by A. C. Mason
Cover Copy
To save the president, Vaihan must trust the woman who betrayed him.
Vaihan Louchian, Ancient Zombie and Special Advisor to the President, dabbles in contracts for Homeland Security in Washington DC, the only remaining demilitarized zone. His latest mission: to seduce delectable Leera Waltz so he can take down her boyfriend Rowley, leader of the anti-zombie terrorist movement. Vaihan and the President work the Bill of Undead Rights through the senate, but terrorist attacks rise. The futures of the living and undead are in jeopardy, and Ms. Waltz is not all she seems. Vaihan can’t help being more interested in rescuing her than in his assignment. Any human female who’s willing to put up with the complications of lovemaking with him and his bouts of OCD is worth the hassle.
Vaihan is powerful, intelligent and kind. Sooo not what Leera expected of an undead. When she’s forced to betray Vaihan, she knows he will never understand. She must return to Rowley, and slips deeper into the city’s dark underworld. Then Vaihan’s suspected in an assassination attempt against the president, and Leera has to find the courage to do what’s right and save him, or lose not only Vaihan and the leader of the free world, but her heart and soul.
Content Warning: Questionable sexual situations that will disturb some readers, such as abuse, bondage and drug use. Graphic violence and sex, including taboo play. M/F. M/F/M. M/M. And the sexiest undead civil servant you’ll ever meet.
Highlight
Butterflies fluttered in Leera’s heart. Was further exploration on the menu tonight? What kind of man–undead went through the trouble of this elaborate a seduction? Vaihan. But why? All this for the case he worked on for the CIA, to get to her brother? Overkill!
A young woman dressed in a white top and pants bowed to them. “I will escort her to the ladies’ changing room.”
When the woman waved her away from Vaihan, Leera gripped his arm.
“We’ll meet up in a few moments.” He lifted her hand and kissed the top then pointed down the opposite end of the hall.
She released him and turned her attention back to the young woman. Needy much?
“If you like, keep on your undergarments, otherwise, strip down. Then put on the housecoat and slippers. I’ll bring you to him when you are ready.” The ebony women held the door open.
Leera entered the vacant room. Large lockers lined the wall. Vanities were set against the far end. Gold lighting shone off the marble surfaces. A long-stemmed red rose lay at one of the stations with her name on a folded white card. She turned over the paper.
Sins of the Undead Patriot
By a. c. Mason
Foreword
At the age of nine, I made up a zombie story at summer camp. It scared the other kids so much that the camp counselor called my parents and asked them to ensure I never do such a dreadful thing again. From this, I learned the power of storytelling, and the seed of becoming an author was planted.
It seemed only fair that I revisit the world of zombies and undead. As I have changed from the girl in a tent surrounded by peers, so have the zombies and undead evolved in my mind.
Dedication
To Keyser. I miss you dearly.
Acknowledgements
Mary Murray, the world’s most amazing editor, without whom I’d surely be gnawing off my own arms.
Bird, my critique partner and supporter, who has believed in all my crazy worlds even when I question them.
My family has given me the strength to pursue my writing and I am humbled by their love.
Troy, you are mostly right except for when you are completely wrong. For that, I love you.
Chapter 1
Temptation filled the dark lounge–half-clad human females danced in the center prancing for the zombies, who circled this evening’s “dishes.” Jaw clenched, Vaihan gripped his glass with a shaky hand. Sure, the government provided his kind cloned meat, but taste didn’t factor in. “I can’t believe it’s cloned human” was false advertising.
A petite blonde glanced his way for the third time and smiled. As she ground her hips to the rhythm of the music, her purple, skintight minidress hiked up her thighs.
He lifted the Lagavulin Scotch with an ounce of pureed organs mix to his lips and downed the contents to quiet the ache at the pit of his stomach. The smoky peat-and-metallic flavor of the dense liquid coated his tongue. Such concoctions helped keep the cravings at bay. However, the elixir only curbed the urge to taste flesh temporarily. The mouthwatering aroma of healthy humans permeated each breath, waking the “urge.”
