Shades of Gray

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four

Alexi

Bound by chains of silver, the vampire had slept for a hundred years, locked in a world of pain and hunger, until the seductive scent of one woman's blood recalled him to ravenous life.

Marisa

Unnerved by the sight of the carnival's captive "vampire," she stumbled from the tent - into the arms of the most striking man she'd ever seen. Mesmerized by his supernatural embrace, she believed him when he swore all he desired to drink were her kisses.

Grigori

Lost in darkness, Grigori found new sustenance in the light of Marisa's love, and new purpose in his life. Only he could protect her from the evil that stalked the night, Now, hungering for her bittersweet caress, he vowed to show her that
not all of the undead were monsters, and that somewhere between the black and white of damnation and desire lay infinite…

LOVE SPELLŽ

January 1998

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co. Inc.

276 Fifth Avenue

New York, NY 10.001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book." Copyright © 1998 by Madeline Baker

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN 0-505-52.243-8

The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co. Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

This book is dedicated to
all
my wild, weird, wacky, wonderful online buddies, especially…

Chip,
who always makes me laugh, proving that laughter is the best medicine. Thanks, Doc.

Julie,
cause she's fun and she loves me.

Paul,
my favorite "masked" man.

Wayne,
for the sexy "got mail" war.

Melissa,
for sharing Wayne.

Mike,
for being so sweet.

Cyndi,
who keeps me up-to-date on what DG is doing.

Michael,
for his slightly off-kilter e-mails, and for reminding me that
he
is also sweet!

Gloria,
who sends me jokes, and takes good care of my favorite doctor.

AJ,
who has
awesome
talent even though he thinks he doesn't.

Pat,
who sends me "goodies" via snail mail.

Chris,
who answers all my tech questions.

Patti,
because she's hopelessly addicted to AOL and hopefully to John, as well.

John,
because he's a great guy and a wonderful son.

James,
because he's a fellow Phantom Phan.

And for
Preston,
because he sings "Music of the Night" to me online.

Shades of Gray

Memories of daylight fall warm upon my mind

teasing me

tormenting me

with all I've left behind

My heart beats cold

all hope is gone, and

I live in shades of gray

the moon my sun, the sun my death

should I surrender to the day

The sun's light, once a blessing

now drives me to my lair where I dream of its warmth,

yearn for its light and pray it ne'er finds me there

Now a creature of darkness I am every nightmare come true

fears made flesh

the terror of the night

and I have come

for you.

The Roskovich Carnival was the smallest, seediest looking excuse for a circus Marisa Richards had ever seen. The owner's main claim to fame was his boast that, inside the largest of its three rather shabby-looking tents, he had the body of a genuine Transylvanian vampire.

Marisa paid the wizened ticket-taker six-fifty and then, bypassing the usual carnival rides and games, entered the large blue-and-white-striped sideshow tent along with the other hardy souls who had ventured out in the rain on this cool and windy Halloween evening.

She wandered from one attraction to the other, pausing to look at the bearded lady, at a two-headed man who was so obviously a fake it was laughable. Moving on, she saw a sad-faced giant clad in a leopard-skin costume that reminded her of Fred Flintstone. There was
a
morose-looking dwarf, a man who had skin like that of a reptile, a diminutive woman who was covered from head to foot with psychedelic tattoos.

The air was thick with the scent of rain-damp clothing, cotton candy and buttered popcorn, mustard and onions. A vendor wearing a yellow apron was calling, "Get your hot dogs! Get 'em while they're hot!"

Marisa stopped when she came to a smaller tent set up within the big one. A hand-lettered sign read

COUNT ALEXI KRISTOV

OLDEST VAMPIRE IN EXISTENCE

Marisa felt a sudden chill skitter down her spine as she stepped into the small tent. Good special effects, she mused. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see some sort of fan, but saw nothing.

And then she saw the coffin. It was the old-fashioned kind, bigger at the top than at the bottom. Dull black in color, it rested on a raised wooden dais in the center of the sawdust-strewn floor. The closed lid was covered with a large spray of fake, bloodred roses.

There were perhaps a dozen other people in the tent. They stood in a loose semicircle around the casket, talking in hushed whispers. A little girl tugged on her mother's hand, begging to go on a pony ride. Two teenage boys stood together, teasing a pretty teenage girl by making jokes about the undead and creatures of the night.

The crowd fell silent as a tall, cadaver-thin man dressed in a dark brown suit and old-fashioned cravat entered the tent and took his place at the head of the coffin. He stood there, his pale hands folded, his expression somber, while the lights dimmed.

