Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14


Not much remained of Jake. The heat during the day wasn’t bad yet, so the stench of death left out overlong didn’t overwhelm Zale. He dug slowly, patient in his endeavor thinking only, {i]Someone ought to be buried in this grave, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be me.

Three feet beneath the sod and moist earth, he stopped. “You don’t deserve this,” he whispered, shooting the dead man a glare. Zale bent and grasped two ankles, tugged the body to the hole and sighed when it thumped on the bottom. He shoveled the pile of dirt into place marveling that there never seemed to be enough to make it level as the ground around it.

He stood there for a moment, his task complete. It felt symbolic, like burying the rancid part of his psyche that had festered for years. Grinning, he decided to stop being so deep and philosophic. “Got what you deserved, you bastard.” He balanced the shovel on his shoulder, thankful he’d not been as unlucky as Jake. He had the girl, eternity and soon he’d have the house. He shot the angel statue over his grave a sardonic look thinking once more of the irony of its presence. He read over his name, frowned and started back through the woods to the guesthouse.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the wolf-dog following. Sometimes Rex paused and stared, at others he was a flash of gray among the undergrowth, keeping his distance in the shadows.

Naked as the day he was born, Zale returned to the guesthouse. He set the shovel by the door, went inside and braced the it shut with the ruined sofa. The dog howled nearby. Shrugging, the vampire made his way to the lower room, ascending the stairs with the light feeling of hope and new beginnings in his heart.

Victoria sat on his bed flipping through his journal. The sheet draped around her like a toga. She glanced up, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. A grin parted her lips. “You’ve been a very bad boy.”

He flushed. “You shouldn’t be reading that.”

“Probably not,” she agreed. Turning a page, she began to recite his musings. “Audra took me into her parlor not five days after her husband’s death. It was there that I found what I wanted more than anything, the taste of a woman’s--”

“Please stop.” He crawled across the mattress and snuggled next to her. “I wrote so much of that ages ago, long before you.”

Peering over the edge of the journal, her eyes narrowed. “Oh?” Victoria cleared her throat. “Here is the one that interests me.” She flipped and found her place. “Her name is Yasmeen. A night servant in Mrs. Daumier’s house. I can’t get her out of my mind, blonde hair, fair skin, eyes like a blue sky on a clear day. She taunts me whenever I visit, flashes of her ankles, her milky white breasts overly exposed when she pours the wine. I swear she listens at the door when the widow and I go at it.” Victoria set the journal in her lap. “You had a thing for blondes.”

He took a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger sliding it back and forth. “Some blondes, not all. That one…and this one.” Zale leaned close and dragged her hair across his lips. “I had a thing for widows too.”

“She’s the one that made you what you are,” Victoria pressed, unwilling to let him change the subject.

He shrugged. “I killed her for it.” Snatching the book from her, he rifled through the leaves. “Are you searching for unknown wives, unclaimed children?”

“Should I be?”

“Children maybe, though I wouldn’t know it if they were mine.” He turned to the last entry he’d made. “Did you read this one?” Flashing the page at her, he waited as her gaze slid across the words.

“My father was right about me. I used her. I used everyone,” she read. She sank back into the pillows and closed her eyes. “We used each other, Zale.” Victoria reached for his hand and pulled it into hers. “And now we’re together.” Drawing his fingers to her lips, she kissed each one. “What were you doing out there?”

He kissed her cheek, working his way to her ear. “Burying the past, yours and mine.”