“You taste even better than I remember.” It was a harsh whisper against her lips, all he could muster before he rolled onto her. Azaleigh didn’t protest. She was as desperate for him as he was for her. Her fingers dug into his scalp, pulling his head down as he devoured her mouth.
Through her underwear, the scent of her need hit his nose, swelling his already aching appendage. Without breaking the kiss, Victor slid a sharp fingernail under her panties, cutting quickly through the cotton.
Azaleigh tugged his shirt from his pants, and quickly undid the button. As her warm fingers caressed him, he jumped, pulled her hand above her head, and finding the other, locked both of them there.
Lifting his head, Victor stared down at her. My woman.
“Victor,” she whined, trying to break his hold on her arms. For her impatience, he slid a hand between her legs, testing her readiness for him. Azaleigh was soaked, her wet heat easing his finger within her. As the tight heat of her body gripped him, he kissed her again.
When she’d told him nothing happened with her human friend in New York, he hadn’t believed it. Now, with the restrictive tightness of her body, he was more inclined to. She didn’t feel like a woman who’d had a lover recently.
He added a second finger to the first, using his thumb to gently stroke her clitoris, and she broke his kiss to turn her head aside and scream his name, parting her thighs wider to give him access. Needing to taste her breasts, Victor released her hands and pulled the bra down, sucking one dark areola then the other into his mouth. Her hands flew back to his hair, smoothing down his neck to his back as she arched against him, whimpering.
Victor wanted to taste the nectar coating his fingers, but he was close to the edge. Removing his fingers, he quickly lined himself up with her opening.
“Wait,” Azaleigh suddenly murmured, and Victor could have cried. “Protection?”
Protection? For a few seconds, his mind went blank to what that was, and then he remembered.
“I can’t give you anything or get you pregnant, Azaleigh,” he said, his voice hoarse and pained. “We don’t carry or transmit diseases, and can only reproduce with others of our race.”
“Oh.” A smile tilted her lips as she pulled his head down to hers. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Victor went deep in one stroke, holding still as Azaleigh bucked under him, struggling to adjust to his size once more. When the grimace faded from her lips, he kissed her apologetically, and began moving, gliding in and out of the slick, warm tunnel he’d constantly dreamed of in the past months.
With her body flying high on passion, her blood smelled sweeter, and Victor’s fangs instantly descended. Azaleigh gasped as they nicked her lips, and he kissed the cut better, never halting his sure thrusts.
“Are you thinking about biting me, Victor?” Azaleigh asked, her hands tightening in his hair as the thought of her blood flowing down his throat made him thrust harder.
“Do you want me to?” he countered, pulling her leg higher to get deeper into the tight, pulling heat.
A seductive smile crossed her lips and she nodded, biting her lip when he withdrew almost to the point of leaving her, then thrust to the hilt.
“Yes.”
Azaleigh turned her head to one side, and Victor could clearly see the two, faded dark brown dots on her skin, his healed-over bite. He teased her first, drawing his tongue over her racing pulse, before fulfilling both their desires and taking her vein.
“Oh my God!” she moaned, fingers scratching his side through the shirt as he held her pinned to the bed.
He stroked her to a frenzy as her addictive body spurred him on. They came together, Azaleigh’s body milking him, and his, helpless to resist the forceful, delicious spasms that overtook him.
He released her neck, licking at the sweet droplets that formed over the incisions he’d made. Her eyes were closed, and a slight smile played around her lips as she took quick pulls of air into her lungs.
“I love you.”
Her eyes flew open, and he repeated the words, kissing lips that parted into an ‘o’ and rolling to his side. He sat up and removed his soaked-through shirt, tossing the dark blue Egyptian cotton aside like it hadn’t cost more than someone’s salary. Victor stood and let the trousers fall away.
As he climbed back into the bed, Azaleigh pushed into his arms.
“How much?” She asked the question so softly, Victor wasn’t certain whether she’d spoken or he was hearing things.
