Violette Dubrinsky (4 page)

Victor lifted his eyes to hers—once more they’d made their way down her long body to the area—and shrugged, embarrassment in the form of a warm heat creeping up his neck.

“Normally, guys check out boobs or ass.”

Azaleigh yawned and rolled onto her side. Her face looked fuller, brighter. Her hair was a tousled mass about her head, sections sticking away from the rest. Still, she looked radiant. More beautiful than some of the people he’d seen on Antoinette’s TV. “But not you. You’ve been having a staring contest with my crotch, and I’m curious to know why.”

“You have a strip of hair.” The words left his lips before he could think them through, and Victor tensed once they hung in the air between them. He shouldn’t have said anything.

“Huh?”

“On your private area, you have a thin strip of hair.”

It took seconds, but she flew to a sitting position and glared at him. “How the hell do you know that? Did you peek last night when—?”

“I’d never do that.” He cleared his throat. “That night when you woke up, and stripped out of your clothes, I was sitting in the chair...”

She blushed, and seemed upset at it.

“It’s beautiful.”

“My landing strip?” she asked in an incredulous voice.

Azaleigh collapsed back onto the bed as wracking noises came from her chest. Thinking he’d made his new Guardian cry, he went to her instantly. She was crying all right, but tears of laughter, not sadness, spilled down the sides of her eyes and soaked her pillow.

He didn’t understand why she found it funny, but Victor took it as his cue to replenish his body. The longer he stayed awake, and not buried deep in healing soil of the Earth, the more his body needed sustenance. Food. Drink.

“Where are you going?”

“To make breakfast. What would you like to eat?”

She sobered and a thoughtful look entered her eyes. “You don’t have to make me breakfast, Victor.”

He smiled. “Thank you for telling me that, but I want to.” She looked skeptical so he added, “Antoinette taught me to cook. I was going to go down to the kitchen, but I...” Victor trailed off having never been a good liar.

“You what? Couldn’t stop staring at my crotch?” She began laughing again, the peals so catchy his lips curved.

With a nod, he replied honestly. “Yes.”

***

The zombie was not only sexy beyond her wildest dreams, he cooked like a madman, had a dry but wicked sense of humor, and was sensitive to her needs. He was almost perfect but for one major thing. He was a zombie!

Protector,
something inside her screamed
.
She shrugged. Different name, same non-living, off-limits creature.

Azaleigh eyed his muscular back, imprinting through the dark green elbow-length flannel shirt he wore today, as Victor grabbed ingredients from the condiments section of the small supermarket in the town square. After breakfast, which had been so delicious she’d almost spread her legs after taking a spoonful of his grits and eggs, he’d told her they needed to get ingredients for the other spells. Antoinette apparently had a small garden in her backyard that grew most of the vegetables she used in her spells, but the woman had run low on salt and vinegar, both needed.

Her eyes traveled down to his buttocks, taut against his washed-out, denim jeans, and her mouth grew dry. What a beautiful man. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one thinking that. Next to her, a blonde, teenage salesgirl was staring at Victor with her jaw halfway to the floor and a wad of parsley held frozen above the rest. If her fingers worked, the girl would just open them and have one less parsley to stack.

Victor straightened and moved over to them. It seemed he took stocking up seriously if the four bottles of vinegar and five cartons of salt were any indication. “I found them.”

When she didn’t respond right away, Victor’s brows rose, and he briefly turned to the blonde and dipped his head in greeting. An accent Azaleigh had never heard before appeared.

“Mornin’, Diana. How’s your family?”

There followed a volley of stuttering, and a few misspoken words, but poor, blushing Diana eventually responded. Victor spoke to the girl for minutes before he turned and waved Azaleigh to the cashier.

As they walked back to Aunt Toni’s house, Azaleigh realized the zombie knew most of the people in town, or rather, they knew him. Almost every person they passed had a word of greeting for Victor St. Croix. Some even mentioned their sympathies on Antoinette’s passing—to him, and not to her, the blood relative. Most of them, women especially, seemed more concerned with the hulking creature. How many invitations for homemade cobbler—translated
vagina
—had she overheard? Victor seemed comfortable with the attention, greeting each of the ladies with a smile and a few nice words, and she wondered just how many of those invitations he’d accepted before. The thought didn’t sit well with her. Not at all.

