Amanda Ashley (13 page)

“Edward! Do not defy me. Edward!”

“No.”

He spoke softly, but Khira felt his power ripple through the air. He was very powerful for a newly made vampire. Even more powerful than she had first suspected. But then, considering his bloodline, that was not surprising. She wondered if he had any inkling of the strength he possessed
.

“You fool!” she hissed. “It is time to accept who and what you are!”

He shook his head. One last look at her, at the blood dripping from her fangs, and then he was gone, speeding through the night toward the only one who seemed to care. Kelly.

The sound of Khira’s voice chased him down the street.

Marisa glanced at the clock as the knock came again. “Who on earth can that be?”

Grigori kissed her cheek as he rose from the sofa. “It’s Ramsey.”

Marisa glanced at the clock. It was almost two
A.M.
People did not make social calls at such an hour. Of course, for vampires, two in the morning was not considered late.

She felt a shiver of unease. Ever since his last visit, she had been troubled about Edward. She thought she might be picking it up from her husband, who, on more than one occasion, had alluded to the new vampire’s unexpected power and constant mental turmoil. During the hunt for Alexi, Edward had often come to see her. It was unsettling to think of him now, roaming the night like those he had once hunted.

She heard muffled voices as Grigori opened the front door, then their footsteps: Grigori’s, light, almost soundless; Ramsey’s, heavier, more determined.

“Hello, Edward,” she said when he entered the room.

“I’m sorry to come calling so late. Or so early.”

“Vampire social hours,” she said, smiling. “We were just watching an old movie.”

He matched her smile, with no hint of loathing or pain. She observed him closely. He looked different somehow, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps it was just that he was “aging” as a vampire, that he was becoming more comfortable with what he was. Once, she would not have noticed him in a crowd; now, he exuded a sense of power and self-confidence that he had not possessed before.

“Please,” she said, “sit down.”

Ramsey sat on the love seat, his fingers drumming on the arm. Grigori resumed his place beside her on the sofa. Almost before he was settled, Ramsey stood up and began to pace.

Marisa looked at Grigori, a question in her eyes.

“Ramsey, did you come here to wear a path in our carpet?” Grigori asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

Ramsey paused in midstride to glare at Chiavari. Then, blowing out a sigh of exasperation, he sank down on the love seat again. “Khira,” he said heavily. “I’ve angered her.”

Chiavari nodded slowly. “Not a pretty sight when she’s angry.”

Ramsey grunted softly.

“What happened?” Marisa asked.

As quickly as possible, Ramsey related his activities with Khira: the hunt, the victim, Khira’s insistence that Ramsey finish the poor devil off. He glanced at Marisa. She looked pale. How could such things bother her so much when she lived with a vampire? Vampires survived by feeding off the lives of others. Chiavari was no exception; he had fed from her on more than one occasion.

“She wanted me to kill him,” Ramsey said, “but I just couldn’t do it.”

“So, he’s still alive? That man?” Marisa asked hopefully.

“No. Khira loves killing too much to be merciful. Besides, he was too far gone. . . .”

“There’s something else,” Chiavari said. “Something you are not telling us.”

“The other night, she wanted me to . . .” Ramsey cleared his throat. “The other night . . .”

“Go on,” Chiavari said, “What did she want you to do?”

“Soon after she got here, she took me hunting.” Ramsey glanced at Marisa, then looked away. “And then she took me to bed. I don’t know what I was thinking! I guess maybe I wasn’t thinking. The other night, I refused.” Ramsey glanced at Marisa again. “She seems to think that I belong to her now.”

Grigori slid a sidelong glance at his wife and sighed heavily. “Khira does not take rejection well,” he said. “As I recall, she is not accustomed to having anyone tell her no. About anything.”

Ramsey nodded.

Marisa met her husband’s sideways look with one eyebrow raised. “You seem to be speaking from experience.”

“ ’Twas in another country,” Grigori said, and smiled wryly. “And besides, the wench is . . . Do you really want me to answer that?”

“That’s some kind of quote isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yes, from
The Jew of Malta.
Marlowe. Khira was determined I know all the arts, become a polished gentleman. Now, I ask you again, do you really want me to answer your question?”