Turning to her, he stared into her face. Her eyes were open, and locked on his. Serious.
“More than anything.” What he felt for the woman in his arms overrode rationality. It just was. Now that she was back and available to him, he couldn’t image a life without her.
She nodded, but her gaze became guarded. “What about Gina?”
He was surprised she knew about Gina, but Victor answered. “I left the party to come to you. There won’t be an engagement. I’ll tell them tomorrow.”
Azaleigh didn’t speak for a long time, but from her irregular breathing patterns, Victor knew she was awake.
“I want to be with you,” she finally said, her voice soft and vulnerable. “I want to live with you, and laugh with you, grow old with you.”
“What about the human in your apartment?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, he was ready to listen now. When she’d spoken before, he’d been in a rage, and all he’d heard was that ‘it’ had happened once. What the ‘it’ was, he wasn’t certain.
“Adam?” Victor’s teeth snapped together at the name. “Nothing else happened. We kissed once, but there was nothing there. I—he wasn’t you.”
With that confession, she burrowed further against him, and Victor couldn’t help the surge of masculine pride that made his chest swell, and his hand clutch her tighter.
Suddenly, Azaleigh stiffened and he eased his hold. “And you?”
Confused, he tried to read her expression. Her head was tilted down, but he could still see the tight seam of her lips. “Me?”
“What about the others?”
If Azaleigh growled, Victor was certain that was it would sound like. “I don’t understand—”
“The other women, Victor.”
With a frustrated huff, she tried to peel her body from his. Victor didn’t relax his grip, and when she’d struggled enough, Azaleigh finally tossed him a glare and stopped.
“There weren’t other women.”
She looked so surprised, Victor almost smiled. He’d tried, God knew he’d tried, but blood-lust had been the only thing he’d felt in another female’s presence. Beautiful, naked, and willing had done nothing to jumpstart his arousal. One thought of Azaleigh though, and he was aching.
“But when I asked you about that tonight, you said—”
“I didn’t say anything, but I knew what you’d assume,” he corrected. He’d wanted to hurt her the way he’d hurt when he saw that human pawing her.
“Oh.” Azaleigh was silent for a long time before she drew closer, tossing an arm about his chest. “I want us, Victor. Just us.”
“Good, because I want that too.” Even as he said it, Victor realized there were barriers. He wouldn’t grow old, would never suffer from disease or illness, had the ability to recover from any injury so long as he fed, but she would succumb to one, if not all of those things, unless he made her like him.
“Antoinette’s letter had something else...a spell.”
“A spell?”
“Do you miss the sunlight? Really miss it?”
“I only miss it when you’re not with me.” She was his sunshine.
A tear fell from her eye, and Victor instantly pulled her on top of him. “Why are you crying?”
“I love you, Victor, but I don’t know if I can ask you to make the sacrifices for us to be together.”
“Let me make that decision, baby.” He drew his hand up her back, and coming in contact with the bra strap, unhooked it and tossed it away. “Wh
at will I have to sacrifice?”
Azaleigh kissed him, a deep kiss that spoke volumes of her love, and something else. When she lifted her head, it was to murmur softly.
“Everything.”
***
She was nervous. Azaleigh knew the spell front the back to the front, but her stomach felt as if at any moment, it would lurch and whatever was in there, which couldn’t be much since she’d been too terrified to eat, would come up. She’d followed Antoinette’s instructions to the tee, finding the ingredients necessary for the spell, and now, she waited, sitting in her white nightgown in the large chalk-drawn circle as the crescent moon shined its soft light through the thick woods.
There was a blast of cold, and she stood, knowing he’d arrived. Victor. A smile curved her lips but as she rushed to him, Azaleigh couldn’t help the words that left her lips. “You don’t have to do this, Victor. I love you. There’s probably another way. I don’t think—”
He silenced her, stroking his lips over hers until she grew pliant in his arms. The tension ran from her body as if sucked out by his kiss.
“This is the way.”
