by A. C. Mason
“Never mind.” Prick. “We don’t have the same sense of humor.”
“Next time we meet, you’d better be the favorite guest at the Waltz family gatherings.”
Sure thing, he’d get right on that after he cleaned up the Delmar mess.
* * * *
Black spray-painted windows were never a good sign. Vaihan had sat outside the chop shop for three minutes, when the first greaseball knocked at the rear door wiping his clammy palms on his trousers. Since then, two more had entered. So, either something fishy was going on or they were about to start a Perverts Anonymous meeting. He texted Errol and Dominique to pick up the girls then put his BlackBerry back in the holster.
If only he could bust a cap in their twisted heads. Too bad he couldn’t mess with the living ones. Some of them gave bad zombies a run for their money. He popped the trunk, tucked the dart gun in his belt and lifted out his sword then shoved extra-large garbage bags in the inside pocket of his jacket.
When an undead vanished, no one thought much of it. Most thought they went underground again. All zombies were tagged. It was how the government found out what he did with the ones that weren’t holding up their end of the deal. And the feds had decided to give him better means of disposing of them. Which he had to do at their beck and call.
He leaned up against the wall next to the door, out of the peephole’s sight, then knocked.
“Code?” the male on the other side inquired.
Were these guys for real? A code. What the hell was this? A clubhouse? He banged on the door harder.
“If you fucking little spicks are messing around out there, I’m going to bust you up,” the male shouted, and the end of a gun emerged from a widening crack. A round belly wrapped in a greasy wife-beater popped out.
Vaihan withdrew the dart gun and pulled the trigger.
With wide eyes, mouth gaping open, the fat prick keeled over into la-la land.
As Vaihan reached the bottom of the stairs, the scent of young female flesh, sex and dirty old men mixed. At times like this, he wished his sense of smell wasn’t so acute. Doors lined each side of the hallway, eight in total. At the end, a large room with a sofa and TV. A zombie rose at the sight of him. Delmar.
“The police are on their way!” Vaihan shouted to the patrons grunting and groaning. “If I were you, I’d get out of here as fast as humanly possible.”
A man appeared from the far door, shoving his hard penis back in his pants, and shuffled past him. His escape was followed by three more.
“Traitor.” Delmar sneered at him.
His accusation came as no surprise. Many of his people felt he went too far in upholding what humans wanted his kind to be. Truth was, he felt they should be better than humans, given the centuries most undead lived, and still they were corrupt for nothing more than capital gain. Sad, really. Eight young women lay helpless behind those doors, addicted to the most potent drug, with little chance of a normal life. What scum like Delmar thought held no power over him.
“You can come with me in one, or many pieces. That’s up to you.” Vaihan withdrew his sword. The only time he got to let the urge out to play was when he hunted his own kind. He took out the trash with pleasure.
“Fuck you.”
“I really did hope you’d say that.” Vaihan raised his sword. “Eight pieces seems only fair, one for each of the women.”
* * * *
The opera singer Measha Brueggergosman’s powerful voice poured out from the speakers in Vaihan’s car as he pulled up to the facility. The pitch of her tone vibrated through his body, relaxing him.
He turned off the engine, to the screaming of Delmar in the trunk. Did he think someone would rescue him? The idea amused Vaihan.
Marty stood by the secure door, chewing gum and pacing as Vaihan climbed out.
“Quitting?” Again. The biannual attempts were just before his birthday and New Year’s, which meant the man was intolerable half the year. He’d yet to last more than two months. Given the work he did for the government, it was admirable he’d lasted as long as he had. The fact that he smoked made him unappealing as a meal for the undead. Added protection. Marty was head of the undead Z-class experts in the government. Each class had an expert, but Z-class were the only ones recognized as proven to exist. Officially.
“The government of Slovakia contacted our military. They said they had an item of interest. A diary. As they were tearing down a building in Kraľovany, Slovakia. Best guess is the journal is from about the tenth century. The text is written in the old alphabet of Glagolitsa–old Slavonic, perhaps?”