“I’m guessing you and Aunt Toni came into town a lot?”

They’d reached the entryway to her street, and the cool breeze from the block created a wind tunnel that whipped at her oversized shirt and ponytail.

“Sometimes,” Victor answered in his deep, sure voice. “The last years, Antoinette couldn’t move like she wanted, so I ran the errands.”

“Oh.” She heard a definite sadness in his voice, and even if he hadn’t told her, she would have known then they were close. “I’m sorry.” His forehead crinkled slightly and she expounded. “You were the closest to her. You must miss her.”

“Yes.”

He didn’t elaborate and Azaleigh understood. When her father died and people said, ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ she’d answered with a simple thank you. It had become the generic response, because there were days when she wanted to tell them if they were really sorry, they’d give her a hug. Or leave her the hell alone. Azaleigh wanted to reach out and take Victor’s hand, the one that wasn’t holding the paper grocery bag, but resisted.

They were on the porch when Victor spoke again. “You have until sunset to learn the other two spells.” He looked to the bright yellow ball making its way higher, the large black glasses on his face the only protective barrier from the blinding light. “They’ll be here before dawn strikes tomorrow.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Antoinette’s spells have faded.” Azaleigh was confused. Victor explained. “The reinforcement spell kept the other two in place after her death, but every trace of Antoinette is now gone. Only your protection spell stands. Every Night Walker within a hundred miles will feel the change. They’ll come to test the strength of your spells.”

“And if they don’t hold?”

Victor looked away from the sun, and in one quick swoop, slid his sunglasses off to reveal the intense green orbs of his eyes. “They’ll hold.”

She nodded. They had to. If they didn’t, she’d have a front row seat to what would happen, and she couldn’t allow that.

Chapter 4

The charm spell was difficult. It took many failed attempts, and even more hours, but the elements eventually cooperated enough for it to work. At least, according to Victor, it worked. The five elements were already in place at the outskirts of the town, and the charm spell linked them, creating another protective bubble around the community. Azaleigh couldn’t feel any difference beyond a heavier feel to the atmosphere, as if the humidity were pushing her down, but Victor assured her the spell was in place.

He made dinner, a chicken and carrot stew over wild rice, along with an apple cobbler. They took their places in the sitting room, facing each other over the circular wooden table, and ate in silence. She didn’t know the cause of his quiet, but hers had everything to do with the orgasm happening in her mouth. If Aunt Toni had taught Victor to cook, obviously the woman had been a master in the kitchen, because the student was amazing.

She’d just gotten into the cobbler, savoring the taste of freshly picked apples and cinnamon, when her cell phone went off.

Victor started, his eyes hardening as he did a quick survey of the room.

“It’s my phone.” She reassured him quickly, holding up her Blackberry. He eyed it curiously. As she checked the number, Azaleigh cursed. Her realtor.

Throughout the conversation, Victor’s gaze held hers. He didn’t seem happy about her discussion, and when she hung up, immediately questioned her.

“You’re selling the house?”

Nodding, Azaleigh stuffed another spoonful of the cobbler into her mouth. She’d planned to be gone today, but had already changed her ticket to Sunday night. The house situation however, was still going as planned. She was selling.

“I live in New York.”

“You’re not staying?” The look he gave her spoke clearly of his disappointment.

“I can’t. My life isn’t here, Victor. I have nothing here.”

He shook his head and scowled, brows lowering to make him look quite ominous. “These people need you—”

“And I’ll stay until the spells are in place and they’re protected. But I can’t just move up here.”

“Why not?”

Azaleigh released a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t understand. You haven’t really been in the real world.” She gestured with her arms to indicate there was a world outside Hallows Brook. “You don’t have a job and prior obligations. Look, you just don’t understand.”

He didn’t speak for a long time, but he did move. Victor uncoiled his body from the chair opposite her and stood, removing the plates from the table and moving from the sitting room. Azaleigh stared after him, wondering if she’d hurt his feelings. Her zombie had feelings.

A nervous, uncertain snort escaped her.

