Violette Dubrinsky (5 page)

That was how Victor found her. Lying on the floor before the bathroom door, thighs spread, as she tried to remove the sheet from her legs.

“I—I...” She let her voice trail off, instantly snapping her thighs together and knowing her blazing face gave more explanation than she could offer.

“Lift your legs,” he commanded softly, and she instantly did so.

He worked on the sheets, tossing them away when he was finished. Azaleigh scrambled up instantly, covering her breasts and pubis with her hands.

“I heard a noise,” she said sheepishly, feeling the heat of his stare.

His neck and cheeks grew pink, but he nodded. “I’ll wait outside while you dress.” Victor was moving off when he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” It came out as a squeak because she was only partially telling the truth. Her body was on fire, and she ached for a release.

“If you feel like you’re in danger or weakening, call me immediately.”

With that, he left her room. Shocked, Azaleigh moved over to the mirror and stared at herself. Her nipples were hard, and she didn’t need to spread her thighs to know her moisture was flowing down the insides. Zombies weren’t human, but would anything bad happen if she jumped one? A harsh laugh escaped her lips at her thought.

She’d just learned she was a witch with a zombie Protector. Having sex with said creature was probably going even further into the insanity. With that sensible thought, Azaleigh slipped into a thong and a thin, summer jumper dress that stopped above her knees.

“You can come back now.”

The door opened and Victor returned, eyeing her outfit with more than objective interest. Azaleigh clenched her thighs together, and bit her lip.

He’s a zombie!
she screamed at herself.
Think gory, brain-eating monsters. Forget he looks like multiple orgasms waiting to happen. Ignore him.

As he took up position by her window, Azaleigh stared after him. His dark, shoulder-length hair swayed as he moved, and when he braced his feet apart in a military stance and eyed the woods, she groaned.

Ignore him
was much easier said than done.

***

“So, where do you sleep?”

The silence had long since grown tense and uncomfortable, but Victor was managing to cope by keeping alert to the outside surroundings. It was growing closer to dawn and for that, he was glad. Today, he would definitely need the Earth’s healing touch.

Without taking his eyes from the rustling trees outside—he didn’t need to see her in the thin dress that did very little to hide her peaked nipples—he answered, “In the basement.”

“I didn’t see a room in the basement.”

“There isn’t one,” he acknowledged. “I sleep in the Earth. There’s a trap door next to the rocking chairs.”

“You sleep in the earth?” The words were spoken with an incredulity to which he’d been accustomed.

Briefly, he looked at her, lying back on the bed, biting her bottom lip and staring at his buttocks, before he turned his eyes away. He could have done without that. Once more, his penis twitched. “To rejuvenate, I need the healing properties of the Earth. I was made from Earth, so everything that sustains me must come from it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She remained silent for long moments.

“Do you have a Protector, Victor?”

Confused, he turned back to her and shook his head.

“So, Aunt Toni didn’t create another one...for you?”

“No. Protectors are only for witches. We don’t protect each other. There isn’t any need.”

She nodded, and her sooty lashes fluttered down, concealing her eyes. Eyes narrowing, he approached her. “Why did you ask?”

An uncomfortable laugh escaped her lips and Azaleigh shook her head. “I was curious about the whole Protector thing.”

“Really?” Instinct told him there was more.

“And I wanted to make sure I was prepared in case a female zombie showed up.”

For the moment, he ignored the word ‘zombie’ and honed in on the ‘female.’ Was it possible Azaleigh wanted to know if he had a woman?

“No female
Protectors
,” he paused and let the word sink in, “will be showing up.”

“Does it offend you?” she queried, intelligent eyes ensnaring his gaze. “When I say zombie?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to answer in the affirmative before he remembered. He was at her disposal. She could call him whatever she wanted.

“You can call me whatever you wish, Guardian.”

“My name’s Azaleigh and you’ve used it before so please don’t get formal with me now.” She paused and sat up. “I don’t know the rules of this Guardian-Protector stuff, but I don’t care. You said you’re here to protect me, and I’ll be grateful if it ever comes to that, but you’re your own person. You can tell me your opinions.”

His heart fluttered at her words. He’d always known she was kind. Her aura told him of it but with her words and her eyes, she was essentially telling him he was an equal, much like Antoinette had treated him.