"Welcome," the man said, executing a courtly bow. "I am Silvano."

He spoke with a heavy accent, though Marisa could not place it. Hungarian, perhaps, or Russian?

"What you are about to see may shock you, but, be assured, it is quite real. Hundreds of years ago, Count Alexi Kristov was a ruthless monster, a scourge who decimated many small villages in my native Romania. In his time, he preyed on my family, devouring them one by one until my ancestors were almost completely destroyed."

Marisa took a step forward, drawn in by the man's words. She had never been one to believe in ghosts or goblins. She wasn't afraid of the dark. She didn't believe in witches or warlocks or vampires.

But something in this man's voice, his words, made her believe. She felt the hair rise along her arms as Silvano took a deep breath and began to speak again.

"Over a hundred years ago, one of my ancestors discovered the count's resting place. He rendered the vampire helpless by binding him with silver chains."

Very slowly, Silvano removed the plastic roses from the top of the coffin. He hesitated, for dramatic effect, Marisa surmised, and then, with a flourish, lifted the lid, which was lined with white satin.

"Though he looks dead," Silvano went on, his tone somber, "I can assure you that Count Alexi Kristov is very much alive. A century without nourishment has rendered him helpless and virtually powerless."

Silvano extended his hand in invitation. "Please, do not be afraid to come forward for a closer look. There is no danger."

Marisa hung back until everyone else had taken a good look at the count, and then, on legs that suddenly felt like limp spaghetti, she climbed the two steps up to the dais and looked down into the casket.

The bed of the coffin was lined with the same white satin that lined the lid. A silver cross, perhaps a foot tall, was secured to the foot of the coffin. Similar crosses were placed on either side of the vampire's head.

The vampire, attired in an old-fashioned shiny black suit, was laid out with his arms at his sides. She thought it odd that his hands were tightly clenched. A thick silver chain was wrapped around his body from his chest to his ankles. His skin, which was almost as white as the satin beneath him, was drawn paper-thin over his skull-like head. Pale brown lashes lay against his sunken cheeks. His hair was long and limp, the color a dull reddish brown.

He definitely looked dead. A long time dead.

Feeling Silvano's gaze, Marisa looked up. "Why didn't your ancestors kill him?"

"They felt death would be too merciful."

"Merciful?"

"This — " Silvano gestured at the vampire. "How can I explain it? He is very much alive. Without human blood to sustain him, he is in constant torment." A smile that was not really a smile twisted Silvano's thin lips. "He cannot escape the chains. The crosses render him powerless. His soul is trapped within this body. This dead body."

Marisa shivered as she looked at the vampire again. Almost, Silvano had her believing the vampire was real. But, of course, it was just some extremely skinny man and some impressive stage makeup.

She stared at the vampire's chest, silently counting the seconds. One minute passed. Two. The man never took a breath. Three minutes. Four.

A cold chill ran up her spine. Maybe it really was a corpse.

Silvano turned away as a pretty girl wearing a short red skirt, a white off-the-shoulder blouse, black net stockings, and ballerina slippers called his name.

Marisa watched Silvano leave the tent with the girl. Glancing around, she saw that everyone else had left, too.

Heart pounding with trepidation, she realized she was alone with the vampire. She stared at the body. Maybe it wasn't human at all. Maybe it was made of wax, like the figures at the Movieland Wax Museum.

She laughed with relief. That was it, of course. Why hadn't she thought of that before? It was just an elaborate hoax.

She glanced over her shoulder. There was no one in sight. Feeling foolish, she ran her fingertips over the links of the chains. They felt real, solid. A small fortune in silver.

And then, unable to resist the temptation, she touched the vampire's hand.

It wasn't made of wax. The skin was cold. Smooth and dry, it reminded her of ancient parchment. She gasped as the papery skin grew warm beneath her fingertips. And then, very slowly, the skeletal fingers of the vampire's left hand uncurled and spread out to lie flat against the smooth satin lining.

With a shriek, Marisa jumped away from the coffin. She tripped as she stumbled backward, cried out as she tumbled down the steps. She scraped her leg on the rough wood, landed in the sawdust on her hands and knees.

Shaken, she glanced over her shoulder, at worst expecting to see the vampire climbing out of the coffin, its fangs bared in a hideous grin, at best expecting to see an ordinary man sitting up, laughing uproariously because he had scared her out of ten years of her life.