Page 60 of Vampire so Virtuous
“Heya.”
“There you are! I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“Yeah, sorry, I’ve been in—”jail.“—communicado.”
“Can’t you just say ‘busy’?”
“Sorry.” She rubbed her temple. “So, look, I’m pretty beat. Why are you calling?”
“Originally? To invite you out for lunch. But then you didn’t answer, and you never don’t answer.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” She heard the weariness in her own voice.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”Thanks to Anthony Du Pont… maybe.
“Okay, Miss One-Word-Replies. So, Zara wants us all to bring the black power stones tomorrow night.”
Oh, no. Not the coven again.She had to find a way to let Eve down gently.
Just not right now.
She hesitated too long, and Eve’s tone cooled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”
“No, of course not. I’m just—”
“Cally Davis, if you try and wiggle your tight little ass out of this, I’m coming over to spank it.”
The imagery was vivid. Too vivid. And she was way too exhausted for Eve in this mood—relentless, teasing, and impossible to deflect. “I’m not trying to—”
“After what happened last time, I thought you’d be keen to learn more.”
Cally bit back a groan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” It was easier to give in. At least she didn’t have to think about it until tomorrow. And Eve was right—shewascurious, especially after their last spell.
“Later then, babe. And don’t worry, you can redeem the spanking offeranytime.”
Eve giggled before the line went dead.
Cally shook her head. They’d never fooled around, but she knew Eve would be up for it—subtlety wasn’t her strong suit. Still, Eve was like the sister she’d never had, which made it weird.
All she really wanted was her bed, but she pulled off her clothes and headed for a shower, her mind occupied with the only question that mattered:
Who the hell was Anthony Du Pont?
*
Cally woke up feeling energized—which was a surprise.
She’d expected the stresses of the previous day to keep her awake, but she’d been so exhausted that as soon as her head hit the pillow, sleep had come quickly. And for once, mercifully, there’d been no nightmares.
Sunlight streamed through her window, filling the small bedroom of her apartment. She’d lost track of what day it was, but a quick check of her phone granted some relief. Saturday.
She had most of the day to herself, to focus on the single burning question that wouldn’t leave her alone.
Who are you, Anthony Du Pont?
She rose, slipped on her robe, and padded into the bathroom. Twice she’d met him now—of that, she was sure. At first, she’d thought it was the other one who’d bitten her, especially at the horrible realization that there were, indeed, demons. She had watched him casually snap the necks of the men who attacked her. Red glowing eyes, and not the reflection of car lights after all.