“Yes,” Marisa replied, and then shook her head. “No, I don’t want to know.”

“Khira has always been impulsive,” Grigori remarked. “She is a very sexy, very sensual creature. I suspect she was that way before the Dark Gift. Totally self-absorbed. And with the power she has now . . .” He shrugged. “She has no need to consider anything but her own gratification. She often acts without thinking.” He shook his head. “One would think she would have gained a little maturity, a little self-control, over the ages.”

“She scares me,” Ramsey admitted.

Chiavari chuckled softly. “Smart man. I should stay out of her way until she cools off, if I were you.”

“That’s my plan,” Ramsey muttered. “Damn, I don’t have a hope in hell of defending myself against her.”

“There is an unwritten law among our kind: Vampyre does not kill Vampyre,” Chiavari said.

“You killed Kristov.”

“Yes. It happens from time to time. Khira killed the one who made her. And I suspect she has killed others who got in her way.”

“She killed Dracul,” Ramsey said. “She told him to leave town. Apparently he refused.”

Chiavari nodded. “She is a law unto herself. I suspect she has destroyed LaSalle, as well. I no longer sense his presence in the city.”

“He’s gone. She told him she wanted his house. And he gave it to her, just like that.”

“It is a wise man who gives her what she wants.”

Marisa laid her hand on Grigori’s arm. “Perhaps we should leave town.”

“Is that your wish? To leave here?”

“No, but I don’t want her coming after you.”

“She has always had a, shall we say, a fondness for me,” Chiavari said wryly. “I do not believe she will do me any harm.”

Ramsey glanced at Marisa, then turned his attention to Chiavari once again. “She may be fond of you. But what of Marisa?”

“To harm what is mine is to harm me,” Chiavari said.

“Do you think you could take her in a fight?”

“I don’t know,” Chiavari grunted softly. “I hope I never have to find out.”

“Me, too,” Ramsey said fervently.

“Be careful, Edward,” Marisa said. “Promise me.”

“Careful
is my middle name,” he said, rising.

Chiavari stood up. “I’ll see you out.”

“Good night, Edward,” Marisa said.

“Good night.” Ramsey followed Chiavari out onto the porch. “So?”

“Be careful of Khira. She can be ruthless and utterly cruel.”

Ramsey nodded. “I know. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. I’m no match for her.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Grigori said, “but you are not helpless or weak. Only young in the ways of the Dark Gift. There is powerful blood in your veins, Ramsey. Mine. Alexi’s. And Khira’s. She will find it difficult to destroy you if you keep your wits about you. If she threatens you, reach deep down inside yourself and call on the power that is there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You did not need to know before. You were far too interested in being destroyed then. Now that someone else may want you dead, you seem to have a new interest in staying alive. The longer you survive, the stronger you will become. And you are surprisingly strong already. You did refuse her, after all. Twice. And you are still alive.”

Ramsey stared at Chiavari, his mind reeling as he sought to understand what he’d just been told. Almost against his will, he felt a flash of hope. “Am I as powerful as she is? As you are?”

“To my knowledge, no Vampyre who still lives is as powerful as Khira. As for myself . . .” Grigori shrugged.

“Is there any way to keep her from reading my thoughts?”

“You can learn to guard your thoughts. It takes practice and a good deal of self-control, but it’s like anything else. The more you do it, the easier it becomes.”

“Can I block you, too?”

“Try.”

Grigori focused on Ramsey. “You are thinking of a woman. Kelly. She sleeps in your house. You are afraid she may be in danger. From Khira. And from yourself.”

“If I can’t block you, how can I hope to block Khira?”

“The bond between the two of us is more immediate and therefore stronger. Try again.”

Ramsey imagined himself building a wall between his mind and Chiavari’s. A thick concrete wall. It took every ounce of concentration.

Chiavari laughed softly. “Well done.”

Ramsey grunted.

“As I said, it will grow easier with practice. Do not hesitate to call on me if I can be of help.”

“You’re telling me the truth? About blocking you?”

“You did surprisingly well, considering it was your first attempt. Practice.”