Victor made quick work of his shirt, hanging it on the nearest tree branch. He removed his shoes and the rest of his clothing as she wrung her hands and stared. “You’re sacrificing too much, Victor.”
“But it’s worth it.” He winked and Azaleigh felt warmth travel the length of her body. He was already perfect. They didn’t need a spell. “I’m ready, baby.”
Before he could enter the circle, Azaleigh caught his hand in both of hers and shook her head. “I changed my mind. Please. I can’t—”
“I won’t watch you die, Azaleigh.” His voice was harsh, and Azaleigh shook her head and tried to interrupt, but he wouldn’t let her. “I need you, and you need this. I don’t care which world we choose, as long as you’re in it.”
Entering the circle, he lifted the chef’s knife she’d brought for the occasion. She’d tested it against the skin of her thumb and it was sharper than the rest. “Are you ready?”
Azaleigh wanted to scream no, but nodded and joined him. Victor immediately lay down, his body straight and arms at his sides as he nodded for her to begin.
Standing over him, Azaleigh began the spell, asking the elements for their cooperation on this fateful night. The circle glowed bright and the winds picked up, sending the fallen leaves flying around them. Moving over Victor, she sat on his chest and continued her chanting, her gaze holding his. When the time came for the use of the blade, she cut quick and sure, her vision blurring to obscure the red line that opened at his neck as the words from the spell rolled off her tongue.
“Out of the Darkness I call thee, Blooded Protector. Out of the Darkness, you must come.”
Victor’s face grew pale and drawn, his body losing consciousness, but she continued, repeating the words until he stared unseeingly up at her.
Cutting into her wrist, she bled into his mouth, and continued chanting.
“Out of the Night I call thee, Blood Protector, Out of the Night, come to me.”
She repeated that twice, three times, and when nothing happened, felt fear claw its way from her gut, latch onto her heart, and come through her voice. Why wasn’t anything happening?
After then fifth recitation, tears streamed down her face. By the sixth, her words began sticking in her throat. When the winds died down and the circle’s light faded, Azaleigh fell onto him and cried. She shouldn’t have asked him to do it. She’d been selfish, thinking of her needs over his.
What have I done?
Azaleigh didn’t know how long she remained in that position, hugging the cold body of her lover, but something shocked her into motion. He twitched. Beneath her, Victor twitched. Sitting up, she noticed his eyes were focused, staring up at her. Gradually, he grew warm.
“Victor?” she murmured uncertainly.
His hands closed around her waist and he sat up, holding her in his lap as he scanned the area, before his gaze came to rest on her once more.
“Victor? Do you know who I am?”
“Azaleigh.”
His response was instant, and she immediately pushed up to kiss him, desperation making her aggressive. He seemed surprised at first, but his hand tightened around her waist and his erection prodded at her. Needing him now—she thought she’d lost him forever—Azaleigh lifted up, pulling her gown up and underwear aside, and took him deep.
They both groaned as she rode him fast. His hands slid under the gown, grasping her buttocks and aiding her stokes, before moving to her breasts. The material was too much in his way so he ripped it down the front, suckling her as she rose and fell on him. When his hand pulled her head back and his teeth nipped her neck, Azaleigh froze. Victor sniffed her skin as he licked at her pulse.
“Victor,” she moaned.
He shifted his hips under hers and she slowly began moving again, concerned with his attention to her pulse. She’d forgotten all about that moments later as her peak approached, when teeth sank into her neck and even as she screamed denial her body burst into jolting pieces. The pulls, painful on her skin, sent her into further convulsions and Azaleigh fought a losing battle with herself. Victor released her throat to shout his release, before returning to his feast.
Azaleigh came back to her body on the way to another orgasm. He’d stiffened inside her again, and was now above her, still at her neck, thrusting furiously into her. The wet slap of their bodies seemed to override the other sounds of the night. The grainy earth bit into her bottom and legs but she ignored it. Instead, her hands went to his tight buttocks, driving steadily against her, as he pulled and pulled, drinking her in. When her heart began to slow, and tiredness settled in, Azaleigh realized he was drinking too much.