He came back quickly, though. As she watched, he effortlessly lifted the table aside, pulled his chair close, and sat down. His knees grazed hers and Azaleigh swallowed. It was his large build. He was intimidating. That was all. The heat that traveled from her knees to the pit of her stomach, and just as surely to her tingling parts, was fear. Nothing else.

“My job is to protect you. My obligation is to make sure you live. That’s my reality. If you leave, your spells will weaken. Eventually, the Night Walkers will breach the charms. Without a Guardian or Protector, the town will be at the mercy of those who are merciless. Your dream will come to pass, and Hallows Brook will become a ghost town.” Victor stopped and leaned closer, bringing his face so close she could see slight flecks of blue in his eyes. “That is
your
reality.”

She was shaking her head before he finished. This was a bigger deal than she’d thought. Her life was in New York, but how could she leave the people of this town to the vicious creatures waiting to kill them?

Large, calloused, but gentle hands engulfed hers. “Antoinette left you her assets so you could stay here and protect the people.”

So that was the why. Of course.

“I can’t just stay here and do nothing.” Azaleigh sighed. Although she loved her mother, she wanted more. Knowing herself, and knowing that with her education, there were things in the world she could still affect, if not change, Azaleigh couldn’t be content with being a housewife. “I want to do other things with my life.”

“Do them,” Victor interrupted. “Antoinette protected the community, but she also made a living with her cookbooks.”

“Cookbooks?”

Victor nodded and smiled, as if he were about to share a secret. “She wrote ten cookbooks under the name Marie Dumond. Most of the neighbors use them without knowing they live minutes from the author.”

“Oh.”

“The people of Hallows Brook need you, Azaleigh. Stay.”

***

“I...I can’t.”

Azaleigh collapsed to the ground, digging her fingers into the loosened soil as she heaved. Her limbs trembled, her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage. Her throat was parched. The charm spell had been difficult, but the reinforcement spell—the spell to catch anything the other two had left out—was impossible.

Something pressed against her lips, a cup. She tried to lift a hand but couldn’t. Victor slid to the ground beside her, pulled her between his legs and gently tilted the water to her lips. Azaleigh drank, long greedy pulls that made her choke before she slowed her intake.

When she finished, Victor tossed the cup and placed a sweet into her mouth. The sugar rush instantly made her feel better. “Don’t let this defeat you. Even Antoinette had trouble with the reinforcement spell. It doesn’t mean you can’t do it, just that it’ll take more tries.”

Closing her eyes, Azaleigh leaned back, willing her body to relax. When next she opened her eyes, dusk had fallen. She remembered the vampires, and the innocents who’d die if she didn’t finish this. With effort, she pushed to her feet. Victor stood, picking up the spell book and holding it to her.

As the familiar weight settled against the insides of her arms, she nodded. No words were necessary. Victor removed himself from the circle, standing watch from behind a grandfather tree. He eyed the sky briefly, and Azaleigh knew he too worried about the Night Walkers.

The chalk-drawn circle lit up as the words for the reinforcement spell left her lips. The wind began to sing, billowing about her body as she lifted her voice to speak over it. Lightning bolts illuminated the space, each immediately followed by a roar of thunder that seemed to shake the very earth.

Her nose burned, and a drop of blood fell to her shirt. Azaleigh continued, reciting the spell until at merciful last, nature stilled, a sense of peace took her, and the circle’s glow dimmed. Without looking to Victor, she knew it was done.

The book fell to the ground, and she would have followed had he not caught her. Azaleigh heard a rip before a soft material was pressed to her nose. “It’s finished, Azaleigh. You did it.”

Her feet left the ground as he lifted her. She didn’t even have the strength to wrap her arms around him.

***

Victor took his time washing her.

He’d done the same for Antoinette once before, when she’d cast a reinforcement spell with the Night Walkers directly outside the entrance to the town, battering at its defenses. That bath had been clinical, with him soaking Antoinette’s grime-stained body in the claw-foot tub and trying his best to avoid staring at any of the woman’s private parts. As it was, he’d washed her without removing her panties. Even so, he’d thought of her as his mother, so it had been a bit awkward.