He slammed his glass down on the bar and headed for the door. It wasn’t easy to be The Undead Poster Boy, when he too, struggled to keep his other needs caged.
The blonde stepped in his path. “Leaving?” Between the mounds of breasts, her cleavage was a deep gorge. She curled her lips upward on one side in what she likely hoped was a seductive smile.
“I’m stepping out a moment.” If she was legal, he’d guess barely. Not worth the risk. Not after every sacrifice he’d made the past thirty years.
“My place or yours?” Need beamed at him in her green eyes. Blue LED lights ran in tubes on the ceiling, flooding her youthful flesh. The bass of trance music thumped at the rate of a victim’s heartbeat when panic set in. An undead never tamed the predator inside.
“Neither.” Tonight she’d find a fix, but not from him. Others of his kind enjoyed toying with their food. He found such activities distasteful, so these types of clubs weren’t his scene. In the corner, a zombie licked a brunette’s neck and slid his hand up her skirt. Tasting the living didn’t hurt, but left an undead in a state much like blue balls. Her lips parted in a gasp as she rested her head on the wall behind her. An addict, no doubt.
“You sure?” The blonde leaned into Vaihan, pressing herself to his crotch.
Heat from her hip stroked his length, rousing suppressed need. He huffed. Maybe some were more easily swayed. He stepped back.
With wide eyes, she glanced up. “Holy Mother of God, and you’re not even hard.”
“Correct.” Clueless would understate her aptitude. The human females in this bar had no clue what they were getting themselves into. So many tasty treats were scattered about the room offering themselves up for a hit of Z-Luv, the neurotoxin zombies produced in their saliva, blood and semen, which paralyzed their victims in a state of pleasure until the feeding began. In this place, even the oldest of Ancient undead would suffer. Once a human was hooked, they spiraled out of control, losing their appeal. He enjoyed a more responsive lover in and out of bed rather than one half-baked out of her mind. Perhaps he should show her.
Vaihan took her hand. “Come.” The only way to wake her out of her naive belief was to introduce her to the burnouts, those wasting away on the addiction.
She spread her lips, showing off her pretty pearly smile. “You can fuck me in the stairwell if you like.”
Not quite what he had in mind. He opened the door at the back and tugged her upstairs. Down the narrow hall, he entered a large dark room above the club.
Women were scattered on mattresses, naked, reaching out to him. “More. More,” they pleaded, moaning.
None of them should have been used this way. “This too can be you, beauty.” Vaihan leaned in to her ear. “I can be your enchanted Prince Charming and the Beast.” He’d rescued the women from a sex den he’d shut down last week. “One taste is all it takes. Just like them, you too could be paralyzed, used for sex and consumed to the point of scarring.” All of which were illegal. Zombies weren’t the only ones running such establishments.
“More. More.” They reached for him.
Errol, the owner of this club, Safe Haven, ran a clean joint. No more than a pin drop of Z
-Luv for the human clients, or a zombie wasn’t welcome back. The fellow Ancient, Errol, helped by taking in the women who weren’t welcomed home by their families. He did what he could to assist those misused by Ancients.
Vaihan grabbed her, spun and pulled her near. Suspending his mouth an inch above hers, he inhaled the scent of her fear. “Taste heaven.” For a hundred years, his mind had been filled with primal impulses. “The urge” had engulfed him in darkness. Blessed with overaccelerated metabolisms, undead needed nutrition only human meat could provide for continued rejuvenation. Ridiculous stories of body parts coming off had been spawned from the early process of renewal. Every cell in their body regenerated. Like a snake, undead shed their old skin. Once that occurred, immortality was his at a price more costly than his IRS tax bill. Gradually the “urge” had diminished. Through his lifetime, many young were arrested, tried and executed for cannibalism. Ancients with a conscience, like him, were over a hundred years old, forced to live endlessly with their misdeeds.