“I don’t like the term, Azaleigh.”

“See, was that so hard?” she teased, flashing pearly whites and rearranging her legs on the bed. “When I call you zombie, I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just you’re so beautiful, and zombies have always been such creepy monsters in the movies, that I can’t help myself.”

She’d called him beautiful. Did she really find him attractive? Victor knew many of the townspeople thought he was interesting. When Antoinette had allowed him to accompany her into town that first time five years ago, everyone had stared. Some of the women even fluttered their eyelashes like something was on them. He topped everyone in the town by several inches and was larger than their largest man, Evan Stokes, the muscular pediatrician who also did triathlon competitions. And a few times, Antoinette had called him ‘fine’ in her Southern twang and mentioned about being a few decades younger, but he’d always dismissed it as playful teasing. Antoinette could make a joke of anything.

“Why are you staring at me like that? Did I offend you again?” Azaleigh sounded concerned. Victor stared at her lips, feeling the urge to press his against them, and pull them into his mouth.

“No, you didn’t offend me,” he replied in a low, reverent voice. “Call me whatever you want, Azaleigh.”

“You’re sure?” She didn’t seem to believe him.

He nodded.

“So if I call you something really girly, don’t get upset okay?”

Grinning, Victor made his way back to the window.

“Gorgeous hunk-o-man?” she teased, and he shook his head at her antics. “If you get uncomfortable, tell me to stop.”

He wouldn’t. Get uncomfortable, that was. Not any more than he already was. He ignored his twitching organ and tried to focus on the outdoors.

“Italian stu—ahh!” Azaleigh screamed, and he was over her instantly, searching her body for any injury.

“What? What is it?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head as she groaned. Victor picked her up, grabbed the spell book, and rushed into the woods. Finding the circle, he laid her inside and moved out. Instantly, the chalk began to glow as Azaleigh fought and twisted, her torso arching from the ground as her body tried to escape its own confines.

His eyes searched the dark woods, looking for any signs of blood-red eyes or pale complexions. His gut had been right. The Night Walkers were here.

Chapter 5

They were attacking her, pulling at her body with talon-like claws as they tried to rip through her defenses. The creatures were hideous. Gray-tinged and barely reminiscent of humans, they had shocking red, watery eyes, and jagged, blackened teeth. These Night Walkers were definitely no mimic of the tall and graceful creatures in the fantasy movies. They seemed truer to what she knew of zombies than Victor.

Azaleigh was terrified but Victor’s voice was in her head. Somehow. She heard him telling her to believe in herself, to fight them, to keep fighting them, and so she did. The ones who came first attacked with fear, barely touching her before her light—a hot, white mist of energy she expelled through the palm of her hand—blasted them back. The waves that came next were fearful, but not as fearful as the first. They, too, were blasted back.

They saved the best for last. These creatures weren’t hideous, but their snarls and protruding fangs distorted their faces. They attacked in groups, snapping at her like wild animals, and trying hard but failing to get past the protective light that shrouded her. Whenever she blasted them, they came forward again almost instantly. As she grew weary, the creatures stopped, backing away as one unit before fading into the black void behind them.

Another stepped out. Deathly pale and taller than any man she’d seen, except Victor, he looked human except for the blood-colored eyes. He smiled, too.

“Are you tired, little witch?”

His voice was an easy tenor, with an old South drawl reminiscent of Doc Holiday from the movies, and for a moment, Azaleigh almost nodded. She caught herself in time, ignoring his presentable attire of black pants, a thin, button down shirt, black Stetsons with spurs, and easy-going attitude. “Who are you?”

“Dorian Winters, King of the Georgia Night Walkers.” He bowed gallantly, sweeping his hand behind his back and inclining his head. Black hair pitched forward, obscuring his face for a moment.

King? Azaleigh thought with a frown. The Night Walkers had
kings
? She almost scoffed. Did they have court jesters as well? “What do you want?”

“To speak with you.” Dorian stepped forward, and instantly held up a hand, as if waving as peace flag. “Antoinette must have told you to fear us, but times have changed. We don’t want to harm the people of Hallows Brook. We only seek what was taken from us decades ago.”

