“Take her then.” Minh shoved Cally forward so hard she stumbled, and Antoine caught her with one arm. “Take her and go.”
He looked into her beautiful gray eyes, and it was so tempting to do just that. Take her and leave. All this time, he’d fought against becoming a monster, yet she’d watched him rip apart four thralls and six spawn with his bare hands—hands now slick with blood, some of it his, some of it theirs. Blood that stained her hoodie where he held her.
He could take her. Leave Boston. Go to France, or—hell, anywhere.
But it would never be that simple.
Moreover, he’d given his word to Minh, but would she understand?
Cally held his gaze, unflinching, as if waiting to see what he would do. Like she already knew. Or maybe he only imagined that.
If he let Minh live, the bastard would regroup. Keep coming.
Yet staring at her, he still hesitated.
“He killed Joon,” she said quietly. “He killed my friend.”
Antoine moved without warning. He’d been faster and stronger than Minh in the parking lot, and so much had happened since then. Now, he was more powerful still, thanks to Minh’s blood, the blood of his spawns, and Cally’s, his bound witch. Despite his injuries, it was no contest.
He grasped Minh’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and spun him around, locking him with an arm around his throat.
Then, he extended his fangs and bit.
Minh stiffened in shock, trying to fight him, his hand gripping Antoine’s wrist, trying to pry him off. But he had no chance. His blood flooded Antoine’s mouth. Antoine grimaced, but forced himself to swallow. Powerful blood, as Gabe had so casually reminded him. How much power remained to be seen.
“We had a deal,” Minh choked out desperately, as he realized he couldn’t escape. “The girl… unharmed.”
Yes, they’d had a deal. Antoine had given his word, and he remembered exactly what he’d said. Minh had chosen to explore other options.
He reached into his shoulder, pushing the wound wider to retrieve the bullet and pull it out of his flesh. The one above his heart made him screw his eyes shut with agony, and, irony of ironies, the disgusting taste of Minh’s blood helped him through it. The pain was worth it; he’d be healed soon enough.
He let the bullets fall to the floor and drew harder. Minh’s blood churned in his stomach like he might vomit, but his wounds were healing fast, suggesting there was power to be taken, no matter how foul it was.
From this point on, it would be only Cally’s blood he drank, and the thought excited him.
Minh's fingers scrabbled at Antoine’s arm, his strength failing. “If you kill me, my sire will—”
Antoine snapped his neck. Never before had the sound been so satisfying as it was then, in the quiet of Minh’s study.
Minh’s body fell limp, and Antoine held him, lingering just long enough to savor the moment. Then, with grim determination, he tightened his grip and pulled.
It took more effort than he’d expected—Minh was a century-oldvampire, not a fresh spawn. Gradually, his neck stretched, spine grinding and snapping. Then, with a sudden jerk, the flesh tore, and Minh’s head came off.
There was enough blood left to make a mess. Antoine shoved the body away, and it slid across the floor. He dropped Minh’s head. It bounced once, rolling to rest against a twitching spawn.
The last spawn still alive, its broken neck jerking and grinding as it healed. A single stamp ended it—and, with any luck, the end of Minh’s line.
“Is it over?” Cally asked. “Are we done?”
Antoine turned to her cautiously, not sure what he would see. But there was no horror in her eyes, only grim satisfaction. She didn’t bother to glance at the remains of Minh.
“Yes, we’re done.”
She took a step toward him, one hand raised, but stopped short of touching him. “Are you still hurt? Your injuries… they healed so fast.”
“Minh’s blood healed me, but…”
“But what?” Her gray eyes were full of concern. For him.