Ever Night Page 10

  “But the hate has to stop.”

  “Anything.” He would deny her nothing. Not anymore.

  “There can be no more killing Walkers just because of what they are.”

  “Done.” He wouldn’t argue. He would outlaw the practice immediately, and his people could protest all they wanted. They could rebel, kick him off the throne. Whatever. As long as he had Rose, nothing else mattered. Hopefully, his people would learn, as he had, that these Walkers were not the vicious race from the past. How could they be, when Rose was among them?

  She cupped his cheeks. “I love you.”

  “And I love you. So much.”

  Slowly her lips lifted in a beautiful grin. “Call a meeting with your people. As many as you can fit inside the palace. And no weapons. They aren’t to bring weapons. And they aren’t to attack, no matter what they see or hear.”

  “What are you—”

  “Please, Vasili. No questions. I need you to do this quickly. One hour. Please.”

  “It will be done.”

  With that, she disappeared.

  ***

  Vasili had his army gather his citizens and “gently” usher them inside the palace ballroom. Yes, threats of force abounded, but finally the task was done. Jasha and Grigori were beside him, the princesses seated on the dais but against the wall. They weren’t sad that their father was dead and, in fact, seemed lighthearted.

  Jasha had decided to wed the redhead, to which Grigori had only this morning said, “Not that one.” Which meant the Monstrea wanted her for himself. Jasha had shrugged—almost with relief, as if he hadn’t wanted to pick her but, because she was the plainest, thought she would have been the easiest to deal with—and next decided on the blonde, who watched him now with awe in her eyes. Jasha continually cast her stealthy glances.

  It would be a good match, Vasili thought, making Jasha king of the East. He’d take care of that just as soon as he finished with this.

  The crowd grew restless, their curiosity intensifying, and his army had to form a blockade around them. Vasili had only one order for his soldiers: Kill anyone who threatened Rose.

  When would she appear? What did she plan? He would support her, whatever she did. He should have talked to her, told her, but he’d feared losing her.

  She suddenly materialized in front of him, pale hair cascading down her back, silver eyes bright. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, every inch the Walker. Their gazes met briefly, his heart slamming against his ribs, before she turned and faced his people. They gasped in astonishment, in disgust. In hatred. Murmurs of, “Murderer,” arose.

  Vasili leaped to his feet, a brutal scowl contorting his features.

  “Yes,” Rose said, splaying her arms. “I’m a Walker.”

  “She’s also my wife,” he shouted, daring them to comment.

  She tossed him a quick smile over her shoulder. “There are others like me. They come here on their birthdays, and you chase them. Hurt them. Kill them. They fear you, which makes them want to hurt you in return. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Silence. Perhaps because he scowled at them murderously.

  “Yes, Walkers hurt you in the past.” She cast Vasili another glance, this one sad and apologetic. “But to condemn them all for what others did . . . I’m sure you wouldn’t welcome being condemned for the sins of your fathers.”

  More murmurs. Fortunately, these weren’t quite so rancorous.

  “I went online and told them who I was, where I was, and what I could do. I told them I could stop their visits to Nightmare. That’s what they call this place, you know. They fear the people here. But it doesn’t have to be that way,” she repeated. “Not for you, and not for them. And so, they came to me. I want you to meet them. See them. Welcome them. I promise you, be nice to them and they will be nice to you.”

  With that, she disappeared.

  Now there were gasps.

  Meet them? How was she going to—

  She reappeared, holding the hand of a young man with pale hair. That man gaped when he saw the crowd of people and tried to back away.

  “You didn’t say you were bringing me here,” he growled.

  Vasili hopped from the dais.

  “Nick. Just stay here. Nothing bad will happen to you,” she said. “Vasili,” she then called. “He’s not armed. Protect him.” She disappeared again.

  Vasili went to Nick’s side. “Don’t hold her hand again,” he said, patting the man on the shoulder and nearly drilling him into the floor. He’d never thought to find himself the protector of a Walker—Rose excluded—but he did so now without reservation. Just because his woman had asked him.