“Victor!” Even to her ears, it sounded like a scream of pleasure. She tried to focus on anything but him stroking her, and managed to whisper, “Victor, you’re taking too much.”
His teeth seemed to clamp down harder, his body still swinging as he pushed her up, up, up...
She must have blacked out again because she came to on top of him, her mouth held firmly to his bleeding chest as she swallowed the thick liquid spurting down her throat. He was still hard inside her, though his movements were slower, more sensual. It was an intoxicating feeling, the taste of his blood, rich and spicy, almost like a dry wine, running down her throat as he stroked her so lovingly. Her hips worked down and he increased his pace, pumping up as she came to another shattering orgasm, wondering if this one would ever end.
***
When she awoke next, the sun’s rays were beating down on her. Shielding her eyes, Azaleigh sat up. Her lower body throbbed and she began searching frantically for Victor. Worry made her stand despite the pain, and she called his name. A twig snapped to her left and she turned to find him coming to her, a large wide-brimmed, straw hat covering his head and his black-tinted sunglasses on his face. He wore jeans and boots once more—and was bare-chested.
“It worked!” she shrieked, both in disbelief and awe.
Throwing herself at him, unmindful of her state of undress, Azaleigh peppered his face with kisses.
“Well,” Victor murmured against her lips. “I’m not dead.”
“But last night, last night you...I...we...what happened last night?” The spell was supposed to change Victor from Night Walker to Protector, binding him to her and allowing him to walk in the sunlight. It was the one Antoinette had used years ago. Victor taking her blood, and giving her his had not been in any of Antoinette’s notes on what to expect.
With a smirk on his lips, Victor replied, “Magic.”
He set her back on her feet, and even through the sunglasses, Azaleigh knew he stared hungrily at her exposed breasts, which were tightening painfully for his touch despite the amount of attention they’d received only some hours back.
“Are you still a vampire?” she asked slowly, taking in the soft tan he’d accumulated already. Was there such a thing as a bloo
d drinking zombie?
He tugged her ripped nightgown until she was closer to him. “I’m still me.”
Grinning, Azaleigh nodded, accepting his answer. “Good, because I love you.”
She kissed him again, sending a prayer to Antoinette, wherever she was. Whatever Victor was, he was hers as surely as she was his. When he lifted her into his arms and marched her into the house, his intentions obvious in the way he began chucking her already damaged nightgown from her shoulders, Azaleigh giggled like a school-girl and let him.
Epilogue
Ears attuned to the smallest peep, Victor Winters sat up, cradling his wife against his body as she fed from the vein at his neck, and turned to their bedroom door. He heard the patter of small feet moments before the door creaked open and a small, cherubic face, haloed by wild brown curls, peeped in. Victor doubted she could see them, because four-year-old Victoria stood there peering into the dark, her eyes squinting and widening as she looked around the room.
“Did you have another bad dream, sweetheart?”
She shook her head and clutched Teddy, the bear his mother had given her when she was born. It had seen some bad days, was missing an eye, had a few stitches where he’d been cut open, and was a faded brown due to Azaleigh’s tossing him in the laundry whenever she felt it was time, but Tori went nowhere without Teddy.
“The bad man’s in my room again, Daddy.”
Azaleigh, who’d been in some form of blood-lust, jerked away from his vein at the sound of their daughter’s voice, and turned to the door. She instantly licked at his wound and crawled off, pulling her nightgown down to cover her exposed parts and glared at him until he pulled the sheets up to cover his.
Turning on the soft-lit lamp on her end-table, Azaleigh picked up his mirror-image, kissed her fat, honey-colored cheeks and brought her further into the room.
“Did you tell the scary man Daddy’s going to beat him up if he continues to come into your room?” Victor asked the other half of his heart with a serious face.
Violette Dubrinsky Page 13
