Violette Dubrinsky

by Under a Crescent Moon

  Twice, she pulled away, intent on checking his phone, but the third time, Victor slid his hand into her hair, held her in place, and slanted his lips over hers. A long sigh escaped as her body molded to his, and Victor, feeling a sense of triumph, dipped his other hand around her back, palm inching down to her curvy buttocks, and pulled her against his erection.

  Azaleigh’s body jerked as if electrocuted, and she struggled against him. When he released her lips, she was flustered and looked around nervously.

  “We can’t. Not here.”

  Unperturbed, Victor licked at her bottom lip before trailing kisses to her ear. As he circled the outer shell with his tongue, she clutched at his back and moaned.

  “Why not?” He gently nipped at her earlobe and she whined and rubbed against him before catching herself and trying to pull away.

  “Because we’re outside. In public. We could get caught, and charged.” Worry invaded her eyes, and he grinned. That was the lawyer speaking. He didn’t want the professional, but the woman who was as affected as him. He’d already caught glimpses of her in those liquid brown eyes.

  “No one will see us,” he murmured, unzipping her dress. Azaleigh shrieked and tried to scramble away.

  “Victor!”

  “Relax.” The zipper opened and his fingers lightly traced her smooth back.

  “Victor.” It was a murmur now, close to a plea. He turned his attention to her neck, licking the bite he’d given her last night as he slid a hand up the dress and into her underwear.

  As soon as he touched her heat, she clenched her legs together and gave him a pleading look. “Victor, we’re in public. Someone could see...”

  His lips caught hers, his tongue seeping into her mouth and exploring thoroughly. “Just like the guard, no one will see.”

  Returning his lips to hers, he teased her until she opened her legs wide enough to give him access. Once given, he thrust two fingers deep, moaning when she whimpered and clutched at him. She was drenched, allowing him easy access as he skillfully played with her tiny button.

  It didn’t take long for the first orgasm to wash over her, and Victor easily scooped her up and took her past the short, black gates of the fountain, past the cool, mist-like spray, and finally, to the cream, stone sculpture. Lowering her to her feet, he bent her at the waist, and flicked her dress up.

  Sliding her panties to her knees, he unzipped his pants and freed himself. Azaleigh was looking over her shoulder at him, her skin wet and glistening from the fountain spray, her eyes burning and begging him to take her.

  The first thrust pulled deep moans from both of them. Azaleigh quivered around him, and he grit his teeth, clutching her smooth hips to keep from spilling. Once he’d regained a semblance of control, Victor pulled out and thrust again, and again. With each, Azaleigh whimpered his name, pushing back eagerly.

  When he pulled her up, flattening her back against his chest to fondle her breasts and play with her clit, she grew louder, screaming his name. He briefly thought of the people walking by who’d hear her, and think ghosts haunted the fountain.

  Pulling from her suddenly, he spun her around and pushed her against the fountain once more. Hiking her leg up, he thrust to the hilt once more.

  Instantly, Azaleigh wrapped her arms around him, and pushed up for the consuming kiss he gave her. He increased his pace, sensing he was near, needing to give her release before he took his.

  “Are you close?” It was a murmur against her lips. Throwing back her head, Azaleigh nodded, her lids half-closed as she watched him. Victor slammed his hips into hers, lifting her off the ground a few times, and when he thought he could take no more, her eyes squeezed shut as she screamed, fingers digging into his shoulder, and rippled around him.

  Placing his hands under her buttocks, Victor lifted her completely and thrust wildly. His release tackled him from behind, sending him into spasms that left him so weak he had to put her down.

  ***

  “Why were you angry?”

  With a groan, Victor slowly pulled from Azaleigh’s pulsing heat. She moaned and remained where she was, braced against the statue. It wasn’t as if she could do anything else. Her body felt like dead weight. She was amazed her lungs even worked.

  She watched as Victor straightened her clothes, before doing the same for himself. He made no move to answer her question, but she knew he’d heard her.

  When he moved forward to lift her into his arms, she halted him. “Why?”

