Violette Dubrinsky (7 page)

Pushing him down, she anchored herself on washboard abs, and bounced her hips. Victor stared at her with hunger, eventually taking her breasts in his hands and squeezing them. Her climax was coming. Azaleigh could feel it coursing, building with the urgency of her body, and she rode toward it, angling herself so every movement of his shaft would rub her spot. She was close, almost there, when Victor sat up, and in one motion maneuvered her under him. Shock made her still, but Victor was in motion. Pulling her legs to his waist, he began to thrust.

Wanting to crawl into him, Azaleigh lay back and moaned. For someone who’d never had sex before, Victor was doing well. Extremely well.
Amazing
. Her toes curled from his smooth motions, and when he took her mouth, Azaleigh screamed, feeling that first tremor rip through her body. The second wasn’t far away, and before long, she was exploding around him, calling his name and clutching at his muscular back as she flew apart.

His pace increased, driving her further into the sturdy bed. Victor’s hands gripped a hip as he rammed her body before roaring her name and filling her with his seed.

Chapter 6

“You were amazing,” Azaleigh murmured against his chest.

The water beat down on them both, cooling their heated bodies from the intense, sweaty loving they’d had in her bedroom.

Victor smiled and leaned close to capture her lips, swollen from his kisses. “You were better.”

As she laughed, he lifted her. Her legs went around his waist, but the slipperiness made it difficult so he anchored her buttocks with his hands. “I’m glad I waited for you.” He was. Victor had the feeling that anyone before Azaleigh would have felt hollow, as the masturbation had. What he’d experienced not an hour before was almost indescribable. As Azaleigh rode him, her soft insides clutching him as her summery scent washed across his body, he’d felt complete, like this was why he hadn’t thought of touching another woman. Maybe some instinct inside him had known she was coming.

“You’re hard again,” Azaleigh murmured, moving down his body to stroke his thickening organ in her small hand. With her smooth belly as a backdrop, and her hands slowly pumping him, Victor grew harder.

“I like being inside you.”

She smirked, and gently squeezed him. Victor hissed, and with the wall at her back, she guided him to her opening, already wet, telling him she was ready for more. He slid forward slowly, giving her time to adjust. Her hands slid around his neck as she rocked against him and moaned.

“I like having you inside of me.”

Capturing her lips in a deep kiss, Victor braced her fully against the wall and began to move, taking them both to ecstasy as the cool water rained about their bodies.

***

As dusk fell, Azaleigh and Victor walked to into the woods behind the house. They didn’t speak. They’d done that enough in the intimate hours they’d spent together. She was nervous, unsure of what the night would bring. She drew the pentagram as Victor placed the five elements into each triangle, then sat in the center with her spell book. He entered as well, holding her knees as she recited a spell to protect them when they were gone. The circle glowed white, and the winds howled as the trees danced. A soft mist, reminiscent of the steam from their hot shower, enshrouded them.

“It worked. Read the other one.”

Victor seemed tense, and she understood. He was nervous, too.

As she recited the other, Azaleigh kept her eyes on him. The spell was short, a few words, and she knew it by heart. Before long, she and Victor found themselves standing in another place.

“Where are we?” she asked instantly. Her brain wanted badly to name the place, but something about it kept her from remembering.

“The outskirts of town,” he answered, turning in a full circle. He eyed the dark road ahead of them. “This is the location of one of the protection charms.”

“Oh.”

There was a slight rustling, and Victor tensed. His eyes faded to black and a chill came over his body. “They’re coming.”

Not a second after he spoke, Dorian Winters appeared out of thin air. Azaleigh barely kept her gasp silent.

The vampire seemed taken aback by Victor, and halted his sure step before cautiously moving forward. A smile split his lips. “You’ve kept your end of the bargain, witch. As Antoinette’s successor, I didn’t expect it.”

“Stay where you are, Night Walker, or I’ll rip your heart out.”

Never had Victor spoken to her in the voice he used; if he had, she would have been much more terrified of him. Azaleigh stared between the two of them, and felt her stomach drop. She’d been wrong. They had more similarities than the paltry two she’d remembered. They had similar stances, both stubborn and daring, as if they would rather fight to the death than submit to anyone, and their facial expressions seemed alike. Their brows were identical, too. One dipped and the other arched when they were upset, which was readily apparent now.

“You’d kill your own father, Victor? Patricide is still a crime in our community,” Dorian murmured with a frown. “You’ve grown...darker. No doubt the rays of the sun are responsible for the tan you’re sporting.”

Victor didn’t respond. He only stood still, anticipation humming from his body.

Licking at her dry lips, Azaleigh interceded. “My Protector doesn’t believe you, Dorian. Why don’t you tell us what you really want?”

“You wound me, witch,” Dorian murmured with a shake of his dark head and an accompanying evil smirk. “I only want the son who was stolen from me years ago by that vengeful witch—”

He broke off on Victor’s savage growl, but countered with a snarl of his own. “Who bewitched him under a pretense of truce, dragged him to her cursed house, and made him into her
zombie
.”

“You’re lying.”

Dorian’s head snapped back as if coming unglued from his neck. “What do I have to gain by lying, boy? You’ve always been smart, ahead of the rest us in some ways. What is my agenda?”

“Hallows Brook. You’ve been trying to snack on the people for over a century, and you think creating discord between Azaleigh and me might help you get it.”

Dorian glared at him, and shook his head. “Snack? Times have changed, Victor. Night Walkers don’t run out for midnight snacks called small towns anymore. We have more than enough willing blood slaves.”

“Then leave us alone.”