  Dark eyes swung to him. The man remained in place, though he trembled.

  Rose reappeared with someone else, introduced him, then left again. Over and over she repeated the experience, until there were sixteen Walkers. They were scared, but didn’t move from their spots. Perhaps because they were surrounded.

  “How did you get them here when it isn’t their birthdays?” he asked her when she settled beside him.

  “I think because I’m bound to you, I can move between the two worlds at will. And I figured I could move other Walkers with me whether it was their birthday or not. I was right.”

  Smart girl.

  “Now let’s make nice between your people and mine so we can be together. Unless . . . I understand if you can’t,” she said, unsure. “If it’s too painful. Your family was taken. All I ask is that you let me return these men without harming them. I just thought this would be—”

  Vasili planted a kiss on her lips for all to see. “You are my family now, and I will do whatever is necessary to protect you. Even this.”

  Grigori stepped from the army ranks and joined them, placing his hand on Rose’s shoulder in a show of support. “You have my protection, as well.” His voice was gruff, but he was not a man to make false promises. He always meant what he said. “I have never seen my king so happy—or so upset when he thought he couldn’t have you. I will do whatever is necessary to give him the life he deserves.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You have my support, as well.” Jasha closed in their little circle and placed his hand on Rose’s other shoulder. “Like Grigori, I want my brother happy. Always. No matter what that entails.”

  God, I love my family. They might not agree with him, but they would support him. Even in this.

  “Thank you,” Rose said again, chin wobbling. “I won’t let you down. I swear.”

  Vasili’s people watched, listened, and issued no more protests. That was a start.

  And so, with Jasha and Grigori at his sides, he introduced himself to the Walkers and offered a vow to protect them. Most flinched under Grigori’s stern gaze, but they seemed to lose a sliver of their fear.

  “You don’t have to run from us anymore,” he said. “Our goal is no longer to harm you. You are my wife’s people, which means you are also mine.” He reached back. “I protect what’s mine.”

  Rose knew what he wanted, and once again settled in at his side. She twined their fingers and gave a comforting squeeze. “Let’s learn from one another,” she said, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. “Let’s embrace peace.”

  She waited until each Walker nodded before at last taking them home. Vasili rushed to his bedroom, and when she next appeared, he jerked her into his arms. “You’ve given me so much, I’ll never be able to repay you,” he told her.

  “I can think of a few ways you can try.”

  “It’s like my birthday today.”

  She chuckled, the sound of her amusement warming him. “Then happy birthday, love.”

  He grinned down at her. “Are you my present?”

  “Well, my heart is yours. Now, forever.”

  “Good, because that’s ex
actly what I wanted.”

  New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter is back with another sizzling story featuring an irresistible charmer about to meet his match . . .

  Keep reading for a preview of THE HOTTER YOU BURN, an Original Heartbreakers novel, available July 28th, 2015!

  Beck Ockley lives by a single rule: one and done. The millionaire playboy knows the pain of loss and will do anything to avoid another. He moved to the small town of Strawberry Valley, Oklahoma, expecting more of the same—time with the only two friends he trusts, work . . . and lots of pleasure. What he never predicted was the vulnerable Southern beauty who would sneak past his defenses.

  Harlow Glass is determined to rebuild her life. The reformed bully has lost everyone and thing she loved, and paid the ultimate price for her checkered past. Now she wants commitment, the only thing Beck refuses to give. As their chemistry blazes white-hot, he’ll either have to break her heart . . . or surrender his own.

  ***

  The slam of a car door echoed from the walls, chilling Harlow to the bone. With a gasp, she sprinted into the living room and threw herself on the couch to peer out the large bay window by the door.

  Beck Ockley helped his date from the passenger side of his car. Beck . . . the man she’d only seen from afar when she’d sneaked around the home’s perimeter and reminisced about life with her mother, the two of them against the world. The man who reminded her of the shed out back, polished on the outside, crumbling on the inside.