“I will.” He hesitated, then added, “Thank you.”

“Good night.”

Ramsey thought about what Chiavari had told him as he walked home. He could have transported himself there with a thought, but he had always enjoyed walking. The night was cool and crisp, with a hint of fall in the air. With his vampire eyes, he saw the world so clearly—the beauty, the ugliness.

“There is powerful blood in your veins.”
Chiavari’s words echoed in his mind.
Powerful blood
. It eased his fear of Khira a little to know he wasn’t completely helpless, completely at her mercy.

He let his mind expand, reached down inside himself. He could feel the power resting deep within him, waiting to be summoned. It frightened him even as it filled him with a sense of exultation.

Even if he couldn’t beat her, he would give her one hell of a fight.

The next few days passed swiftly. Ramsey soon grew accustomed to having Kelly in the house. She quickly adjusted her schedule to his so that she could share the long hours of the night with him.

Upon rising, he showered and dressed, then met her upstairs. She was understandably nervous the first few times he took her blood. Exerting all the willpower he possessed, he took her gently, always careful to take no more than a few small sips. And though he yearned to do so, he avoided kissing her again. Under the circumstances, it seemed like a further violation somehow.

He left the house immediately after feeding, not wanting to meet her gaze, afraid of what he might see there.

It seemed miraculous to him that a few drops of her blood so quickly eased his insatiable craving, made it possible for him to stay rational while he hunted—to take only what he needed from his prey, to leave them alive and unhurt.

By the time he returned to the house, she had eaten dinner and was usually in the living room, watching TV or reading a book. He was aware of her constant furtive looks, knew she was curious about him. Curious. And attracted. And repelled.

Her warmth, her very life, drew him like a beacon. He basked in her nearness, delighted in the hours they spent together. He bought a chess set and taught her to play. She bought a game of Scrabble and beat him every time. During those times, with his hunger assuaged, the intimacy between them was almost too much for him. She drew him like a magnet, but still he resisted. Sometimes he had the feeling his resistance disappointed her. It would have been so easy to probe her mind, to see what she was thinking, but he had promised he would not.

He had told her to make herself at home, and she took him at his word. Soon, his house, once devoid of any but the bare essentials, began to look like a home. There were pictures on the walls, mostly seascapes; flowering plants in colorful pots on the tables; colorful figurines of dragons and wizards on a shelf.

Sometimes, sitting in the living room while she fussed in the kitchen, he could almost pretend he was human again, a mortal man living with a beautiful woman. He had never lived with a woman before, never truly realized what enchanting, changeable creatures they were. She filled his house with light, made him laugh in spite of himself. She had a lovely, clear voice. He enjoyed listening to her sing while she washed the dishes or cleaned the house.

By the end of the second week, it seemed as though she had always been there. As the third week came to an end, he was convinced that she was as attracted to him as he was to her, despite her continued deep-seated revulsion at what he was.

And now the end of the fourth week was drawing near. He had fed early this night, wanting to spend more time at home, with her. He sat in the living room staring at the TV, trying to work up the nerve to ask Kelly if she would stay another month, wondering what he would do if she refused. He could hear her in the kitchen, opening cupboard doors.

He looked up as she breezed into the room. A month of having enough to eat and getting plenty of rest had made a marked change in her appearance. Her skin was smooth and clear; the dark shadows were gone from her eyes. Her cheeks were no longer hollow; her figure had filled out, making him all too aware of her sweet feminine form.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Think I’ll go out to eat.”

“I always eat out,” he muttered sourly.

She looked at him a moment, brown eyes wide with surprise, and then she laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Well, that’s the first thing I thought when I looked for something to eat my first day here, that you always ‘eat out.’ Were you reading my mind already?”

He was stung by her accusation but could not deny it. “I have not read your mind since I promised I would not.”

Her expression softened then. “You’re really very sweet when you want to be, you know that?”

He didn’t know what to say to that, and she laughed again—a merry trill.

“What’s so funny now?” He almost glared at her.

“I never imagined a vampire could blush,” she said.

