Page 35 of Vampire so Virtuous
The noise of something heavy scraped above his head as she dragged it into position, and Antoine’s mind snapped to the many crates in the room. For the first time, he felt real fear. His strength was far greater than it had ever been, but was it enough to push upward against a weight such as this?
He tried many times that first night, but his strength failed him.
He tried to dig, but there was nowhere to put the earth. His fingernails soon tore, bloody and useless.
It was pitch dark, yet his eyes still registered every ridge of earth in his grave and every line of the flagstone above him. His legs cramped, forced to hunch beneath him, and he was whimpering with the pain within hours.
His only respite came when the sun finally rose, for even though he couldn’t see it, sleep overcame him.
In this way, he was able to distinguish night and day, but he soon lost track. Had it been three, or was it four? Then six, or maybe seven?
Was this it? Was this his death? Was she going to leave him here?Couldhe even die?
He would welcome it, when it finally came.
The craving was the worst. Initially, he was merely thirsty. But it grew until he couldn’t help himself, and he cried out, begging to be released.
She didn’t come.
The craving overtook him, driving him to madness until he feared he might try to drink the earth itself. His hands were torn and bloody from scratching furrows in the stone, yet each night, when he awoke, they had healed—mostly, at least.
Then, one night, he heard a noise. Before long, the weight was dragged from the flagstones. It barely registered in his consciousness, for he could smell blood.
He didn’t wait for her to pry them away. He couldn’t. There was nothing but thirst; no control, no resistance. Not anymore.
He surged upward, his desperation fueling him, shoving away the flagstone to crash to the floor. If he’d been able to think, he might’ve wondered if his legs still had the strength. But his vampiric body cared not for such weakness—not with blood so near.
She stood in the doorway, watching with curiosity, but he barely spared her a glance. All his focus, all his intent, was on the poor wretch she’d brought him.
When he finished feeding, he could no longer tell if it had been a man ora woman. His stomach roiled painfully.
“La prochaine fois, ne bois pas le sang une fois qu’ils sont morts,” she told him.
Next time? There would be a next time?
His mind had cleared, the craving abated. He stared at his bloody hands, at the remains of the human he’d killed. Then he dropped to his knees, his stomach clenching in waves of pain.
Don’t drink the blood once they’re dead,she’d said.
“Tu vas m’obéir maintenant?”
Obey? She left him no choice, not when the craving turned him into such a monster.
He had no fight left. “Oui, madame.”
*
Boston, Massachusetts, Present day.
Another time, Antoine might’ve left the territory and let Minh get on with it. There was nothing to be gained from a war he didn’t want to fight, and there were plenty of other places he could go if he chose. He had no ties to Boston beyond familiarity. Houses could be sold, cities explored.
But that was before he’d found the woman. And now, she was a target.
He had to take Minh’s threats seriously, which meant the clock was ticking. How long did he have before Minh made good on them? Could he buy time to find the woman if he removed Minh’s thralls first? Minh didn’t seem the sort to get his hands dirty. Not when he had others to do it for him.
He didn’t like to kill, but for thralls, he’d make exceptions. They were hardly human anymore. Thralls drank vampire blood, becoming obedient slaves. Stronger and faster than common chattel, but still pitifully weak compared to even the youngest spawn. He wouldn’t even feel bad about it—Minh had already taken their lives.
Antoine returned to the alley from which it had all started, but now the game had changed. Minh had admitted his thralls had been watching, so Antoine wreathed himself in shadows and took a different perch, a short distance from his usual.
