Chapter 45 #2
“It… just…” She buried her face in his chest, if only to rub her cheek against his warmth. “It slipped out.”
“When vampires have appropriated the term, ‘spawns’ becomes accurate, does it not?”
“It’s never accurate when it’s wrong.”
He chuckled. “Language changes with time. Live long enough, and you will see.”
“I know that.”
“Well, then.”
“Besides, I don’t care about Roberto,” she said. “We’re going to kill him.”
“‘We’, ma chérie?”
“I helped you with Nico, didn’t I?”
“Indeed you did. I have not thanked you for that.” He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you.”
“Eve and I figured out the spells,” she said quietly.
“I wondered why you had blood on your forehead.”
“Strength spell. It worked, too. I kicked a thrall into the ceiling.”
“Did you now?” He sounded impressed. “I don’t think Nico saw you as a threat, even when you were clinging to his leg.
That blow… You should not be able to hurt a vampire, ma chérie, but I cannot deny you did.
Seeing his face when my bonded punched him in the balls?
” Antoine smiled. “I will treasure that memory.”
“He deserved it. He wanted to take me away from you. And he entombed you. Deserved it twice.”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Just like Roberto will be, soon enough.”
Antoine paused. They’d traveled far enough that apartment blocks had replaced houses. He landed on a tall building, running its length with his usual grace, not even jostling her, and leaped before he spoke again. “I fear he is still too powerful. I do not want to risk you.”
“Gabe mentioned Anastasia tonight. Another vampire?”
“Yes. We met with her, and some of her allies, earlier this evening.”
“A political move?”
“An optimistic one.” He seemed thoughtful. “I don’t like Roberto, and I will be very happy the day he dies, but that aside… what he’s doing is wrong. Vampires have laws too, and controlling his spawns?” He put a subtle emphasis on the last word to register his amusement. “It is… abhorrent.”
Cally was silent as she considered this. “It’s a bloodline ability, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then if it’s so bad, why does he have it?” She went on hastily. “I mean, I don’t disagree that controlling another is not acceptable, but you all control thralls, don’t you? Why is it different when it’s vampires? It just… It smacks of hypocrisy.”
Antoine grunted. “I suppose, when one gets used to one’s own world, one’s perspective becomes skewed. You are quite correct, ma chérie. Fundamentally, we are, and always have been, the monsters you accused us of being.”
“Roberto’s still an asshole,” she added.
“Yes. And one that tried to claim you like a king claiming a slave.”
She shuddered in revulsion. “So we kill him, and if you can get political support to back it up, all the better. Maybe Tobias will help your case.”
“I don’t trust him for one moment, but we will see.”
Cally pressed her hand to his chest, thoughtful.
“Share what’s on your mind?” Antoine asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Thinking about bloodlines. Belle said the first vampire spawned seven more, each with their own bloodline. What else are they capable of, if Roberto can do this?”
“The unique abilities of a bloodline are not widely shared, though I’m aware some have a limited capability for mind reading, while others feed off pain and terror.”
“Yours are the same as Belle’s, right?”
“Yes, as she sired me.”
“What is your bloodline power?”
“This,” he said, waving at the air as they soared through it. “My shadows to conceal me, and I can leap farther than any other vampire. As my strength grows, it may draw even closer to true flight.”
“It’s pretty cool,” she said slowly, “but it doesn’t seem quite on the same scale.”
“Ah, well. I also have a gift with influencing the minds of chattel.” He shrugged like it hardly mattered. “Useful for making a path through crowds, or aiding the Boston police department in reaching the correct decision more swiftly.” He smiled at her. “But for now, we have arrived.”
Antoine landed on the roof of the last building in a cul-de-sac. It appeared worn and unkempt, with long grass and weeds in the front yard. A ‘For Sale’ sign stood at an angle, half-propped against the fence, like it had been there a long while.
“Is this your house?” Cally asked, blowing into her hands for warmth.
“Yes.”
“It’s for sale.”
His eyes lit with wry amusement. “Do you want to buy it?”
Cally winced. “Uh… no offense, but no thanks.”
“Exactly, ma chérie. Neither does anyone else. A good excuse to leave it empty.”
Sequestered discreetly behind a chimney, he had a skylight in the roof, far more modern and well-kept than the worn tiles. He punched in a code and led her down a flight of creaking steps, into a narrow, dark hallway that reeked of damp.
“It has character,” she murmured.
“It’s a shithole,” he said bluntly. “I live in the basement.”
They walked past small, empty rooms, thick with dust, and down the staircase to the floor below, where the windows were boarded up. A door led to another flight of stairs, as creaky as the last, but at the bottom was gray steel.
“Is this… metal?” She rapped the walls with her knuckles.
“It’s an adapted panic room,” Antoine said as he punched in a complex code and opened the door. It slid back on well-oiled hinges. “I installed it myself, about twelve years ago. It’s small, but functional.”
Cally’s definition of ‘small’ didn’t seem to match Antoine’s.
The room beyond was about the size of her apartment, open plan with a bed against one wall, a chair in one corner, a nice couch and coffee table before a wall-mounted TV.
No kitchen. Against the walls rested a good-sized wardrobe, the rest given over to bookcases, including a large collection of VHS tapes and DVDs.
Cally used one fingertip to tilt back the Buffy the Vampire Slayer boxset, and raised a sardonic eyebrow.
Antoine deposited her bag on the couch. “I like Spike.”
“Who doesn’t.” But there was little here. No pictures, no personal touches. Cold and lonely. “How long did you say you lived here?”
“Eight years before I put this room in, so about twenty in the house.” He tilted his head. “It’s not much, but it’s all I need.”
She couldn’t imagine coming back here every day, living—no, not even that. Existing in this room. “Why live here, and not in Fisher Hill?”
“Convenience, mostly.” He said it offhand, like it didn’t really matter. His whole life here, not really mattering.
Cally walked up to him, pressed her hand against his chest, then hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
“You’re not alone anymore, my love,” she murmured against his lips, then kissed him again.
He opened to her, hands on her hips then sliding around to her back as he pulled her closer, and she played her tongue against his, cupping his cheek with one hand.
She drew back at last. “Do you have a shower here? Or a bucket of rainwater?”
His lips twitched. “I’m not a barbarian.”
“Good, because your clothes are a state, and you’ve got dried blood on your skin. Let’s get you in the shower, because I’m going to wash you.”
“And after that?” he asked, voice husky.
“Bed,” she said firmly.