Violette Dubrinsky

by Under a Crescent Moon

  “Hi. I’m Deborah Schmidt from the street over, and this the address the lawyers said to come by if you think you have that bad drywall.” The woman who spoke held a large platter in her hand, an assortment of large cookies on it. “Made you some cookies from that Marie Dumond’s cookbook.”

  With a smile, Azaleigh stepped aside and nodded. “Hi, I’m Azaleigh Montclaire, the local attorney on the case. Please come inside.”

  ***

  This was the place.

  It was as she remembered. A sprawling red brick-and-mortar estate on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. It was obviously a renovated plantation, with two tall, black gates housing guards with visible guns, and a long, circular driveway, split by the manicured grass in the middle, that led to the house.

  Paying the taxi driver, Azaleigh hoped she was doing the right thing. Coming to a vampire lair at night didn’t smack of smarts, but she needed to see Victor for a few minutes to tell him about Antoinette’s letter. If he didn’t want to hear, so be it, but she wanted to at least make the attempt.

  As she approached the gate, the guards above called to her from the black intercom box attached to one of the red-brick gateposts. She spoke into it, loudly and clearly. “My name’s Azaleigh Montclaire. I’m here to see Victor Winters.”

  “For the ball?”

  Azaleigh could have cursed. Did these people never have down-time? It was always a ball, or a dinner party, or a hunt, something she’d never seen but Azaleigh could only imagine the extravagance, guns, and poor animals. What did the Winters do for money, anyway?

  “Yes, I need to talk to him about something. It’s urgent.”

  “And he knows you’re coming?”

  “Yes,” she lied.

  “What’s your name?” The guard queried, and Azaleigh heard flipping papers.

  “Azaleigh.”

  “Last name?”

  “Montclaire.”

  “I don’t have that name on the list. Please step away from the gate, ma’am.”

  “Wait!” Azaleigh was desperate now. “Just...just call him. Please.”

  “If you’re not on the list, you’re not coming in. Savannah has other plantations. Try a tour of those.”

  He thought she was a tourist? Because she had a New York accent?

  “Look, I’m Victor Winters’ attorney, and he’ll be very upset if I don’t show him the contracts I drew up. They need to be reviewed before tonight’s ball.”

  The guard was silent for a moment. “What contracts?”

  “That’s between me and Mr. Winters. Please call him to vouch for my identity.”

  There was an impatient sigh, and the sound of buttons being pressed. Azaleigh bit her lip, holding tight to her knitted purse.

  “Mr. Winters? Yes. There’s a woman, an Ashl-eigh Montclaire at the gates—oh.”

  There was a long pause. Despite the error with her name, Azaleigh prepared to turn with her tail tucked between her legs, and have the cab drive her the two hours back to Hallows Brook.

  “Of course, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  The gate unlatched, and the guard addressed her. “Someone’s coming for you, Ms. Montclaire. Your name wasn’t on the list so I thought you were—”

  “It’s okay. You were only doing your job.”

  Her palms were sweaty, and she rubbed them on her fall jacket. It was the first week in October, but she was sweating like it was mid-August.

  As she sat in the back of the security car, which smelled of Doritos and expensive leather, the estate growing larger and colder as they neared, Azaleigh tried to remember what she’d rehearsed telling him.

  ***

  She shouldn’t look this beautiful in loose, beige pants and a shapeless jacket, but Victor’s gaze greedily drank her in. Azaleigh entered his game room cautiously, heart racing as she quickly surveyed the pool tables, large TV, and leather chairs, before settling doe-brown eyes on him. In the months he hadn’t seen her, her hair had grown inches longer, and the brown of her skin had faded to a rich caramel, revealing slight smudges under her eyes and a few stress lines around her mouth.

  A little smile curved her lips, but he didn’t reciprocate it. She began fidgeting with the large bag at her side.

  “Hi.”

  “Why are you here?” Victor wasn’t feeling particularly hospitable, especially tonight and to her. He was, however, curious to know what she was doing in Georgia, and why she’d chosen to come to him.