Vaihan could have cleared that up some time ago but didn’t need to give the government one more reason to call upon him. In 845, as an officer in the military, he was tutored in reading and writing.
“What’s mind blowing is, the diary belonged to a doctor who seems to have restored an undead to human. If this is true, do you know what this means?”
“That there is a cure for what ails me?”
“That too. But it also means there is a way to kill your kind, once restored. We don’t know how he managed to do this yet. We have a linguist working on the text. A good friend.”
Vaihan pulled the eight trash bags from his trunk. If there was a cure, not all undead would agree to return to human form. Would the government force them to undergo the process or keep the knowledge a secret? This would definitely open Pandora’s box. The military could turn soldiers, send them to war and then turn them back into humans.
“Hope you find what you are looking for.” Vaihan swiped his security pass.
Marty nodded, head down. He knew the consequences as well as Vaihan and would ensure they weren’t uncovered. Just as Marty safeguarded the information about detecting shape-shifters.
“If you come upon some theories you’d like to test, keep me in mind,” Vaihan said.
A gleam shone in his eyes. “Will do.”
Vaihan carried the garbage bags down the hall to the door with a Z on it. Muffled noises came from inside. He turned on the concrete machine and tossed one of the bags into the cubed metal case next to the last one he’d filled in. Though they wouldn’t die, they would be contained in this government facility. He tossed another bag in with a grin. A lighter one. Maybe the creature’s dismembered member. Another few bags, and the night was his for the taking.
Chapter 9
Leera slid her finger behind one ear then the other, leaving a trail of vanilla perfume. At the edge of her bed, she pulled on her black Cuban heels and buckled the straps. Gliding her finger up the seam of her stockings, she left a hint of the sweet scent. Did the aroma please zombies? She had no idea. Why did she even want to appeal to Vaihan?
The doorbell rang. She grabbed her beige coat and rushed to the door. Her hands trembled, and she took a deep breath to calm the nervous energy inside. This was doable.
She opened the door.
Vaihan stood with a bouquet of pink and white orchids in hand. His pupils grew large as his gaze traveled over her figure. A red scarf draped around the neck of his black, three quarter length overcoat sharpened the edge of his dramatic appearance. The maroon dress shirt suited his light blue skin pigmentation.
“You look gorgeous.” He held out the flowers for her.
Definitely smooth, but what high-ranking government official wasn’t? “Thank you, it’s a beautiful arrangement.” Gesturing him in, she stepped back. “Let me get these in water.”
“Don’t rush. We aren’t pressed for time and you, beaute, are worth the wait. Let me hold your jacket.” He held his arm out.
Just as she was doing, he was formulating opinions about her. A shaky breath escaped her. “Thank you.” She draped the fabric over his forearm and hurried to the kitchen, flowers in hand.
She peeked over at him standing in her foyer with a half smile, examining her house with his gaze. Doable might have been the wrong word...but she didn’t know what to replace it with yet. She removed a vase from her kitchen
cabinet, filled it with water then cut the clear plastic over the exotic bouquet. One by one, she slid the stems into the glass then carried the flowers out to the dining room table.
She had done a piss poor job of stalling. “I’m ready,” she said.
As his gaze moved over her again, her body tingled.
“It’s chilly this evening.” Vaihan held up her coat.
After she slipped her arms in the sleeves, she turned to face him. “Nice and toasty warm thanks to you.” The difference in body temperature could come in handy. Especially in the winter.
“I aim to please.” His lips curved upward on one side. Despite his awkward beauty, the lines of his face were kind, baffling her that what some found terrifying, she found sexy. Did this make her weird? Not that this would be the first time.
He opened the door and guided her out.
The brisk night air washed over her cheeks, chilling her as she stepped out then locked the door.
“How was your week?” Vaihan’s deep voice was warmly gruff.
Cool air whirled around her. “I’ve had better, and you?”
