Violette Dubrinsky (13 page)

He had no way to contact her, to find her. If she’d been like him, a vampire, he would be able to trace her through a blood-bond, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t even a human he could manipulate and call back to his side, but a witch who could effortlessly hide from him.

Something wet dropped onto his hand and he stared at the red line running to his elbow. He hadn’t even cried when he’d broken his back. Pushing himself from the chair, he washed his face in the kitchen sink, drying it with paper towels.

Obviously, Azaleigh didn’t feel for him as he did her. If she had, she would have talked to him before she left. He would have thought of something, some way for them to be together.

Antoinette had liked a saying similar to that.
’s long’s you’ve got will, you’ve got way, son
.

What Antoinette had done was unforgivable, but standing in her kitchen, remembering the short, thin woman teaching him to cook and bake, showing him the world through fresh eyes, made her less evil. Sunlight was something he’d never felt before Antoinette and the memory of the gentle, and at times punishing warmth, would always haunt him.

“Why’d you do it, Antoinette?” he hissed to the dark kitchen. “You knew I was coming to bring peace, so why?”

Knowing there were no answers for him in Hallows Brook anymore, Victor tossed the wadded-up paper towels into the bin and locked the front door as he left.

Chapter 10

It took Azaleigh less than a month to find a job as an associate at a big-law firm. Brian Karr, of
Karr, Litchstein and Wiesler
, was her stepfather’s golf buddy, and though it galled her to accept the pulled strings, Azaleigh did it because she had no choice. Her bills were mounting. She hadn’t used Richard Epstein’s money to pay her law school tuition despite his generous offer, had preferred to take her own loans, and although she had the sizable sum of money she’d inherited from Antoinette, Azaleigh didn’t touch it. In fact, she tried not to think of Antoinette, her money, her house, or the beautiful, vampire lover left in Savannah.

It took her less than two weeks to quit. She didn’t want to defend the big companies with their in-house, city, and local counsels, she wanted to defend the little people. Within the month, she found another job with two attorneys, Scott Havers and Michael Dale, dealing with bad drywall in the Southern states and a potential class-action suit against a major supplier in China.

The job ended up taking her directly back to Hallows Brook, Georgia. If that wasn’t fate, Azaleigh didn’t know what was. It seemed most of the town used the supplier, GNX Drywall, and she had to depose everyone who’d used their goods and have each of the house suspected of bad drywall inspected.

She’d recently moved most of her things down to Antoinette’s house in Hallows Brook—she’d be here for at least six months—and was looking for space to store some of the boxes. The basement held too many memories, so when she located an attic she’d missed before, as it was hidden in what seemed like a spare closet in Antoinette’s bedroom, Azaleigh was ecstatic. Once she pulled on the trapdoor, a ladder dropped down, and she climbed up, sneezing at the dust in the place.

There was a lone chair in the corner, and as she squinted against the sunlight shooting in a side window, she saw a folded note on it. Strange. At first, it had seemed like nothing but a shaft of sunlight was there. The note was dusty, so it had been there for a long time. Untying the knitting yarn that held it closed, she opened the letter and stared at neat, but unfamiliar writing.

1
^st
October, 1996

Dear Azaleigh Christina Montclaire—

If you’re reading this, I am longer in the world of the living, and you’ve met him. Victor. You probably know by now he’s not a typical Protector. Years ago, a Night Walker prince came to me speaking of peace. He was different from the rest, optimistic of the world, and as I sat with him, I had a vision. You weren’t born yet, Azaleigh, your own mother was just a baby, and yet I saw you, a beautiful woman laughing with Victor in the sunlight. So I cast a spell, and I lured him to this very house, where I turned him from one creature to the other. Night Walkers cannot walk in sunlight, and my vision had you two doing that. I changed him, though not fully—it isn’t possible to kill one side of a creature and replace it with another—to my Blooded Protector, and when I die, I’ve made it so he will be yours. The spell I cast is not in the spell book. I’ve long since torn out the pages, and you must never put it there. I’ve written it below in case you need it, but after you read this letter, you must burn it. The spell is powerful, and in the hands of witches with wavering loyalties, it will cause destruction.

Azaleigh paused, and saw at the bottom of the paper were the actions, and ingredients needed for the spell. Returning her eyes to where she’d left off, she continued.

Please explain to Victor that he was the son I never had, explain to him that there wasn’t a day I saw him I didn’t feel regret for what I’d done. If there was any other way, Victor, I would have taken it. Forgive me.

I pray I was right and you two found each other.

Love,

An Old Lady with the Gift of Sight.

Shock made Azaleigh re-read the letter. Antoinette had had a vision thirty-nine years ago, about her and Victor? And what did she mean in case she needed the spell? Did the woman think she’d need another Protector?

I pray I was right and you two found each other.

The line made Azaleigh’s foot begin to shake nervously. What did she mean by it? Obviously, they’d found each other. There seemed to be deeper meaning to the sentence.

Making her way down to the second floor with the letter in hand, Azaleigh allowed herself to really think of Victor, for the first time since she’d left him. It had been almost three months since she’d seen him. The first week was the hardest. She’d even gone through her mother’s received call numbers to see if she could get his home phone number from it. It was the act of a desperate, confused woman, but luckily, she’d come to her senses before she found it.

Had he found someone else? A Night Walker princess to be his future queen? She’d attempted to date to get her mind off him. Job-hunting hadn’t been enough of a distraction, and she’d tried to see if there was anything between Adam Jermaine and herself. They were both entry level associates, with pretty much the same backgrounds and definitely the same goals. The kiss had been lackluster, the equivalent of scratching dirt from under her toenail. They’d agreed to be friends.

