Shades of Gray (8 page)

"Stop it," she said with a gasp. "Please…"

The twin flames in his eyes burned brighter, then vanished.

Grigori took a deep breath as he broke the connection between them. Sensing she would welcome some distance between them, he stood up and walked to the far side of the room.

"I'm sorry."

Had he said the words aloud, or had she only imagined them?

Marisa crossed her arms over her chest. She was alone in the house with a vampire. Silence stretched between them. What was he sorry for? Had he been trying to hypnotize her? What did one say to a vampire? A thousand questions tumbled through her mind. She grabbed the closest one. "Where did you meet Ramsey?"

"He seemed to turn up in all the same places I did," Grigori replied. "One night I approached him and asked him why he was following me. At first, he refused to tell me anything." He shrugged. "Eventually, he decided to tell me what I wanted to know."

Marisa shuddered as she imagined how Grigori had "convinced" Ramsey to talk.

Grigori looked at her and sighed. No doubt she would always expect the worst of him, but then, he couldn't blame her. He was, after all, a vampyre. No doubt she considered him a threat to her very existence. With reluctance, he admitted she had every reason to think so. Never, in two hundred years, had he bequeathed the Dark Gift to another, but Marisa tempted him sorely.

"When Ramsey discovered we were after the same thing, he decided to work with me."

"Silvano told me that Alexi had been in their family for generations."

"That's true. At one time, they kept him deep in the vault of a church. The burden of looking after him fell to the oldest male member of the family. Last year, their family fell on hard times. As head of the family, Silvano decided to take Alexi on tour. Not a very wise decision. I didn't know they had left the country until six months ago." A muscle twitched in his jaw. "I found Alexi three days too late."

"Do you think you'll be able to destroy him?"

"I hope so."

"Ramsey said he's destroyed other vampires."

"He told you about Katherine?"

"Was that her name? All he said was that a vampire had killed a friend of his." Marisa shook her head. It was so unreal, sitting here having a conversation about vampires. Until a few days ago, she would have sworn there was no such thing. Vampires had been nothing but fiction, creatures of legend, the things scary movies and nightmares were made of.

Her gaze slid over Grigori. How could someone — something — that was so outrageously handsome be one of the undead? "Are there lots of vampires running around?"

"Not many." He sat down in the overstuffed chair across from the sofa. "To my knowledge, there are only two of us in the city."

"That's two too many, if you ask me," Marisa muttered. She risked a glance at Grigori, felt her cheeks grow warm as he lifted one brow in an expression she was beginning to recognize as wry amusement.

"If Ramsey has his way, your city will soon be free of us both."

"You know he's thinking of destroying you?" Marisa exclaimed, surprised that he seemed so unconcerned.

"Of course. It's what he does. Our liaison is quite temporary."

"You're not worried?"

"No."

"Why not? If he's killed other vampires, what makes you think he won't kill you, too?"

Grigori shrugged. "The vampyre who killed Katherine was newly made. The young among us are vulnerable; sometimes they foolishly believe they cannot be destroyed. Sometimes they forget to be careful who they trust, where they choose to take their rest. Such carelessness is usually fatal."

"But that's not the only one he's killed. He must know what he's doing."

"Can I hope this concern means you are worried about my safety?"

"Of course not. Well, maybe a little." She blew out a deep breath. She didn't know what to think. It was all so confusing. True, yet beyond belief.

Clutching one of the sofa pillows to her chest, Marisa stared at the TV screen, thinking this sort of thing would be right up Fox Mulder's alley. She only wished she knew how to cope with it.

She slid a furtive glance at Grigori. He seemed engrossed in the program. How long had he been a vampire? Had it been a choice he'd made? Did he like it?

Questions, so many questions. They made her head ache. "I'm going to bed." She stood up, eyeing him warily. "Are you going to spend the night?"

"If you wish." He rose to his feet in a fluid motion that reminded her of water flowing over a dam.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, wondering which posed the greater threat, the vampire inside the house, or the one who might even now be prowling the shadows of the night.

"I'll get you some blankets," she said.