Visibly upset, Dorian snapped, “Us? You are one of
us
, Victor! The witch is gone. It’s time to take your take your rightful place—”

“My rightful place is here.”

“As a witch’s slave! Her
zombie
?” Dorian’s teeth snapped together audibly and he grunted. “I will rip your heart from your chest and leave it to the sun rather than see my own blood brought so low.”

“You can always try,” Victor returned, with a chilling smile.

“Wait!” Azaleigh called, sensing a fight was close. She addressed Dorian. “If you’re telling the truth and you’re his father, how did Victor come to be Antoinette’s Protector?”

“Because she’s a witch! She put a spell on him, wiped clean any memories he had of life before her, and did something to change him into this!” Dorian spread his hands in disgust. Addressing Victor once more, the king spoke. “If you come with me, the Georgia Night Walkers won’t come to Hallows Brook again.”

“I don’t believe anything you say.”

“So that’s your answer, Victor? You’re turning your back on your people?”

“My people are here, in Hallows Brook.”

“So be it,” Dorian murmured. Before she could blink, he attacked Victor. Azaleigh screamed a warning, but Victor had expected it, and rolled with the fast creature, pulling a broad, wicked-looking dagger out of the air so quick she might have missed it if she weren’t paying close attention. He aimed for the heart, but Dorian disappeared before the sharp blade could slice through his skin. He reappeared over Victor seconds later. With a flick of his wrist, the vampire threw him across the way and moved to her. Lifting her arm, Azaleigh blasted him with her light, but he didn’t go back like the others. In fact, he roared and pushed forward, the white light parting on either side of him like misty wings as he advanced. Before Dorian could reach her, Victor caught him by the neck and tossed him back. His body thudded, and Azaleigh was certain something snapped, as he hit the asphalt. Within seconds, Victor was leaping at the vampire with a roar that sounded so familiar to Dorian’s, Azaleigh was unsure who’d emitted it.

Groaning at her weakening powers, she fell to the ground, trying to conserve her energy. Something told her she’d need it.

“You would choose a witch over blood?” Dorian screamed between vicious blows to Victor’s body.

Victor pushed him back with a jab to the vampire’s chest, and rushed him once more, dagger drawn.

“Forty years your mother cried blood tears!” Victor hesitated, and it was all Dorian needed to wrangle the weapon away. “I sent men after you, your own Clan, who ended up dead by your hands!”

As he advanced, the weapon gleaming despite the dim streetlamps, Victor backed away.

Fear leapt in Azaleigh’s throat. “Wait! Please!”

Dorian glared at her. The anger emanating from his body was so hot, Azaleigh was surprised she didn’t combust.

“Antoinette’s dead, but you still live,
witch.
When I’m done with him, I’ll carve you open and drink you dry like I would’ve done Antoinette if I’d gotten the chance.”

“You won’t touch her!”

Victor charged. They were scrapping again, two blurred creatures bloodying each other and healing so quickly she might have doubted the cuts she saw, were it not for the lines of red that marred their skins.

Dorian suddenly grabbed Victor by the neck and faster than she could blink, lifted up the bigger man and rammed him into the brick-laid road. She heard a loud crack, and was instinctively moving forward when Dorian ripped into Victor’s neck. He spat out a huge chunk of bloodied flesh. Somehow, Victor found his feet and fumbled backward, holding the bleeding wound. He grew pale as blood gushed through the seams of his fingers, soaking his shirt. Azaleigh screamed.

“Afraid to lose your zombie lap-dog, witch?” Dorian hurled the hateful words, coming at her with such speed, she barely managed to lift a hand to keep him at bay. Coiling his hands in her hair, his sharp nails opened her tender scalp. He pulled, hauling her up. Her scalp burned Dorian marched her over to Victor. “Your slave is dying. Save him.”

He pushed her onto Victor, now lying prone on the street with unfocused eyes. Azaleigh’s heart pounded in her ears. There was so much blood, haloing his head, soaking the front of his shirt. Victor’s hand had fallen away from the raw, spurting wound, so she placed hers there instead, and pressed hard, trying to stanch the spurting flow.

“Victor,” she murmured against his clammy cheek, unsure of what to do. “Tell me how to save you.”

Dorian laughed, a grating sound that had little to do with amusement. “A witch who doesn’t know spells.” Before she could react, he caught her hair and tugged her head back. Hot pain lanced the side of her neck and she was pushed over Victor’s prone form once more.

“Drink, boy. This is the choice I give you. Drink and live as one of us, or die, and when you do, I will kill her and every living thing in this
cursed
town.”

Victor’s glazed eyes stared into hers, but Azaleigh was already positioning her neck over his lips. Fear beat at her at the thought of what was to come, but if this would save him, though she wasn’t certain she wanted to know why, she’d do it. She felt the feather-like caress of his lips, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she remembered their afternoon together. He’d kissed her there.

“Hurry up, boy!”

Dorian’s voice made her flinch. From the many boots she could see, she surmised there were more Night Walkers around them, circling.

His tongue ran across the deep wound made by Dorian, before pain so terrible it almost made her black out locked her to him.

“It really is him,” someone murmured from above her.

“Did you think I was lying?” Dorian snapped.

“Of course not, M-my King.”

“Go ’head of us, and tell the queen I’m bringing her son home, though she’s to keep clear until I give her the go ’head.”

The boots winked in and out of her vision, and Azaleigh could feel her heart slowing, almost as fast as the long pulls Victor took from her neck. Suddenly, sharp fingernails dug into her scalp again and her head was ripped away.

The pain was too much, and she slipped from consciousness. At some point she must have come back, because she heard Dorian drawl, “Welcome home, son.”