And it was true. He could feel his ears burning. But the glow was in her eyes again. She laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

“Come with me,” she coaxed. “I don’t like to eat alone.” And then that devilish merriment took over again. “You should understand that,” she said, grinning at him. “You never do. Eat alone, I mean.”

This time he laughed in spite of himself. “All right,” he agreed. “What are you in the mood for?”

It seemed strange to be talking about food. Though it had been only a few months since he had become a vampire, it seemed as if centuries had passed. His was a warm liquid diet now. He tried not to think of all the things he would never taste again: rare steak, succulent lobster, potato chips, a good cup of coffee, apple pie, ice cream on a hot summer day.

“Italian,” Kelly decided. “Let’s go to the Olive Garden.”

In the past, it had been one of his favorite places. She ordered veal parmigiana, soup, and salad. He ordered a bottle of red wine and sipped a glass while she ate. He couldn’t decide which tempted him the most: the meal he couldn’t eat, or the girl sitting across from him. Light played in her silky black hair. Her skin was soft and smooth, her cheeks the color of ripe peaches, her lips full and pink and tempting.

Once, she looked up and caught him watching her. Her cheeks flushed hotly, and she looked down at her plate again. “Do you want to try a bite?”

A bite. His gaze moved to her neck, to the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, as he shook his head.

“Have you tried to eat since you became a . . . you know? How do you know you can’t?” She speared a piece of meat and offered it to him. “Try it.”

The smell of veal filled his nostrils and turned his stomach. “I can’t.”

He must have looked as green as he felt, because she withdrew the fork and said, “I believe you. I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he replied. “More than you can ever imagine.”

They finished the meal in silence.

After dinner, they drove to the beach and walked barefoot along the shore. It was a calm, clear night. The moon painted ever-changing silver shadows on the water.

After a while, they stopped to watch the waves. Ramsey’s gaze moved over Kelly. She looked beautiful standing there with the ocean behind her. Moonlight shimmered like molten silver in her hair; her skin looked soft and oh, so touchable. He wished, not for the first time, that he possessed a little of Chiavari’s easy charm with women.

“Kelly?” He took a deep breath, the need to kiss her stronger than his need for blood. He knew he should turn away, afraid that one kiss would not be enough. Afraid that a taste of her lips would ignite his hellish thirst. But she was looking up at him, her brown eyes shining in the moonlight, her lips slightly parted, moist, inviting. He cleared his throat. The kisses they had shared at the movies had been much in his mind, but he had lacked the courage to kiss her again, afraid of being rebuffed. “I was thinking about the other night, at the movies. . . .”

“Were you? So was I.”

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“I was thinking maybe we should kiss again—you know, to see if it was as wonderful as I remember.”

“Kelly . . .” He swept her into his arms, a part of him still expecting her to push him away or slap his face or laugh out loud, but she did none of those things. Instead, she leaned into him, her head tilting up, her eyelids fluttering down.

And he kissed her, there in the moonlight. Kissed her, and it wasn’t enough. He wanted to inhale her, to drink her essence, to absorb her very soul into his own. She was sweet, so sweet. Heat sizzled between them, hotter than the sun he would never see again. Why had he waited so long?

“Oh, Edward . . .”

She looked up at him, breathless. She was soft and warm and willing. He covered her face with kisses, whispered praises to her beauty as he adored her with his hands and his lips. He closed his eyes, and desire rose up within him, hot and swift, and with it the overpowering urge to feed. He fought against it. He had fed well before coming here, yet the Hunger rose up within him, gnawing at his vitals, urging him to take what he wanted.

“This is crazy,” she murmured breathlessly. “We hardly know each other.”

“Crazy,” he agreed. Her scent surrounded him. The rapid beat of her heart called to the beast within him. He deepened the kiss, at war with himself, felt his fangs lengthen in response to his growing hunger.

With a little cry, she drew back. She touched her lower lip, now stained with a drop of scarlet. He watched, hungry and horrified, as she licked the blood from her lip.

“Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I did not mean to . . .”

“It’s all right, Edward, but maybe we’d better . . . hmm . . . slow down a little.”

His arms dropped to his sides and he backed away from her. “We should go home.”