  Bracing both hands on either side of her head, Victor leaned down and kissed her. His green eyes held her captive as he said earnestly, “I’d never do anything to hurt you. Do you believe that?”

  Feeling as if he was telling her something precious, Azaleigh licked at her lips and nodded.

  “Good.”

  He easily lifted her into his arms and even as she snuggled close, Azaleigh said, “You still didn’t answer my question.”

  Victor stepped through the spray of water with her, and she gasped at the chill. Surprisingly, she hadn’t felt it their first time through.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  A grin was on his lips as he answered, “Because we just resolved it.”

  Confused, Azaleigh was about to question that when the world began to blur around her. A range of colors bypassed her vision, giving her a slight headache with the run-on reds, yellows and greens. Before she knew it, she and Victor were standing before the tall, black gates of his home.

  “How—How’d you do that?” The drive to downtown Savannah from his home had taken at least twenty minutes. That felt like a minute or less.

  “I told you we’re fast.”

  Chapter 9

  The more time he spent with her, the more possessive he grew. Victor knew it, could see the changes happening as if looking in from the outside, but there was no helping it. It had been only five days since they’d reunited, but during that time, he’d made Azaleigh his in every way but one. And that final one, he couldn’t do. He knew she wouldn’t let him. Turn her. Drain her until her heart stopped and feed her his blood. Make her his, forever. She was strong enough to survive it, to become a changeling not become a minion, able only to follow the directions of the one who’d changed her, but Azaleigh would grow to hate him if she couldn’t be in the sun. She was warmth and sunshine, even smelled like it, and cutting her from that would crush her.

  “She doesn’t look like a blood slave,” Nicholas murmured as he came up beside Victor. “You must be the most generous Master in the history of us all.”

  Victor’s parents were hosting their Midnight Ball. Clans from all over the south had been invited and among their guests were princes of Alabama, Louisiana, and a king from Mississippi. The celebrations seemed endless, and though Victor knew it was in his honor, he only wanted to be with Azaleigh. Last night had been a hunt. Blood slaves, all but his, were the targets. As her Master, he could decide these things, and his father had only lifted a brow when Victor informed him Azaleigh would not participate. The mere thought of another drinking from Azaleigh was enough to send him into a rage.

  Although he knew exactly where she was and what she was wearing, Victor turned in her direction. Her hair had been parted in the center and combed away from her face, clinching into a puffy, elegant bob at the nape of her long neck. Sparkling pear-shaped diamonds aligned the collar that clung to her neck, but didn’t take away from the rich pearl-colored gown hugging her body. When he’d taken her out nights ago to show her his ‘city,’ Victor had purchased that, along with a few more dresses, and a ridiculous amount of jewelry. Even as she’d told him she couldn’t wear them, he’d insisted. It was his way of persuading her to stay without begging. Even he admitted it was pathetic.

  “She pleases me.”

  His cousin clucked his tongue, and Victor turned to him. He was eyeing Azaleigh appreciatively, his gaze that of a man who knew how to analyze a woman’s assets. It wasn’t the first time he’d
witnessed Nicholas looking at his woman that way. Victor didn’t like it.

  “I don’t doubt it. Every time I see her, she gets more beautiful, but I’d never noticed what a beautiful ass she has.”

  Victor saw red, and had to forcefully remind himself Nicholas was his cousin. Family. He didn’t want to kill him. Not really.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Patrick asked, dressed as sharply as his cousins in a dark blue tuxedo, as he joined them. An almost empty champagne flute was in his hand.

  “The ass on Victor’s blood slave,” Nicholas replied instantly, as if they were discussing cars. It wouldn’t be the first time they compared blood slaves. Although slightly competitive with each other, they’d never hoarded food. Visions of Nicholas drinking from women who’d found their way into Victor’s arms and bed assaulted him, but he pushed the images away. This was Azaleigh—his Azaleigh—and she was different.

  Patrick didn’t respond. Victor’s haze grew deeper.

  “She isn’t busty on the top, but her breasts are pretty, full and round. Perfect for her body, and that ass...”

