Page 88 of Vampire so Virtuous
As Eve would say, what’s the worst that could happen?
He’d fed from her; he’d already done his worst.
He wasn’t going to kill her. She’d threatened and attacked him, and somehow got away with it. She’d given him reason enough to kill her, and he’d laughed it off.
A cold shiver made her skin prickle. How close had she got to dying in that house? Was his mark the only reason she was still alive?
She climbed out of her car and marched back to his house. The gate had shut behind her, and she pressed the buzzer on the intercom once again.
“Did madam forget something?”
Marcel. His perfectly proper tone grated, but she forced herself to sound polite. “Yes, Marcel. I forgot to ask Antoine a question.”
“Very well, madam.”
The gate clicked open.
Marcel greeted her at the door. “Welcome back, madam. He’s still in the living room.”
“Thank you, Marcel.” He was so polite, it was hard not to be nice to him. What was the relationship between those two? She hadn’t expected the vampire to have a human companion. He was endearing, almost the English butler type despite the American accent. Not at all what she would’ve expected from Anthony Du Pont. Or Antoine, as he was now.
She wondered if vampires had a last name.
Marcel closed the door behind her and opened the living room door with a small bow. “Ms. Davis, sir.”
Antoine stood beside his chair, the lamplight throwing soft shadows across his face. The blinds remained tightly shut, sealing out the sun with ruthless precision.
Of course they were. It also gave her something to think about, should she ever decide to find a permanent way to free herself from this mark.
The UV lamp hadn’t worked, but what about direct sunlight? Would it be enough to weaken him—or kill him outright? How hard would it be to smash one of those blinds while he slept?
Then again, assuming he didn’t sleep in a coffin and didn’t wake up halfway through her plan, would sunlight even work the way she imagined? There was no reason to think it would, not when everything else had proved so frustratingly ineffective.
Perhaps better to rethink that idea.
“Back so soon?”
His voice still carried that same charged, erotic undertone. No one had the right to sound so good. It did things to her—things she didn’t want to admit to herself. Staying angry had helped her resist before; now, she wasn’t so angry.
She crossed to the chair she’d sat in earlier, moved her bag, and perched on the edge of the seat, skipping the pretense of waiting to be invited.
“I want some answers.” As an afterthought, she softened her tone and tagged on, “Please.”
For once, he made no snarky remark but simply moved to his chair, settling with practiced ease, elbows resting on the arms, fingers steepled, adopting the same infuriatingly composed posture as before. This time, when he crossed one leg over the other, the movement shifted the robe, exposing a brief flash of bare leg.
He was absolutely naked beneath it.
Focus, Cally. Focus.
He waved a hand, granting permission.
“Where were you twenty years ago?”Let’s start there.
He blinked, as though caught off guard. “Boston, generally. Did you want specifics? It was a while ago.” His accent carried that maddeningly exotic charm.
“Have you ever been to Baltimore?”
His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t believe so… Oh, yes, I passed through in the early nineteenth century. Fell’s Point, the harbor.” A wave of his hand. “I was a sailor for a time. Harbors tend to stick in the memory.”