She pushed his chest, lips contorted in disgust, and turned then ran down the stairs.
No good deed went unpunished.
In the back of the room, Dominique, Errol’s partner sat in a rocking chair.
“Was it something I said, Dom?” Vaihan shrugged. “How are my fighters?”
Dominique had been rescued five years ago. During her recovery, love or lust had sparked between the two. Now, one was never far from the other.
“Same as they were the two other times you called today. Improving,” she said.
So, shoot him. He’d followed up to make sure the women were safe and recovering.
“Especially the youngest one. She is only fourteen.” Dominique sighed. “What’s wrong with some people?”
“Not people. Monsters. They come in all forms.” If only he knew the answer to her question, maybe he could make sure this didn’t happen repeatedly. “Tell Errol I stopped by and said he is one lucky undead.”
“He knows, but it can’t hurt to remind him.” Her long lashes swept over her lone eye in a wink. “Keep up the good work. It means a lot to us all.”
Easier said than done. He descended the stairwell. No sign of the blonde in the purple minidress. Good. With any luck, he’d scared some sense into her.
Barton leaned in the door frame. “You sure have a way with women,” he said. Strobe lights shone off his shiny black bald head. The man stood out like a drag queen at a Republican convention in his flashy red suit and yellow dress shirt. African Americans didn’t mix well with the undead crowd, as they were the preferred dish due to their high concentration of melanin, which tasted sweet. Already two male zombies at the bar eyed him. Why Barton wanted to rendezvous there was beyond Vaihan, but he’d better get the asshole out of there soon.
Vaihan slid into a crescent-sgaped leather booth to his right. Barton took the seat across from him then set his briefcase on the table.
“How can I be of service to Homeland Security?” The sooner he got to the point, the faster Vaihan could exit.
“We’d like you to prove Peter Waltz is helping Rowley McKie get funding and political clout to support his terrorist activities.” Barton popped open the front of the briefcase. “If we can prove that, we might be able to pressure Peter to flip and take McKie down once and for all.”
Peter Waltz did affiliate with those who didn’t support the Bill of Undead Rights. However, any exchange he’d had with Waltz had always been cordial. “I’m not sure how I’m to do that if the man is less than warmed up to Ancients being around.” The man didn’t support the Bill, so did that mean he was the one helping McKie? Hardly a smoking gun. McKie was convincing all on his own. But so were a great many madmen.
“This isn’t a direct contact scenario. His sister, Leera Waltz, will be your point of entry. Recently widowed, vulnerable and attractive.”
And human. This assignment would aggravate his OCD. One more take-it-up-the-ass mission from the feds. Just what he didn’t need.
“Tell me about Peter’s connection to McKie.” If the feds were sniffing around, the widow’s misfortunes were about to worsen. Across the room beneath the table, an older woman stroked the male next to her. Her teased hairdo reminded him of the disco era. Until the 80s, Vaihan had lived in hiding or as an albino. Then the government had approached him and a few others of his kind with a dilemma. If the Ancients helped keep certain facts under wraps, they would be integrated into society and given identities–serial numbers. But not rights. Up until then, humans had depicted zombies as mindless creatures that decayed. How wrong they were.
“McKie grew up next door. Same age, school and class as Peter. Things got strained when McKie dated Leera. She was still in high school. But they broke up. She went away to study in Paris. She fell in love with a French man, and soon after, married the frog. While she was away, Peter and McKie buried the hatchet.” Barton handed him a photo.
On the glossy page, big almond eyes gazed right into him. The maple tone of her skin warmed her somber expression. She had an hourglass silhouette draped in a fitted beige gown that accentuated her curves. Vaihan could be sure McKie’s interest would renew if it hadn’t already. This woman had no idea the danger she was in. And if Vaihan turned Barton down, he could be sure he’d find someone else to get the job done who wouldn’t look out for her.