"Don't bother." His voice held a note of amusement.

"It's no bother."

"The night is my day," he reminded her softly. "Sleep well, Marisa."

"Right," she muttered. As if she could sleep at all, with a card-carrying, bloodsucking vampire in the house.

Grigori grunted softly as he watched her leave the room. Bloodsucking vampire indeed, he mused, and felt his fangs prick his tongue at the image that thought conveyed. He had not yet fed. Crossing the floor, he gazed out the window and let his supernatural powers peruse the night. The darkness beckoned him. A thousand beating hearts called to him.

With a sigh, he sank down on the sofa, his head resting on the back, his eyes closed. He could hear Marisa getting ready for bed, could track her movements by the sounds she made as she brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair. He heard the rasp of cloth as she removed her clothes, the whisper-soft brush of silk sliding over skin as she put on her nightgown, the rustle of crisp cotton sheets as she slid into bed. He could hear the sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart.

He took a deep breath and his nostrils filled with a plethora of odors — the food she had cooked for dinner, the soap she used to wash her dishes, the scent of the flowers on the kitchen table, the dirty clothes in the hamper, the clean clothes in her closet. And, over all, the smell of the woman herself
— the fear she tried to hide, the perfume and hairspray, shampoo and soap and toothpaste she had used during the day, the warmth of her body. Her blood… it was a temptation he was hard-pressed to resist, an enticement that pulsed and glowed with every breath she took.

He drew his thoughts from her and concentrated on Alexi Kristov instead. As always, thoughts of Alexi brought Antoinette to mind, and renewed the pain of not knowing how she had died. Had Alexi killed her quickly, mercifully, or had he left her alone, a soulless creature with no will, no mind of her own? Left her to wander in darkness, lost and alone? Had she died of hunger and neglect? Had she been stoned by a mob of frightened villagers? Burned as a witch?

"Antoinette…" He groaned deep within himself as the grotesque images filled his mind.

Rage flowed through him, burning white-hot, searing him from the inside out. Anger fed the hunger within him, driving him to his feet, out of Marisa's apartment, and into the night.

Marisa woke with a start, her body drenched in perspiration, the sound of her own scream echoing in her ears. With a trembling hand, she switched on the bedside lamp, her gaze darting around the room as she drew in several deep breaths. Only a dream, only a dream… but it had seemed so real, and been so horrible.

Disjointed images flooded her mind… a woman walking along the beach under a full moon… a dark shadow swooping down on her like some monstrous bird of prey… the woman's cry of terror… bloodred eyes… sharp fangs piercing the fragile skin of the woman's throat….

Marisa shook her head to clear it. Knowing she'd never get back to sleep, she went into the kitchen and brewed a pot of tea. She was pouring herself a cup when she remembered Grigori.

Taking the cup with her, she went into the living room and turned on the light. The room was empty, the door was locked, the safety chain in place. The windows were closed.

She checked the spare bedroom, but he wasn't there, either.

Frowning, she returned to the living room and sat down on the sofa. The clock on the VCR showed it was almost three
a.m.

"Some bodyguard," she muttered. Where had he gone, and why?

The answer burned itself into her mind, as vivid as the images of her nightmare.

He was a predator, and he had gone out to hunt the night.

He blended with the changing shadows of the night. His footsteps made no sound on the damp pavement. The ocean's salty tang filled his nostrils; he could taste it on the back of his tongue.

He smelled the woman before he saw her, and then he was there, walking beside her, smiling at her, mesmerizing her with his eyes.

With a low moan, she tilted her head back and offered him her throat. And he took it, his teeth sinking into her soft flesh, the sound of her scream blending with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

And he drank and drank and drank, until she was cold and empty, and he was warm, filled with the essence of her life force.

Marisa rose early after a sleepless night, glad that she didn't have to go to work. Last night, she had gone back to bed, only to toss and turn until dawn. Every time she closed her eyes, she had pictured Grigori bending over the woman who had haunted her nightmares, his fangs buried in the woman's neck as he drained her body of blood, of life.