  He leered some more, and this time, his fangs inched down as Nicholas practically salivated. Victor’s hands bunched to fists, his now claw-like nails drawing blood from his palms.

  “I’ll give you two thousand to have her tonight.”

  “I don’t think Victor’s up to sharing this time.” Patrick’s voice seemed to come from far away, and even as Victor agreed, he found he couldn’t speak. His teeth were clenched too hard.

  “No sharing?” Nicholas sounded incredulous, before he chuckled. “Two thousand for one night, and I’ll throw in an extra grand for her ass. Two if it’s untouched.”

  Victor didn’t know he’d moved until Nicholas’s head was ricocheting back under the pressure of his fist, blood spraying from his nose to land on the white shirt of his tuxedo. Moving quick and sure, Victor landed another punch to Nicholas’s jaw, before slamming him against the wall feet from them. Patrick was suddenly hauling him back, snarling into his ear about family ties and it not being worth it. He didn’t care. He was going to kill the bastard.

  Touching a hand to his nose in disbelief, Nicholas pulled it away, staring at the bright stain. Anger quickly took over, and Nicholas took a menacing step forward as Victor pulled against Patrick, welcoming the fight to come. His cousin hated to lose, and Victor had every intention of making sure he did.

  Dorian appeared between them, glaring at Nicholas’s bloodied nose and lip and Victor’s enraged countenance. His guards were quick to respond to the potential threat against their sovereign and his heir. Garland had arrived as well, and along with the guards, formed a barrier around Victor as he dragged Patrick forward to get to Nicholas.

  “Clean yourself up, Nicholas.”

  “My King,” Nicholas hissed, glaring at Victor before turning, in no obvious rush, and walking away.

  “You,” Dorian snarled, his tone low, commanding and promising hell. “My office. Now.”

  The guards were the first to step away, followed by Garland. Patrick was last. He patted his shoulder. The music had halted but gradually resumed to a gentle waltz from Mozart. With all eyes, including Azaleigh’s shocked and confused ones, on him, Victor followed his father from the Ballroom.

  ***

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Azaleigh froze mid-step at the voice she dreaded hearing. Victor’s mother hated her. It was a fact. The last conversation she’d had with the queen hadn’t gone well. Rachel had told Victor, with Azaleigh standing next to him, that he should loan her out before she started thinking the relationship was something else. The vampires gathered had laughed as if the queen said something funny, but Victor checked her, telling his mother that Azaleigh was his to do with as he pleased and if he wanted to adorn her in jewelry befitting a queen, he would. Rachel’s lips had thinned, and she’d glared at Azaleigh as if daring her to say anything, before turning away with her entourage. That night, Azaleigh made sure to thank her vampire protector properly when they got back to his room.

  She turned to find Rachel glaring at her from just outside the entrance of the ballroom. The black-and-white gown, perfectly fitted to the queen’s thin frame, made her look like a Grace Kelly replica.

  “Back to my room, Queen.” Azaleigh kept her eyes lowered, her voice soft. She hated the woman too, but had the distinct feeling Rachel would use whatever leverage she could to see her killed. As such, she addressed her by the title everyone else used, but purposely dropped the ‘my’ in slight rebellion.

  “To await my son, whom you’ve bewitched?”

  “I haven’t bewitched anyone, Queen.” It wasn’t the first time Rachel had accused her of witchcraft, and it would probably not be the last, though every day, Azaleigh hoped it was her last in this place. She wasn’t mistreated. In fact, the vampires, mostly the females who attended the posh events, only gave her curious, at times hostile looks, while the majority of human blood slaves seemed to fear her. Despite that, Azaleigh hated the place. In every place but Victor’s room, her instincts screamed danger, and she still found issue with the whole ‘slave’ thing though even she admitted it seemed different from the historic slavery for which the South was known. Victor was waiting on an opportune time to ask the king to take her away, but as the days passed, she wondered if her release would ever come.

  “What do you want?”

  “Queen?”

  “You heard me,” Rachel hissed. “What do you want? Money? Freedom? Look at me!” She paused, and waited for Azaleigh to lift her eyes. When she did, green eyes narrowed as a knowing smile split the queen’s face. “Is that it? You want to go back to your town? What’s it called again...?”