“From the wire we have on her phone, she’s going to be at Tuesday’s performance of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme with Peter and his wife Meg. A perfect setup for you two to meet and hook up if you know what I mean.”
At least she had good taste in music. However, if he got this straight, the man wanted him to make advances on an acquaintance’s sister to use her to take down her brother. “You do get that I’m undead and this can be a hang up for simple conversation with human females?”
“Leera’s psychological profile indicates she has a high esteem for government officials. Her father was the late Senator Waltz, the first senator of the District of Columbia in eighty-two. I’m confident you can win her over with your charm, even without the good looks.” A broad smile spread his lips, revealing his gold-capped tooth. “You were People’s Sexiest Undead for the last three years. And weren’t you approached by the Bachelor?”
“Tres drole.” Using the whole Special Advisor to the President and founder of the International Network for Undead Rights–INUR–angle to pick up women didn’t get him much play. Besides, one night for a taste of poison wasn’t how most women built relationships. Not that he had time for women.
“I could send someone else in, but I don’t want this woman to be screwed over any more than need be. That’s why we need you to work her. Poster boy for decency and morality.” He slammed the briefcase shut.
The stench of bullshit outweighed the tantalizing aroma of the patrons. Barton knew he didn’t deal with human cases, unless it involved helping women. However, he had a lot on his plate, without the temptation of live flesh or an attractive female. The president and he were close to securing the support to draft the final version of the first Bill of Undead Rights in history to become legislation.
Already his moonlighting activities of shutting down sex dens and unruly Ancients could pose a danger to his position at the White House.
“We aren’t asking. We are calling in our favor. We aren’t prepared to let the Bill die amid increased terrorist activities, political bullying by right wing fanatics and threats to the president’s life.”
Nor would he.
“Look, we bury certain facts about the less savory sex dens to ensure all zombies seem reformed. We do for you and you have to do for us too.”
The point didn’t need stating. The government benefited from keeping the less desirable facts outside of the public eye too. They were the ones cloning entire humans for limbs and organs for the rich then claiming they only dealt in parts. Ancients provided them a way of discarding the leftovers.
“I rather like Jean-Baptiste Lully. His music is
optimistic.” Best he saw this as an opportunity to help his fellow American. As Mandela would say, a good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination.
“I’m happy to hear you see things our way, Mr. Louchian.” Barton rose and held out his hand.
Vaihan glared at the offer. “I suggest you leave to ensure you can get back and report that we did have this conversation. Some of the other patrons are considering how long they could go without another meal after eating you.”
“Word is that the Conference Committee’s report will be approved by the senate this fall and ready for the commander-in-chief’s approval early next year.” Barton stood and buttoned his jacket.
“With any luck, it will.” As the president had assured him, the Bill was moving along as projected.
“I’ll be in contact. Enjoy your evening.” Barton picked up his briefcase and darted to the exit with hurried steps.
An undead sandwiched a brunette to the wall in the corner, her thighs wrapped around his waist. With quick motions, he pumped into her. The woman’s dark, hungry eyes met Vaihan’s. He read her lips; she said, “Harder, make me come.” The male’s sharp thrusts were followed by harsh moans from the brunette.
Sweat and sex wove into Vaihan’s nostrils as he reached the entrance, picture in hand. He grabbed matches from the bar, then struck one and lifted the flame to the bottom corner of the glossy sheet. The woman in the picture already knew loss. Pain was evident in her face, as well as strength. He couldn’t burn the image, and blew out the flame.
The bouncer, Don opened the door. “Have a good evening, Mr. Louchian.”
It couldn’t hurt for him to make sure the young blonde left. “Don, did you see an attractive Goldilocks in a purple minidress head out earlier?”
Lust glimmered in Don’s eyes. “She sure did. And in a hurry. Too bad, as I wouldn’t have minded tapping that ass.”