  Azaleigh’s smile disappeared, but she stepped further into the room, coming to a halt a few feet from him. She didn’t take a seat in the unoccupied chair before him and he didn’t offer one.

  “You look good.”

  He smirked and lifted a brow. Of course he looked good dressed in a sleek, black Brioni suit. In a few hours, he would be engaged to Gina Hendricks, the only child of the South Carolina Night Walker Clan. It was an alliance many coveted because along with Gina came the South Carolina territory. He’d be doubling the area he’d one day rule.

  “What do you want, Azaleigh?”

  She squared her shoulders, back snapping straight, and nodded. “I found a letter. From Antoinette.”

  Surprise must have shown on his face, because she nodded and continued in a softer voice. “It was in the attic. She wrote it in 1996.”

  “And this letter has something to do with me?”

  “Yes. Victor...” She reached into her side bag and retrieved a severely creased piece of paper. Without opening it, Azaleigh continued. “She asks you to forgive her for what she did. Antoinette didn’t think she had a choice.”

  He’d long since made his peace with what Antoinette had done but having Azaleigh tell him about the letter brought the anger back.

  “You came here to talk about Antoinette?” he demanded, uncurling from the chair and closing the gap between them.

  “She had a vision, Victor.” Her eyes begged him to listen. “When she first met you, Antoinette had a vision.”

  His smile was feral, and Azaleigh recoiled, either from his fangs or his blood-colored eyes. Anger was there, but standing so close to her, he could smell the blood in her veins, and the scent of sunshine and light, to which he was not immune.

  “A vision that made her turn me into her personal zombie?” Victor followed her, his black Leeds shoes clipping the hardwood with each step. Azaleigh retreated until the wall halted her, her gaze frantically searching his, as if unsure whether he intended to hurt her. Her fear fueled the beast caged inside, but Victor didn’t want that. He locked onto the rapidly beating pulse at her smooth neck, and his mouth grew dry. One taste, and he’d let her go back to New York, to the new life she now had.

  He didn’t know he was growling until Azaleigh placed a trembling hand on his shirt. As he blinked, her blanched face came into focus.

  With a curse, he stepped away, moving to the other side of the game room. Even at the distance, he could still hear her heart thundering, smell her blood. He hadn’t fed in days. Tonight, he’d intended on finding a willing blood slave or guest and sating his need.

  “Go home, Azaleigh.”

  She cleared her throat, and took several deep breaths. “The vision was of the two of us.”

  “And that was the reason she enslaved me for forty years?” He couldn’t bring himself to laugh—his stomach was beginning to ache—but he did manage a snort of disbelief. “Antoinette’s dead, and I am with my people. I don’t care to hear anything else about her. Go home.”

  “She saw us together, Victor, in the sunlight.”

  Her voice was growing closer, and with it, her scent. Victor turned, halting Azaleigh in her steps.

  “So, she saw the future. Antoinette was always gifted with Sight. It means nothing.”

  Licking her lips, Azaleigh slipped the parchment back into her bag, and took a few steps forward. He swallowed audibly.

  “I missed you, Victor.”

  Her words surprised him, but her scent was making him crazy. Victor stepped behind the
pool table, opening the distance between them again. “You chose to leave.”

  She turned to face him. “I didn’t think we could be together.”

  “You never discussed it with me, Azaleigh. You left when I couldn’t follow you.”

  Lowering her head, she agreed. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the best thing for—”

  “For you, and you did. Now, you can have your sunlight, your human partner, and live a normal, happy life.”

  “For us, Victor.” Her voice grew louder. “I wouldn’t survive here! I was your blood slave, remember? I couldn’t do that for the rest of my life, and before you say anything about ‘freeing’ me, I can’t do the balls, and the dinner parties, and the hunts and—and the darkness for the rest of my life, and I thought you couldn’t come with me, so I left.”

