Jax and the Beanstalk Zombies (Fairy True 1)

But, damn, she still had it going on. Veronica packed a hell of a punch in her slight five-foot-three-inch frame. She’d cut her silky ebony hair. It used to hit the rise of her pert ass, now it teased the top curve of her breasts, drawing his attention and reminding him of how she used to moan when he’d slid his tongue down the shallow valley between them.

Something new had been added to her black walnut colored eyes, a hardness that hadn’t been there a year ago. Guilt tightened his chest. No doubt, he and her control-freak father were responsible for that. David Kwon had promised to use his funds and influence as the country’s biggest shopping center tycoon to further Jax’s career if he’d leave Veronica alone, but that hadn’t influenced the decision to make that heart-wrenching call. It had been love.

The sports car’s door opened and leather-encased long legs emerged, steering his thoughts from love to lust in less than a heartbeat.

Veronica got out of the driver’s-side door and he almost passed out from the lack of blood flowing to his brain. The woman wore a skin-tight black leather jumpsuit and had pulled back her hair into a tight ponytail. A black tool belt lay snug across her hips. The only spot of color in the ensemble was the slash of scarlet across her lips. She looked like the Korean-American

Batgirl, and he wanted to do many bad things just so she’d give chase.

Without acknowledging his slack-jawed stare, she sauntered around to the passenger side, opened the door and helped Antoine out of the low-slung car. The older man was also wearing all black. Not leather that fit like second skin over his potbelly, thank God.

Jax glanced down at his gray, untucked t-shirt and jeans. He must have missed the memo.

“Come, come. We need to bury the beans thirty yards inside the tree line.” Antoine led the way from the isolated spot on Lake Erie’s shore toward the woods surrounding it.

Marveling at how Veronica was able to tromp through the underbrush in boots that added several inches to her height, Jax brought up the rear–giving him a great view of hers. They needed the full moon for the magic to work when they buried the beans, but he wasn’t above enjoying the side benefits of having a little extra light.

Leaves rustled.

Predators lurked in these woods. A huge, hulking wolf had been terrorizing the local villagers for years, bringing new meaning to the terms big and bad. Then there was a family of bears, the youngest of which had never been the same since a home invasion a few years back. He had tangled with the troublesome cub once. It had left him with a three-inch scar on his thigh and a bone-deep appreciation for the animals back home in North Carolina that had the decency not to talk or act like humans.

Unfortunately, animals weren’t the only ones who might see their little trio as prey. Witches with bone houses and angry, non-union dwarves had staked out a claim in these woods. Not to mention treasure hunters, magical, animal and human alike, who’d slice them to pieces for the magic beans without a second’s thought.

He kept his gaze locked on the darkness surrounding them. “So does anyone know you have all three beans?”

“No, I’ve been very careful in my search,” Antoine said. “I hired different hunters to search for each one, then utilized different mediators to buy each of them. None of them know about the others.”

“If the beanstalk grows, how will we guard the perimeter to keep others from climbing it after us?” Veronica, as always, got to the heart of the problem.

“That’s the beauty of it, the absolute beauty.” Antoine clapped his chubby hands with glee. “Once we plant the beans while chanting the sowing spell, no one can climb up the beanstalk except us. A magical force field not only blocks others from ascending the giant stem, it grants the cover of invisibility.”

“And until the beans are planted?” Veronica asked.

Antoine paused then turned around and faced them. The full moon’s light added a soft halo to the white hair sticking up wildly from his scalp. Deep worry lines slashed across his forehead, destroying his standard joyful expression. Slowly and steadily, he grasped the silver handle of his scimitar and slid it from the scabbard.

Antoine had discovered King Shahyar’s curved backsword decades ago in Persia after following clues scribbled in the margin of the original manuscript of Arabian Nights, as it’s known in English. It was on that trip his beloved Chloe had been struck and killed by a double-decker bus.

“Until we plant the beans and chant the sowing spell, we must be ever watchful. We are not alone in these woods,” Antoine said.

Jax took an automatic step closer to Veronica. The vanilla of her perfume mixed with the moss-scent of the woods, teasing his senses.

She didn’t acknowledge his closeness, but her shoulders relaxed.

His hands ached to massage the knot that formed across her upper back whenever her stress levels peaked. Every time she had returned to their small, studio apartment after dinner at her parents’ mansion, he’d pull the Murphy Bed down from the wall. She’d lie in the center and he’d rub the lavender oil across her delicate back, paying much care to the tension tightening her shoulders. Eventually, he would work his way down her spine with his fingers until they wrapped around her hips. Then they’d both end up getting covered in oil.

That memory was the last place he needed to be. Time to smarten up, before he fucked up more. Towering over her much smaller frame, he swore to himself to protect her as he’d done before. No matter the cost.

“Then let’s be on our way.” Veronica’s smooth voice carried over the warm summer breeze.

They trudged in silence until they came to a small clearing. Seven large boulders formed a circle in the tall grass. Antoine marched into the center. Veronica followed without hesitation.

A cold blast of air shot through Jax when he passed between two of the boulders. Once inside the boundary, the breeze disappeared. The air hummed around them and the sound of a child singing in a high-pitched voice was barely discernible. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the lyrics.

“Ring around the rosie, a pocketful of posie. Ashes. Ashes. We all fall down.”

An ode to the plague brought up by his subconscious or a warning from beyond? Either way, it sent a shiver down his spine. Again, he stationed himself at Veronica’s six, searching the surrounding woods for danger, while Antoine dug a hole with his camp shovel.

A pile of loose dirt grew next to where Antoine kneeled and dug. Finally, the hole was about a foot deep and he stopped. Resting back on his heels, the old man drew a white handkerchief from his pocket and patted down his forehead and under the bridge of his glasses.