Slipping on her robe, she went out to get the paper. Carrying it into the kitchen, she poured herself a cup of coffee, then spread the newspaper out on the table. The headlines screamed at her:

VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

ELEVEN DEATHS NOW ATTRIBUTED TO SERIAL KILLER

Even before she read the story, she knew what it was going to say, knew that what she had dreamed hadn't been a nightmare at all. The woman's body had been found in a dumpster near Huntington Beach. There were two puncture wounds in her neck; she had been drained of blood. Time of death had been put at sometime between two and three
a.m.
No witness had come forward.

Marisa swallowed the nausea rising in her throat as she stared at the grainy black-and-white photo.

Needing something to occupy her mind, she dressed in a pair of sweats, and then turned her attention to cleaning the apartment. She put the soundtrack to
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
on the CD player and set to work. She mopped the floors in the kitchen and the bathroom, dusted the furniture, vacuumed the rugs, changed the sheets on the bed, cleaned out the refrigerator.

And always, in the back of her mind, she could see the image of the woman she had dreamed about, the woman on the beach. What had the victim's last thoughts been before that monster sank his fangs into her neck? Had it hurt? Had she been terrified, or had the vampire clouded her mind with his power?

That monster…
She rinsed her hands in the sink, and began replacing the refrigerator's contents. It was hard to picture Grigori as a monster. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever met. Tall and dark and mysterious. And dead. Or undead.

She knew it was true, yet standing in her kitchen in the bright light of day, it seemed preposterous. Vampires roaming the streets of Los Angeles.

She wiped her hands, then went into the bedroom and changed her clothes. She had to get out of the house. She needed to be surrounded by people. Needed to be out in the sunshine.

Grabbing her handbag and her keys, she left her apartment. The late-afternoon sun felt delicious on her skin, and she stood on the landing for a moment, basking in its warmth.

"Afternoon, Miss Richards."

She peered over the balcony to see her landlord watering the lawn. "Hi, Mr. Abbott."

"Pretty day," he remarked, glancing at the sky. "Thought it might rain this morning."

Marisa walked down the stairs and went to stand beside him, careful not to get her shoes wet. "Hard to believe it's November already."

Abbott nodded. "Be Christmas soon. Where does the time go?"

"I don't know."

"So, where you headed this fine day?"

"Nowhere in particular. I think I might do a little shopping."

Abbott nodded again. "Christmas seems to come earlier every year."

"Ain't it the truth. Talk to you later."

"So long."

The mall was crowded. Marisa felt her spirits lift as she joined the holiday throng. Christmas music came over the speakers; the stores were decorated with the usual Santas and reindeer and snowmen. She bought a lavender pantsuit for her mother, a gray sweater and a couple of conservative ties for her father, a Cross pen and pencil set for her boss. It was dark when she left the mall.

She was singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" when she climbed the stairs to her apartment.

The words died in her throat when she saw Edward Ramsey waiting for her at her door.

"Good evening, Miss Richards."

"Hello, Mr. Ramsey. Is something wrong?" He lifted one brow as he regarded
the gaily wrapped presents bulging from several shopping bags. She read the
silent condemnation in his eyes. A murderer was stalking the city, and she had
been out shopping as if it were a day like any other.

"Is it possible you haven't heard the latest news?" A shiver ran down Marisa's spine. "Not another one?"

He nodded, his expression somber. "They found another body less than an hour ago."

"Another woman?"

"A teenage girl."

"That's twelve in little more than a week."

Ramsey nodded. His eyes, usually so mild, blazed with impotent fury. "I can't believe it's all Alexi's doing."

"What do you mean?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you, Miss Richards?"

She stared at him, remembering her nightmare. Whether she liked it or not, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Grigori was a vampire. And like Alexi, he needed blood to survive.

"You don't think Alexi is the only one involved in the killings." She felt suddenly, utterly weary. "You think Grigori's responsible for some of them, don't you?" Unlocking the door, she entered her apartment. "Come on in." She dropped her shopping bags on the floor and went into the kitchen.