Had Victor done the same, and succeeded? Had he found someone to replace her?

As if in answer, the door bell rang. Was this another blast of fate? The thought entered her mind as she ran down the stairs and pulled open the door, forgetting it was still daylight out and Victor couldn’t be calling during these times.

“Hi. I’m Deborah Schmidt from the street over, and this the address the lawyers said to come by if you think you have that bad drywall.” The woman who spoke held a large platter in her hand, an assortment of large cookies on it. “Made you some cookies from that Marie Dumond’s cookbook.”

With a smile, Azaleigh stepped aside and nodded. “Hi, I’m Azaleigh Montclaire, the local attorney on the case. Please come inside.”

***

This was the place.

It was as she remembered. A sprawling red brick-and-mortar estate on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. It was obviously a renovated plantation, with two tall, black gates housing guards with visible guns, and a long, circular driveway, split by the manicured grass in the middle, that led to the house.

Paying the taxi driver, Azaleigh hoped she was doing the right thing. Coming to a vampire lair at night didn’t smack of smarts, but she needed to see Victor for a few minutes to tell him about Antoinette’s letter. If he didn’t want to hear, so be it, but she wanted to at least make the attempt.

As she approached the gate, the guards above called to her from the black intercom box attached to one of the red-brick gateposts. She spoke into it, loudly and clearly. “My name’s Azaleigh Montclaire. I’m here to see Victor Winters.”

“For the ball?”

Azaleigh could have cursed. Did these people never have down-time? It was always a ball, or a dinner party, or a hunt, something she’d never seen but Azaleigh could only imagine the extravagance, guns, and poor animals. What did the Winters do for money, anyway?

“Yes, I need to talk to him about something. It’s urgent.”

“And he knows you’re coming?”

“Yes,” she lied.

“What’s your name?” The guard queried, and Azaleigh heard flipping papers.

“Azaleigh.”

“Last name?”

“Montclaire.”

“I don’t have that name on the list. Please step away from the gate, ma’am.”

“Wait!” Azaleigh was desperate now. “Just...just call him. Please.”

“If you’re not on the list, you’re not coming in. Savannah has other plantations. Try a tour of those.”

He thought she was a tourist? Because she had a New York accent?

“Look, I’m Victor Winters’ attorney, and he’ll be very upset if I don’t show him the contracts I drew up. They need to be reviewed before tonight’s ball.”

The guard was silent for a moment. “What contracts?”

“That’s between me and Mr. Winters. Please call him to vouch for my identity.”

There was an impatient sigh, and the sound of buttons being pressed. Azaleigh bit her lip, holding tight to her knitted purse.

“Mr. Winters? Yes. There’s a woman, an Ashl-eigh Montclaire at the gates—oh.”

There was a long pause. Despite the error with her name, Azaleigh prepared to turn with her tail tucked between her legs, and have the cab drive her the two hours back to Hallows Brook.

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

The gate unlatched, and the guard addressed her. “Someone’s coming for you, Ms. Montclaire. Your name wasn’t on the list so I thought you were—”

“It’s okay. You were only doing your job.”

Her palms were sweaty, and she rubbed them on her fall jacket. It was the first week in October, but she was sweating like it was mid-August.

As she sat in the back of the security car, which smelled of Doritos and expensive leather, the estate growing larger and colder as they neared, Azaleigh tried to remember what she’d rehearsed telling him.

***

She shouldn’t look this beautiful in loose, beige pants and a shapeless jacket, but Victor’s gaze greedily drank her in. Azaleigh entered his game room cautiously, heart racing as she quickly surveyed the pool tables, large TV, and leather chairs, before settling doe-brown eyes on him. In the months he hadn’t seen her, her hair had grown inches longer, and the brown of her skin had faded to a rich caramel, revealing slight smudges under her eyes and a few stress lines around her mouth.

A little smile curved her lips, but he didn’t reciprocate it. She began fidgeting with the large bag at her side.

“Hi.”

“Why are you here?” Victor wasn’t feeling particularly hospitable, especially tonight and to her. He was, however, curious to know what she was doing in Georgia, and why she’d chosen to come to him.

Azaleigh’s smile disappeared, but she stepped further into the room, coming to a halt a few feet from him. She didn’t take a seat in the unoccupied chair before him and he didn’t offer one.

“You look good.”

He smirked and lifted a brow. Of course he looked good dressed in a sleek, black Brioni suit. In a few hours, he would be engaged to Gina Hendricks, the only child of the South Carolina Night Walker Clan. It was an alliance many coveted because along with Gina came the South Carolina territory. He’d be doubling the area he’d one day rule.

“What do you want, Azaleigh?”

She squared her shoulders, back snapping straight, and nodded. “I found a letter. From Antoinette.”

Surprise must have shown on his face, because she nodded and continued in a softer voice. “It was in the attic. She wrote it in 1996.”

“And this letter has something to do with me?”

“Yes. Victor...” She reached into her side bag and retrieved a severely creased piece of paper. Without opening it, Azaleigh continued. “She asks you to forgive her for what she did. Antoinette didn’t think she had a choice.”

He’d long since made his peace with what Antoinette had done but having Azaleigh tell him about the letter brought the anger back.

“You came here to talk about Antoinette?” he demanded, uncurling from the chair and closing the gap between them.