  He was a little over six feet and lusciously muscled, with an intriguing mix of light and dark brown hair, the strands always in a state of disarray. His just-roused-from-bed eyes were the color of melted honey and framed by the longest, thickest black lashes in creation. But even a man like him should need a few hours, at least, to reel in a new fish.

  Then again, he rocked serious man-magic and with a single smile, he could probably drop a thousand pairs of panties.

  Why am I wasting time staring at him? She was trespassing, the house no longer hers. She could be arrested.

  Crap, crap, crap. Harlow’s heart galloped, a racehorse in her chest as she sprinted into the kitchen to swipe up the pie—the evidence of her break-in. She hurried to the backdoor . . . only to grind to a stop. Beveled glass revealed Jase and his fiancée, Brook Lynn Dillon, cuddled on the porch swing. Crap! How had she missed them?

  Hinges on the front door whined. Beck and his date would enter any second! She darted into the living room, the hall, the first bedroom she came across—but the lock on the window was new and complicated, and no matter how much she jiggled it, she couldn’t open it. Suspecting all other locks were the same, she raced into the hall. Maybe the couple was distracted, and she would be able to sneak—

  “Now that you’ve got me here,” a woman said, breathless with longing, “what are you going to do to me?”

  Fear settled like thousand-pound boulders in Harlow’s feet, and she wrenched to a halt, frozen, blood rushing out of her head, her lungs hemorrhaging air as if survival had just become enemy one.

  Walking backward, Tawny Ferguson passed the entrance to the hall. If she looked to the left, she would see a wild-eyed Harlow, pie in hand. Don’t look left. Please, please, don’t look left.

  Beck slowly, leisurely prowled after the girl, radiating sultry heat and a carnal, predator-prey determination. He pinned Tawny’s hands over her head, saying, “I’m going to do whatever I want.”

  Tawny arched her hips toward his, rubbing against him. “Should I be afraid?”

  “Honey, you should say thank you.”

  The sensual impact of his voice sent heated shivers coursing through Harlow’s veins, and she hated those shivers almost as much as she loved them.

  He leaned down, his mouth hovering over Tawny’s to tease her with what was to come. “You’re going to like every second of our time together. That, I promise.”

  Tawny quivered, a woman on the verge of ecstasy. “Oh, I know I’ll like it. But what happens afterward?”

  Crickets.

  He stiffened, even as he nuzzled his nose along the side of her flushed cheek. “Afterward, you’ll be so weak in the knees you’ll have to crawl home.”

  Tawny giggled. “No, I meant, relationship-wise. I know your reputation as the one-night-stand king. Will you still want me in the morning?”

  A silent moment rife with tension. Beck cupped her chin to ensure she wasn’t able to look away from him. “I told you, honey. I’ve never offered anyone more than a single night. There will never be an exception.”

  “But why?” Tawny asked with a pout, even as she played with his zipper. “I’d make a very . . . good . . . exception.” With every word she uttered, she lowered those metal teeth another inch.

  His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, a cold, bitter thing. “A sweet little treat like you should have a happily-ever-after with a man carrying far less baggage.”

  “I don’t mind baggage.”

  “Doesn’t matter one way or the other.” He ground against her, distracting her . . . making Harlow ache. “All that matters right now is whether or not you want this.”

  Tawny moaned, her eyes closing. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

  No, no, don’t stop, don’t you dare—a slap of harsh reality brought her back to her sense. He was a master of deflection, wasn’t he. And Harlow should know. She’d been one herself in high school. Multiple teachers and counselors had pulled her aside to ask why she treated her peers so poorly.

  I’m not insulting others, I’m pointing out flaws in need of work. I’m only trying to help.

  Meanwhile, a dirty secret festered deep inside her. The insults she dished—and they were indeed insults—were nothing compared to the words her father hurled at her.

  The only thing you’re good at, little girl, is making my day worse.