He opened the passenger door for her. “Do you not wish to speak of what disrupted your week?”
She sat and he closed the door. This would be a good time to bring Rowley into the mix and ensure she set the pace of Vaihan’s inquiries. She buckled in.
Vaihan climbed into the driver’s seat then fastened his seatbelt. “Securely in?”
Did he have something of an obsession with locks? “I believe so.”
“Do you mind if I make sure? Given the issue with the latch.”
“Please do.” She extended the strap to him.
His warm, large hand covered hers. Her gaze met his intense stare as he yanked. “All clear.”
“If the car is under warranty, they will replace a faulty seatbelt latch.” She set her purse on her lap.
He leaned back, darting a look at the belt’s locking mechanism. “The dealer assures me it’s fixed.”
For peace of mind, he might want to get it replaced, as it gave him a fair amount of concern.
Vaihan smiled. “You were about to tell me of your week.”
“Ah, yes. A friend of mine, someone I’ve known a long time, named Rowley.” His expression appeared unchanged. “He was very upset about me going on a date with you.” She bit her bottom lip and held her breath waiting for his reaction. A knot twisted in her gut.
Vaihan pushed the lock button on the door. “Did you reassure him you only agreed to see me to prove how different we are?” His hand slid to the handle, then went back to the steering wheel.
Had he just checked the locks? Probably not. Get a grip.
He pulled onto the road. “With no long-term potential. Did you note how soon our date would be a distant memory?”
She had attempted to assure Rowley that it was just one date. “No, as that would be untrue and if it were my reason, I would have canceled because I wouldn’t lead you on. I enjoyed your brief yet memorable company, and I want to see if that continues.” She had to give him something, and most of it was true. Peter’s freedom was on the line. It didn’t hurt that Vaihan’s presence brought her a measure of happiness. Her emotional state hadn’t driven Vaihan away. And he was using her to get to Peter, so what did she have to feel guilty about?
“This friend’s approval matters to you?” He pressed the lock button again.
Something was definitely up with the locking and relocking. “Yes, he is important to me.” The truth was, Rowley was imperative to Peter’s future.
The heat of Vaihan’s touch moved up her arm to her neck, and a flush burned her skin. Her lips trembled as she forced a smile. His touch affected her, and she barely knew him.
“Then I shall work to gain this individual’s respect.” He reached over and took her hand in his.
If only that were an option. “That isn’t possible.”
Withdrawing his caress, he returned to steering. “I’m going to need to build up your faith in my abilities.” Vaihan smiled, warming his expression.
Her lack of faith was in no way a reflection of Vaihan’s skills, but rather an evaluation of Rowley’s hatred for undead. He’d founded the Coalition of the Living, COTL. An organization with the sole purpose of ensuring zombies weren’t welcome in America as they were in the rest of the world.
“I’ve lost you in those deep thoughts of yours.” Vaihan pulled up in front of the restaurant entrance.
The valet opened his door. Vaihan strode to her side and held his hand out for her.
Le Mouton was one of the few establishments that catered to both living and undead patrons. These types of restaurants had two kitchens–one for making human food and the other for making zombies’ fare.
“Good evening, Mr. Louchian, your table awaits.” The elder doorman cleared the way.
Despite the fact that she was a case to Vaihan, he’d brought her to a place he frequented. Was it because... No, she refused to spend the entire night analyzing everything he did.
“Just over here.” Vaihan looped a hand around her waist, fingers resting on her hip.
Warmth shot up her core. Her nipples hardened and she gasped. What wondrous power he had over her! There wasn’t anything wrong with her, enjoying being wined and dined. He was the government agent, not her.
The cozy corner booth by the river’s edge was bathed in soft lighting. The round oak table glowed. Outside, large snowflakes cascaded from the sky and the moon peeked through dark clouds.
Leera stepped up onto the elevated vacant rear section then removed her coat, which Vaihan handed to the doorman. She slid into the high-backed, caramel-colored leather seat.