With Azaleigh, it was different. He used a washcloth against her smooth skin, drawing the material across long, gently muscled arms, down her smooth back, across high breasts that were paler than the rest of her body, and down her flat, taut belly. Doing what should have been a menial task had made him so hard, Victor hadn’t bothered with her lower body. Most of the dirt had been washed away. It would have to be enough.

After drying her off, he took her back to the guestroom she occupied and laid her onto the bed. Because he couldn’t help himself, Victor peeked at her mound. The strip was still there, but fine, black hairs now covered the two halves that had previously been smooth. His finger was almost touching them when he remembered himself and quickly covered Azaleigh’s body.

He thought of returning to the basement, of sinking himself into the Earth to rejuvenate and get his wits back, but he couldn’t. It was night. Azaleigh was vulnerable, and he was sworn to protect her.

He throbbed, and with a frustrated groan, brought his hand to cup the straining part of himself. Azaleigh sighed in her sleep, a slow release of breath that made his penis harder than the steel pipes in the basement. With a ragged breath, Victor moved to the bathroom adjoining her room, and pushed the door in, leaving a slight crack in case he needed to make a hasty exit.

This was a distraction, and he couldn’t be distracted tonight. The Night Walkers weren’t here yet, but they were coming. He knew it as much as he knew to breathe. He could almost feel them.

He’d have to take care of himself. Undoing his belt buckle and zipper, Victor freed his stiff erection, and stared in awe. Never had he seen it look so...
angry.
The head was a deep purple, and his length was steely, with angry veins lining it, and flushed a deep pink. Slowly, he rubbed it, mimicking the action of the man he’d viewed on the vintage tape. Once before, he’d done this, but the release had been so hollow, he’d never done it again. Closing his eyes, Victor remembered Azaleigh’s perfect breasts with the large, brown areolas. He groaned and increased the pace, now picturing himself running his lips across them. Would they stiffen like in the movie? Would she moan like the actresses or be different?

Squeezing his swollen base, he visualized her thin strip of hair. What would she look like between her thighs? Was she pink, or another color entirely? Did she have that small, hidden nub like the actress in the movie, and if she did, would she allow him to suck it into his mouth and give her pleasure? His hands moved faster, his need growing by the second. Victor didn’t want his hand. He wanted Azaleigh wrapped around him as he stroked into her body. As he pictured it, pulling the sheet from her body, spreading her long limbs and pushing into her, he shouted her name and came.

It went on longer than the last time, ropes and ropes of his fluid streaming from his body as he panted. Victor braced his free hand against the wall, and struggled to catch his breath. As he tidied himself, he had one thought: that one hadn’t been hollow. Not in the least.

***

She was naked. Under the thin sheet covering her body, Azaleigh was as naked as the day she was born. Yanking the covers about her body, she sat up, ignoring the slight pain in her head, as she searched out Victor. When had he brought her back to bed and was everything all right?

A sound touched her ears, an uncontrolled moan that sent a nervous tingle down her back. Was he in the bathroom? Wrapping the towel around her waist, she made sure to pad quietly over the carpet as she headed for the slightly open door.

Azaleigh looked in, and froze. Legs braced apart, Victor stood by the toilet, his hand moving strongly as he masturbated. Eyes peeled wide, she stared at him. Her zombie
masturbated
? He groaned, a low, sensual sound that licked fire directly against her center, and she squeezed her legs together. Victor sounded like an animal, a tamed one, but an animal still.

Knowing she was being a Peeping Tom, Azaleigh prepared to move back to the bed when he shouted her name. Mouth hanging open in shock while something much baser—lust—clawed at her with vicious talons, she watched his body convulse. His free hand slapped to the wall before him. She knew he was coming, and thinking about her as he did it.

Her grip on the sheet loosened and it fell away from her now-aching breasts. The sounds he made were of a content beast, some sighs, some moans, a few crosses of both. Victor flushed the toilet, and the sound kicked her into motion. Azaleigh took a step back, and another. Something caught around her feet, and she yelped, feeling her balance become a thing of the past. As she crashed to the ground, wincing as her elbows smarted, Azaleigh kicked at the tangled sheet.