 

 

He was quiet on the drive back to the house. Kelly studied him surreptitiously as he drove. How could she be attracted to this man who wasn’t a man at all? Worse yet, she was afraid she was falling in love with him.

Vampire.
The word whispered through her mind, conjuring images of wraithlike figures in swirling black capes, pale skin, bloodless lips.

There were times when Edward looked pale, but he didn’t look like a monster. More like a middle-aged beach boy with his athletic build, golden hair, and bright-blue eyes.

Vampire. Even now, after living with him for almost a month, after letting him drink her blood every day, it was hard to believe. Sometimes, sitting on the sofa watching TV, they seemed like any normal couple spending a quiet evening at home.

She licked her lips, remembering the wonder of his kisses, his horror when he saw the blood on her mouth. Was she insane to stay with him, to put her life in his hands? What if some night, instead of taking a few drops of her blood, he took it all?

The thought chilled her, and she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

“Are you all right?” Ramsey asked.

“Fine.”

His gaze met hers, seeming to probe her very soul. “Second thoughts?”

“Not really.”

He pulled into the garage, switched off the ignition. “Do not lie to me, Kelly.”

She sighed deeply. “Sometimes it’s just so hard to believe.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. There are nights when I wake up and for a minute I almost forget, and then . . .”

“Then?”

“I hear your heartbeat, and I feel that damnable hunger stir to life inside me.”

“Do you ever see the vampire who made you?”

Ramsey nodded. “He lives not too far from here.”

The knowledge surprised her. “Are there a lot of vampires running around in the city?” It was hard enough to accept that there could be one; more than that was inconceivable.

“More than you might think. I know of four besides myself.”

“Who are they?”

“Chiavari, he is the one who brought me across. And then there’s Khira, who brought him across. Noah Fox . . .”

“The billionaire businessman! I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true. Me, of course. And Madame Rosa.”

Kelly laughed. “Madame Rosa? You’re kidding! I saw her on the Leno show one night. She was amazing.”

“I don’t imagine any of them will be around much longer.”

“Why not?”

“Khira.”

Kelly looked at him askance.

“She’s a very old vampire, and very powerful. And she doesn’t like to share territory with other vampires. She’s already gotten rid of two of them. Shall we go inside?”

“Yes, let’s.” Kelly slid out of the car and glanced over her shoulder, her gaze probing the shadows.

“It is all right,” Ramsey said. “We are alone.”

He felt her relax when they were in the house, with the lights on and the doors locked. “You will always be safe here,” he said. “ A peculiar truth about vampires is that they cannot enter a dwelling without being invited. And Khira has never been invited.” He paused. “Kelly?”

“Yes?”

“You must never, under any circumstances, invite a stranger into this house. No one. Not ever!”

She regarded him through eyes wide with trepidation and curiosity. “What does she look like? Khira?”

He shook his head impatiently. “It doesn’t matter . . . she has incredible powers . . . but she cannot force her way in here. Never open the door for anyone you don’t know. It’s the only way you can be safe here when I’m away. Promise me!”

“All right, all right. Geez, stop worrying. I promise.” She looked at him, a smile hovering over her lips despite the seriousness of their conversation. “I don’t want anyone nibbling on my neck but you.” She squeezed his arm. “I like it that you’re so protective of me, Edward. It makes me feel safe.” And then, with one of those sudden changes of direction he was getting accustomed to, she tilted her head to one side, regarding him with unabashed curiosity. “Do vampires ever get married?”

“Some do.”

“Do they marry other vampires?”

“I don’t know about that. I only know of one who is married, and he is married to a mortal.”

“Who’s that?”

“Chiavari.”

“Could we visit them? I’d like to meet a woman married to a vampire.” Her eyes were glowing again. “Maybe she has something to share with me, some advice. You know, how to keep your vampire happy?”

He closed his eyes. Marisa. Once, he had hoped to make her his wife.

“Edward?”

“Sure.” He opened his eyes and Marisa’s image faded from his mind. “I’ll call them.”

 

 

They agreed to meet at a nearby theater the following night. A double date, Ramsey mused. He had never been on a double date in his whole life.