  He hissed at her. “I don’t need any of this! I don’t need the balls or the parties, but once, I needed you, and you left!” She went still, blanching further, but he wasn’t finished. “You went back to your little apartment in New York, and you found someone else.”

  “I didn’t, Victor.” Azaleigh came forward quickly, shaking her head in such fierce denial, he might have believed her. “I didn’t find anyone else.”

  “I saw you!” The pool table crashed to the side, pushed away by his hands in anger. Azaleigh instantly stepped back, her hand covering her neck, as he advanced. Victor caught her around the waist, pulling her flush against him and keeping her steady as he spoke. “Do you know I followed you to New York? I contacted your realtor, and he gave me your phone number. It took me another week to find your address, but once I had it, I came for you.” His grip loosened when she only stared at him in awe. “I was going to convince you we could be together despite the differences, but you were with someone else.” She tensed, and when her eyes flitted away from him in shame, Victor could have roared. “Two weeks, Azaleigh, was what it took for you to replace me.”

  When he released her this time, Victor stalked to the wall-phone near the door. “This is Victor Winters. I need a car for Ms. Azaleigh Montclaire to Hallows Brook within the next five minutes.”

  ***

  “Wait, Victor!” Coming out of her shock, Azaleigh rushed to him, catching his jacket between her fists. “It wasn’t like that. I know what you saw, but it wasn’t like that.”

  She was still reeling from learning that he’d followed her to New York. The one night she’d had a ‘date’ he’d seen her.

  Victor placed the phone into its cradle, and gently extracted her fingers from his jacket, holding them in his large, cool hands.

  “It wasn’t like what, Azaleigh? His tongue wasn’t in your mouth, and you two weren’t close to naked? I left before you got to it, but I’m smart enough to know what followed.”

  “Listen to me, Victor!” She was growing desperate now. In his eyes, still ungodly red, Azaleigh could see he didn’t believe her. “We kissed once, and that was it. Nothing happened. I promise. Victor, please listen. I was trying to get over you—I didn’t think I’d see you again. I was trying to move on. I wanted to know if someone else could make me feel the way you did.” He scowled down at her, disbelief twisting his features. “Nothing happened, I swear.”

  Victor gently pushed her away. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Anger punched through her desperation and tears. “It’s been three months, Victor. Look me in the face and tell me you didn’t do anything.”

  His eyes narrowed on her, and she felt something squeeze her heart as she saw the truth in his eyes. Of course he had. She’d known he would. Had expected it. But it still hurt.

  “You left, Azaleigh.”

  “I’m not blaming you. I-I was just pointing out that we both tried to move on.” Running a hand over her face, she wiped at the salty tears now falling past her lips.

  There was a loud knock at the door, and Victor eyed it, before turning to look at her. As he moved to answer, Azaleigh looked at the dark wood floors.

  “I love you.”

  His steps halted, but then they began again, steady and determined. She heard the slight squeak as the door opened.

  “The car is outside.”

  “Good, Garland. Ms. Montclaire will be ready within the next minutes.” Victor closed the door, and briefly, hope fluttered in Azaleigh’s chest. She looked up to find him staring coldly at her. “I thought you’d want to wash your face.” His head indicated a door to his right. “When you’re finished, go outside. Garland will take you to the car.”

  Victor’s hands were on the door knob once more when she found her voice. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Highness. I’m sorry I wasted your time, but I’ll be out of your life forever in just a few minutes.”

  Storming past him into the restroom, Azaleigh closed the door and stared at her reflection. Her face was streaky and blotched red, her eyes pink and puffy. Shaking her head, she ran the tap, washed her face, and blew her nose. When she stepped from the bathroom, there was no sign of Victor. Only the expensive cologne he now wore remained.

  Making her way into the hallway, she found Garland, Victor’s huge, stoic Protector, waiting for her, and followed him out to the black Benz outside.

  The driver, who barely looked legal to be operating heavy machinery and was so pale she knew he belonged to Victor’s people, kept peeking at her, as if he had something to say. Already irate, Azaleigh snapped. “What?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I was wondering if they announced it already.”

