason enough for none of them to be left alive. He took a shuddering breath, then charged forward, ignoring his injuries for one last push. A second later, he locked an arm around its throat, met Minh’s eyes, and ripped its head free. The feral collapsed onto the blood-splattered floor with a wet squelch.
Antoine stood alone, bleeding from a dozen bites, his coat in tatters. He shrugged it off and let it fall, then stamped on the skull of the nearest twitching feral, ensuring it would never rise again.
All the while, he didn’t take his eyes off Minh.
All the while, Cally watched him.
Minh’s fingers shifted nervously around Cally’s throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he surveyed the room. His once-pristine study was now filled with corpses, and his eyes jerked back to Antoine as another sickening crunch echoed—Antoine’s boot caving in a feral’s skull.
Minh swallowed, the wet click of his throat breaking the silence.
“We had an agreement,” he said, his voice high.
Antoine nodded. “Yes, I remember exactly what I said.”