  “Hallows Brook.” A sliver of hope leapt in Azaleigh’s chest.

  “Yes, that was it.” The queen‘s gaze turned curious. “Did you ask my son to take you back?”

  “Yes, Queen.”

  “What did he say?” When she didn’t respond soon enough, Rachel snapped, “Speak quickly, blood slave, I am hosting an event.”

  “He’s waiting for the right time to ask you and the King.”

  “His father and I?” Rachel looked surprised, and a bit amused. “Why would he have to ask us? You’re his property to do with as he pleases.”

  Brows furrowing, Azaleigh let that sink in. Was she telling the truth? And if so, why hadn’t Victor told her this? Could she have left already?

  “Do you want to go back to your small town, Azaleigh?”

  Surprise at hearing her name from the queen’s lips—she hadn’t known the woman knew it—rendered her mute. Azaleigh nodded.

  “Then tomorrow you’ll go. You’re too much of a distraction for him. As a future king, Victor cannot afford such things. His moves are scrutinized by every Southern clan. The attack on his cousin tonight was over you, did you know that?”

  She shook her head. Azaleigh had only turned in time to see someone grabbing Victor. She hadn’t seen any attack.

  “It was. He attacked Nicholas, his cousin and second-in-line to rule, over a blood slave.” Rachel shook her head and sneered prettily. “Night Walkers do not fight over slaves. We’re not werewolves.”

  It didn’t surprise her that Rachel felt the same for the creatures as Victor. It only made it obvious Victor’s feelings were shared by his family, and perhaps, his entire race.

  “What about Victor?” Azaleigh hedged, returning to the topic at hand. If she was his slave, couldn’t he come for her?

  “Victor isn’t king yet.” Rachel shrugged her shoulders and pasted on a polite smile. “He’ll hate us at first, but in time, he’ll understand.” The queen turned around, but paused. “Be ready at dawn today, Azaleigh. Zora, my Protector, will escort you to your town. I’d advise you to be gone from there before dusk tomorrow.”

  ***

  Victor entered his room in a foul mood.

  He was still seething over Nicholas’s remarks about Azaleigh but his f
ather had added his opinion and enraged Victor more. Dorian had sworn to kill the blood slave and end the feud if Victor couldn’t get along with Nicholas. When he’d responded that Dorian would have to kill him in order to kill Azaleigh, his father smacked his hand on his table, and told him to leave.

  “Hey.”

  Azaleigh sat on the window sill, her legs folded under a quilt that covered her lower half. She’d slipped into one of the cotton tees she’d asked him to purchase. Apparently, negligees weren’t her, though he enjoyed tearing off the ones she modeled for him.

  Victor could see the large full moon behind her and knew she’d been watching it, waiting for him. Instantly, some of his fury dissipated.

  “Hi.”

  As he walked to the center of the room, she slipped from the sill and approached him. She wore no pants, and the tee was long enough he wasn’t sure if she wore underwear. Victor hoped not.

  He’d been tugging at his bow tie in his father’s office, and she undid it easily, before opening the top buttons of his shirt to give him air.

  “Where were you?”

  Concern was evident in her voice and the strained expression on her face. He wondered if she’d seen the fight, or knew what it was about. Her hands went down to his pants and unbuckled his belt, pulling it from the loops and tossing it on the nearest chair.

  “With my father.”

  “Because of the fight?” She tugged his shirt from his pants and began undoing the rest of the buttons. He nodded. “Why were you fighting your cousin?”

  What didn’t she know? Victor wondered.

  “He said something that made me hit him.”

  “About me?” Her hands brushed his chest as she pushed the shirt from him. Folding it, she deposited the material on the chair as well. “Victor?”

  “What?” He blinked down at her. Her hands were distracting him.

  “Did he say something about me?”

  “He’s an idiot.” Victor dismissed Nicholas and his words from his mind, and focused on her. Worry stared out at him from her eyes, so he changed the subject. “You looked beautiful tonight. That dress was made for you.”