  “Announced what?”

  “The prince’s engagement.”

  Her heart had broken before with Victor’s cold words, but it now felt close to ripping from her chest, falling to the ground, and shattering once more.

  “He’s engaged?”

  With a cautious look as if unsure he should have mentioned anything, the driver nodded and stepped on the gas. Azaleigh became aware of the wealth of luxury cars bypassing them to enter the compound. Turning to peer after them, she caught sight of the expensive evening gowns, the sharp suits, similar to the one Victor had been wearing.

  “They’re supposed to announce it tonight. The prince and Gina Hendricks, the South Carolina heiress.”

  Tears blurred her vision then, and Azaleigh stared at the ruby-adorned, gold ring on her finger the entire way home. Her driver, probably sensing her mood, didn’t bother to engage her in further conversation, and when he finally opened the door to the car, managed an unsure smile. Entering her house, Azaleigh closed the door and collapsed against it, sliding the ring from her finger.

  Antoinette had been wrong.

  Chapter 11

  She came awake jerkily, her body fighting his as Azaleigh drew long pulls of air into her lungs to scream. Victor tightened his arms around her, and spoke softly.

  “It’s me, Azaleigh. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Her heart thundered, but she swallowed and tried to control her breathing.

  She’d taken the same room she’d occupied before, laying out more of her possessions in it. There were no suitcases pressed up against the walls anymore. The vanity was decorated with lotions, hair products, her essentials. After their conversation, he’d wondered if she was back in Hallows Brook for a few days or permanently. Coming to the house, and seeing that she’d added her stamp to it, told him it was the latter.

  “Victor?” Azaleigh’s voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat a few times before adding, “What are you doing here?”

  It was the question he’d asked when he found himself standing at the front door. He was missing his own engagement party, chasing after a woman who’d left him three months ago. Just hours ago, she’d returned to him, speaking of a letter from Antoinette and telling him she loved him. He’d been angry then, was still angry, but her words haunted him as he mingled with his guests. Gina Hendricks was beautiful, womanly in her curves with a beguiling innocence in her features. If Azaleigh hadn’t returned tonight, he would have been content with
her. But Azaleigh had. She’d come to him. And the only thing Victor could focus on in the presence of Gina and the rest of his guests was Azaleigh’s tear-stained face, and the pain in her eyes when she’d told him she loved him and he’d thrown her out.

  “Did you mean it?” he murmured against her hair, taking a deep inhale of the melon-scented shampoo she’d used.

  Her hand moved down to his, resting against her bare midriff, and she tentatively covered it with her own. “Mean what?”

  “Do you love me?”

  She hesitated for the briefest moment, but nodded once. Victor released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. On his way here, he’d half expected her to say no, that he’d killed whatever feelings she had for him when he’d been so nasty to her.

  “That’s good, baby.” He smoothed her soft hair from her neck, pressing his lips to the pulse that was gradually slowing there, and resisting the urge to sink his teeth and feed. “Because I need you. I was angry before, and I’m sorry for treating you like I did, but I do need you, Azaleigh. I need you more than I need anything else.”

  She rolled in his arms, coming to face him, and though she couldn’t see him in the pitch blackness of the room, he could make out every expression flitting over her face. He read wariness, distrust, and hope.

  “I missed you so much, Victor,” she admitted softly, licking her lips as she edged closer to him. He pulled her the few inches remaining until he could feel the elastic of her panties pressing against his dress shirt. “I didn’t expect you to come after me. You were so...”

  “Cold?” He kissed her lips gently. “I was angry, and hurt.” It shamed him to admit it, because he could see Azaleigh, crying and broken, begging him to listen. “I wanted to make you feel what I felt. I’m sorry.” Victor kissed her again, this time delving his tongue into her mouth and caressing her until she moaned.

  From the moment he’d seen her lying in the bed, he’d wanted to take her. As he tasted her, reacquainting himself with the sweetness, his cock tented his trousers, searching for a way into the warm body beside him.