“First snow of the year.” He smiled, sitting next to her.
She nodded. “It’s very pretty.” Romantic, for a first date. Not that he controlled the weather, but somehow it gave the evening an added layer.
A waiter approached with two menus in hand. “I’m Aaron. I’ll be looking after you this evening. I’ve brought our human menu, which is the red for the lady, and the blue for Mr. Louchian. I’ll give you a few moments to go over the selections and come back for your drinks.” He turned and moved to a table in the lower main dining area.
Most other tables had multiple undead with a human. Lust twinkled in the humans’ half-mast eyes. What did they know that she didn’t about undead?
“Is everything all right?” Vaihan tilted his head to see what she’d been staring at.
Heat burned Leera’s cheeks as she opened the menu. “Yes. Why do you ask?” Would he press the matter or back off?
“A certain curiosity piqued in those beautiful dark eyes. Is there anything I may be of assistance in clearing up?” His dimple peeked, softening his demeanor.
Sooner or later he’d find out how little she knew of his kind. “I’ve never known anyone who’s dated an undead, and yet, this place is filled with mixed couples.”
“Not all couples. Some are trios and other quartets.”
Quartets? Menages were complicated enough to understand. Wouldn’t she be stuffed from rim to brim? A table at the other end of the room had three undead males and a woman whose gaze sparkled with joy. The undead next to her had his hand pressed between her thighs. For the first time since Jean’s death, Leera wondered if she’d ever feel a connection beyond physical when being touched.
“Haven’t you heard, once you go undead, you never go back to the living?” A hint of mischief warmed his intense eyes, softening him.
She bit her bottom lip. A similar phrasing was told to her some years ago, but not in relation to undead.
“An undead’s primary focus in bed is his partner’s or partners’ pleasure–meaning orgasm.” He scanned his menu.
Should she interject a response or leave his mind to ponder what she thought of his comment. Heh. More fun to have him reflecting on it.
A wide selection of wines, spirits and ales covered the first page. Maybe drinking wasn’t a good idea. �
�You work for the White House, don’t you?”
“No, the president. My office is in the west wing on the second floor, at the back.”
“Of course, Special Advisor to the President...what does that mean exactly?”
“It varies. At times, she comes to me with an idea. I give her the undead perspective. Sometimes she tells me to get this or that done. Often, I need to smooth over decisions she’s made so that the undead don’t lose faith in her.” His pupils widened, filling his gaze with vulnerability. “I believe in the democracy of this great nation. My goal is to ensure that the rights and liberties are for all citizens, not just the living. As Mandela says, There is no such thing as part freedom.”
And was she going to endanger his purpose, everything he stood for? What choice did she have? If she didn’t, her brother would be shipped off to Guantanamo Bay. Peter had always looked out for her. She could do no different now, for his safety.
Maybe her comfort level with Vaihan was because she doubted he could hurt her. She knew he was only seeing her to further his own case, so he wouldn’t let his emotions run amok. People like Vaihan didn’t obtain what they wanted without having a ruthless side. He, too, could believe the ends justified the means.
Vaihan overlapped his hand on hers as he put down the menu. Butterflies traveled up her arm, sending a shiver through her. His touch felt right and thrilling all in the same moment.
What was she in the mood for? Spicy mixed with sweet. The ThaiMex salad was just the combo, with a shrimp cocktail to start.
“Have you decided?” Aaron stood beside their table, pencil and pad in hand.
“I have.” She smiled. “And how about you?” she asked Vaihan.
“Yes,” he responded. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman, if I ordered before you. Please go ahead.”
“Thank you.” Chivalry. She liked that quality in a male. “I’ll have a six ounce glass of vinho verde white. The shrimp cocktail, the ThaiMex fusion salad and a water, please.”
“Eclectic mix of flavors.” Vaihan’s upward-turned lips revealed his one dimple. “I’ll have all my usual.”