She didn’t believe it him one bit, and recharged, wanting the light that would come from her palm to knock him a good twenty paces back.

“Before you blast me, know this will be my only attempt at peace. These are my people, and they listen to what I say. If you give us what is rightfully ours, we’ll leave your precious town alone. Blast me, and I will make it my long,
long
life’s goal to kill every living creature in Hallows Brook...” He trailed off and flashed a chilling smile. “
...even
the domestic pets.”

“What do you want?” Azaleigh spat the words. He might not look like the rest of the hideous monsters but he was just as bad. “And hurry up. My hand’s itching with the need to release this light.”

His gaze seemed to darken, the irises changing to a burgundy color as he eyed her. “You’ve inherited Antoinette’s spirit, I see, but are far more beautiful—”

“Save your flattery and get to the point. What do you want?”

Ruby colored eyes narrowed. “My son.”

“Your son?” That caught her off guard. Why was the Night Walker’s
son
, the crown prince, she supposed, in Hallows Brook? And had Antoinette known?

“Yes. He was taken years ago by the last Guardian. She bewitched him. How else do you think she managed to keep us out? My minions don’t fear
zombies
.” His eyes hardened, as did hers. It was one thing for her to call Victor that, but this undead bastard was about six seconds from feeling the light. “Give me my son, and we will leave Hallows Brook and never return. As much as blood calls to us, there are ways to get it that aren’t as...exhausting.”

“Who’s your son?”

Dorian grinned, revealing pristine white fangs that now elongated to past his lower lip. “I call him Victor Dorian Winters.” He paused and the grin faded, leaving a snarl in its place. “But you may know him as Victor St. Croix. The witch thought to convert him to something our kind was ne’er meant to be, but no matter. Bygones will be bygones. Antoinette is dead. My son lives. You want to protect your town. Give him to me, or you will all die.”

***

Azaleigh was keeping something from him.

Victor had sensed it first when she awoke in the circle, searching him out with wild eyes. She’d scampered up quickly, taking a step away when he approached to lend a hand. Eventually, though, she fell against him and told him the Night Walkers were gone. With those words, he’d taken her to her room, thinking she was tired and needed rest. The first rays of sunlight glimmered in the distance, and he’d felt the call of the Earth for his rejuvenation. Instead of falling asleep, Azaleigh gripped his hand and asked him to stay. With his body dwarfing half of the bed, she’d nodded and fallen asleep. While he’d stayed hours, watching the even rise and fall of her chest, onrushing weakness eventually forced him to make his way into the basement, and the healing soil.

Now, ten hours from that time, and at capacity due to the healing properties of the rich soil, he was feeling it again. Something was off. Azaleigh couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. Usually, that wouldn’t bother him as much, especially as she’d previously stared at him with that heated expression on her face, but this was a clinical survey, as if she were waiting for something to happen.

“Did any of them speak to you?”

She frowned, and blinked, turning to stare down the long road before them. At Azaleigh’s insistence, they were seated on the porch, although the sun was blistering hot and beating down on them. She was sweating under the thin blouse and white pants she wore, and Victor felt as if heated needles were pricking at his skin.

“Huh?”

“The Night Walkers. Did they speak to you? Antoinette said they used to talk to her, try to scare her.”

Azaleigh didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to him. “What do you know about the Night Walkers? Besides them being vicious bloodsuckers? How were they created?”

Victor shrugged. “There are myths, but no one knows for sure. Some say the first Night Walker made a deal with the Devil, that in return for his life, he would bring destruction wherever he went. Others say God created them, just like he did humans and witches.”

“So Night Walkers can conceive?”

“I don’t know.” He watched her face. Those brown eyes were alert and sharp. “Why are you asking?”

“Just curious to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Azaleigh, what happened when you were in the circle? What did they tell you?”

Her mouth opened and closed, before she sighed. “Do you know Dorian Winters?”

The name didn’t even sound remotely familiar. Victor shook his head and waited for her to continue.

“I spoke to him and—”

The ringing he’d come to associate with her cellular phone interrupted whatever it was she was going to say. Azaleigh lifted the black, card stack-like device to her ear and spoke rapidly into it.