  She cringed even now.

  One day, a switch just sort of flipped inside her, and she lashed out at a friend, making the girl cry. Harlow realized she could affect the emotions of others, and the first taste of power had instantly addicted her. Soon, verbally knocking down her peers became the only thing capable of making her feel better about herself . . . for a little while at least. Because, that feeling of power had been nothing but an illusion, a house of cards kicked down daily by guilt, in constant need of rebuilding.

  “Beck,” Tawny said, drawing Harlow out of her head. “Let me have you. Tonight . . . and tomorrow.”

  “Once is for the best.” The flatness of his tone caused Harlow to blink in surprise. No matter whom she’d heard him speak with—male, female, young or old—she’d only ever heard him tease and flirt. “Trust me.”

  “But—” Tawny began.

  “One or nothing,” he said, every inch of him intractable steel. “Your choice. Decide now, or I’ll decide for you and take you home.”

  If Tawny continued to push for more, would he truly do as threatened? Principles before pleasure, no matter how warped those principles might be?

  The starch dissolved from the girl’s shoulders, and she sighed, defeated. “One.”

  As a reward, Beck tilted her head the way he wanted it and dived in for what looked to be a scorching, earth-shattering kiss. Tawny melted against him, clutching at his shirt, wrinkling the black cotton. Harlow almost covered her eyes. Almost. She had lost the ability to move, much less to breathe. Beck clearly knew what he was doing, and oh, he was hot. Licking, sucking . . . his hands doing delicious things to a woman who already sounded close to the verge of orgasm.

  A surprising ache throbbed low in Harlow’s belly.

  Beck and Tawny created a perfect study of passion: seductive, erotic and wanton. The very thing missing from her own life. But then, the man had created a perfect study of passion with every woman she’d seen him with.

  She’d watched Beck perform this sam
e routine many times before, with many different women, in many different locations. The porch. The backyard. Once even on the roof.

  Skill like his should be illegal.

  He cupped Tawny’s rear and commanded in a husky growl, “Wrap your legs around me.”

  Tawny complied, as they all complied, and Beck turned toward the couch, away from Harlow.

  Relief swept through her. In the home stretch now . . . just another couple of minutes . . .

  Of course, ever the traitor, Harlow’s stomach chose that moment to rumble, the sweet smell of the pie teasing her ruthlessly.

  It was enough.

  Beck’s head snapped in her direction, his body going taut. He set Tawny on her feet and stepped in front of her, acting as her shield.

  The gesture of protection was even hotter than the kiss.

  Then recognition lit his features. “You,” he said, and he sounded awed rather than angry.

  Confused, Harlow blinked at him. “Me?” He knew her?

  His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “What are you doing inside my house?”

  My house! But Harlow didn’t stick around to correct him. She knew no answer in the world would placate him and save her stupid hide, so she bolted around him, remaining just out of reach as she headed for the front door, yanked it open and at last soared outside.

  “Hey!” Beck called. “Stop.”

  Footsteps pounded behind her, and she quickened her step, zeroing in on the bank of trees in the distance: a giant oak, several mature pecans and two magnolias in full bloom, all twined with a lush wall of emerald foliage, pink flowers, and dark shadows. Buzzing locusts, singing grasshoppers and squawking birds created a macabre soundtrack, the familiar scent of wild strawberries and dewy roses lodging in her throat, forming a hard lump.

  Almost there . . . just a little farther . . .

  She reached the bank without incident. Now, to lose the madman hot on her trail and pray she never came across him again . . .

  Which way should she go? While the fifty-two-acre spread had come with a greenhouse, a small dairy, two barns, three work sheds and multiple vegetable gardens Harlow had tried and failed to tend, there were sections thick with gnarled trees, sharp sandburs and crunchy brushwood, where snakes and scorpions liked to nest. She’d set up camp in that part of the property, where none of the guys had ever dared venture. It would be a better place to hide, but she didn’t want Beck stumbling upon her campsite.