“Yes.” She paused and squinted. “Now?” Her eyes briefly caught his before looking guiltily away. Was it the realtor? Was she still going through with the sale? Victor frowned. “Sure. Bring them over.”

She placed the phone into her pocket, and stared at the road once more.

“Was that the realtor?”

At her nod, Victor only said, “If you leave, these people will die.”

Her response was long in coming, but when it came, her tone made his body grow cold. “Not necessarily.”

***

Showing the couple around the house gave her more time to observe Victor. Except for the height, both men stood past six feet, closer to seven, and black hair, he didn’t look like Dorian Winters. Still, there was something about the blood-sucker that reminded her of Victor. Was he really Victor’s father or had it all been a lie, a mind game to get her to drop her defenses? If it had been the latter, she didn’t know why Dorian hadn’t simply attacked last night. She’d been distracted by possibilities, and he’d only told her he’d be back tonight to hear her answer.

“I want it.” The declaration came from the recently-wed Mrs. Baxter, a short, stocky brunette with a cake of makeup on her face, obscenely large breast implants, and a blouse cut so low she could have gone naked and been more decent. Her eyes were on Victor as she spoke. Mr. Baxter, obviously the enabler in the marriage, cleared his throat loudly, drawing his wife’s attention back to him and said, “We’re working on that, honey.”

“No, Jimbo, you don’t understand. I want this house and I want it now.” Mrs. Baxter turned to the realtor. “Where’re those papers, Mr. Townes?”

The man, short and pudgy with graying hair, replied smoothly. “Ms. Montclaire is still considering her options, Mrs. Baxter.”

“Mr. Montclaire,” Mrs. Baxter began, addressing Victor although the realtor had clearly said Azaleigh was the owner. “Your house is beautiful and I wanna make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

“I’m not Mr. Montclaire, and whatever offer you have, you need to make to the lady across the room.”

“Oh, I’m sooo sorry.”

Mrs. Baxter smiled wide, letting him know she wasn’t
at all
sorry, and Azaleigh wanted to yank her by her silicone implants and toss her out. The woman was being disrespectful, right in front of her. Not only was she blatantly ignoring the seller, she was flirting with Victor, whom she’d thought was Azaleigh’s husband, in front of her own husband.

Rounding on Azaleigh, the woman spoke. “I wholeheartedly apologize, Ms. Montclaire. I just assumed you two were together. As I was telling your
friend,
I’d like to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” She paused and batted clumped lashes. With the amount of mascara, the woman could be a great spoof ad for Maybelline. Reaching into her purse, Mrs. Baxter withdrew a checkbook and pen. “So, how much?”

Pulling out her Blackberry, Azaleigh scanned through her contacts before addressing the woman. “Actually, Mrs. Baxter,
I
apologize. I just received an offer I couldn’t resist. I’m sorry. Mr. Townes, please show them out.”

Mr. Townes looked confused, but quickly recovered and began doing just that.

“But Jimbo...” Mrs. Baxter whined. “Jimbo” attempted to placate his wife by offering a few thousand higher than the asking price, but Azaleigh wasn’t listening.

When the Baxters were out the front door, she pushed it in and locked it. She wasn’t desperate enough to sell Aunt Toni’s house to that barracuda. The stifling heat and earthy smell at her back told her Victor was near. Slowly, she turned, and looked into knowing green eyes.

“Now, tell me what Dorian Winters told you.”

***

“He’s lying.”

Victor couldn’t believe the Night Walker’s gall, but he knew for certain the creature had been spewing falsehoods. He’d been created just shy of forty years ago. He could still remember opening his eyes, taking his first breath, and swearing his life to Antoinette.

“He said you were bewitched.” Her tongue snaked out, and swiped her bottom lip. It was a reaction he was beginning to associate with her emotions. When Mrs. Baxter had dismissed Azaleigh so easily, she’d nibbled angrily on it, and now, this. He wondered which emotion was plaguing her.

“I’m a Protector, not a Night Walker, Azaleigh.” When she didn’t look convinced, he leaned closer, boxing her against the door. “Night Walkers can’t travel by day—sunlight burns them to gray ash—but I can. They need blood to survive. I don’t. They have red eyes. Mine are green. They live for blood, chaos and destruction. I live for peace.”