Amanda Ashley (14 page)

Kelly came downstairs dressed in a pair of slinky black pants and a pale-pink sweater. Her hair fell over her shoulders like a fall of black silk. She smiled nervously when she saw him waiting for her. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

“We can stay home,” Ramsey said, hoping she would change her mind. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of spending the evening with Chiavari and Marisa.

She thought about it a minute, then shrugged. “Let’s go.”

Ramsey spotted Chiavari’s black Corvette when they pulled into the theater parking lot. Chiavari and Marisa were waiting outside the theater.

Marisa looked beautiful as always, her face framed in a cloud of dark-brown hair, her green eyes bright with life.

They spent a moment making introductions. Marisa shook Kelly’s hand, kissed Edward on the cheek. Chiavari bought their tickets, and they entered the lobby.

“Grigori, would you get me some popcorn?”

“My pleasure,
cara
. Kelly, can I get you anything?”

“A Coke, please.”

The three of them stood to one side, waiting for Chiavari. Ramsey felt Chiavari’s power crawl over his skin, so strong, so unmistakable, he wondered that the other people in the theater didn’t feel it as well.

“I must admit I was surprised when Grigori told me you’d called,” Marisa said.

Ramsey smiled at Kelly. “I was a little surprised myself.”

“Have you two known each other long?” Marisa asked, glancing from Edward to Kelly and back again.

“A few weeks.” Kelly and Edward answered at the same time.

“Let’s go,” Chiavari said. He handed the popcorn to Marisa, a Coke to Kelly. “The show’s about to start.”

The lights dimmed as they took their seats. Settling back, Ramsey wondered what the audience would think if they knew there were two vampires in their midst. It seemed suddenly funny—ludicrous, even—that he should be there. He had never thought of vampires as going out on dates. Even though he had known it wasn’t true, in his mind he had always pictured the undead forever lurking in the dark-gray shadows of midnight, preying on the young and the helpless.

About halfway through the show, Marisa leaned toward Ramsey. “Does Kelly know?” she whispered.

He nodded, and she smiled at him. She smelled of lavender soap and warm womanly flesh. And Chiavari. The vampire’s scent clung to her, a clear mark of possession. Once, the thought of her being with Chiavari would have roused his jealousy, but no more. Impossible as it seemed, Kelly had become his world, his reason for continuing his existence.

They went out for a late dinner after the movie. Marisa and Kelly chatted like two old friends, discussing the movie they had just seen, the latest White House scandal, the outrageous new fall fashions.

Chiavari insisted on picking up the check. While he paid the bill, Marisa took Ramsey aside. “She’s charming, Edward. I think she’s in love with you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What woman would love me now?”

“Edward, you’re a wonderful man. Why shouldn’t she love you?”

“It’s not right.” But his pulse was accelerating nonetheless. Could it be true . . . ?

“Why not?” Marisa asked.

For a moment, he wondered if she was reading his thoughts. “She is alive. I am not. It’s as easy as that.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes! You’re not dead. The dead don’t walk and talk.”

“All right, undead. Not dead. Call it whatever you want, it just isn’t natural for her to be with someone like me.”

“So, you don’t think I should be with Grigori?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Edward, get over it. You’re the same man you always were.”

He laughed at that—a harsh, ugly laugh filled with bitterness. “No, Marisa, I am not.”

“Grigori and I are happy together, Edward. There’s no reason why you and Kelly can’t have a good life together.”

“How can you even think that? Chiavari is no good for you. He never was. Sooner or later, you will regret being his wife.”

Marisa shook her head. “No, never.”

Kelly had been watching them; now she came over. “Is something wrong?”

Ramsey smiled at her. “No, nothing’s wrong.” It was a good thing he couldn’t eat anything, he mused, because a lie like that would certainly have brought it all back up.

 

 

Kelly was unusually quiet as they drove back home. Time and again, he considered probing her mind to learn what was wrong, but he had promised not to invade her thoughts. And even if he hadn’t promised, what right did he have to invade her privacy just because he could?

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“What? Oh, no, nothing. Marisa’s very nice, isn’t she?”

He nodded.

“They seem very happy together.”

He nodded again.

“He’s very handsome.”

Ramsey swore under his breath.

“He’s very powerful, isn’t he?”

“Do we have to talk about him?”

“Why, Edward, I believe you’re jealous.” She looked at him, her expression shrewd. “You are jealous, aren’t you? Because I think he’s handsome?” She frowned when he didn’t answer. “Because of her? That’s it, isn’t it? You were in love with her. Are you still?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Her teeth worried her lower lip for a moment. “Maybe I’d better leave.”

“No!”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Kelly . . .” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it away.

“I’ll leave in the morning.”

He didn’t say anything. Maybe it was for the best. He was getting much too fond of her, becoming too dependent on her. And in spite of everything, he believed what he had told Marisa. It wasn’t natural for the undead to pair up with the living. Sooner or later, it was sure to lead to disaster.

He focused his attention on the road. It stretched ahead of him, long and black and dreary, like his future.

“What were you and Ramsey talking about?” Grigori asked. “It looked serious.”

“It was.”

Grigori pulled off the freeway onto a narrow side street. “Are you going to tell me,” he asked, putting the gear shift in park, “or make me guess?”

“She’s in love with him.”

Grigori laughed softly. “A blind man could see that.”

“He’s worried about it. He thinks it’s wrong for them to be together.”

“I see.” He slid a glance at the woman beside him, attuned, as always, to every gesture, every nuance in her voice and expression. He wondered if she knew that Ramsey was in love, not with Kelly but with her.

“I told him that he was being ridiculous, that you and I were perfectly happy together.”

Grigori grunted softly, wondering who she was trying to convince.

“I told him there was no reason he couldn’t have a good life with Kelly.”

“Go on.”

“He said . . .” She turned her head and looked out the window.

“What did he say?”

“He said that sooner or later I would regret our marriage.”

Grigori’s hand tightened on the steering wheel as he fought to maintain his calm. Damn Ramsey! That sanctimonious jackass! “Do you believe that?”

“No.”

“Marisa, look at me.”

She turned her head. He could see her face clearly even in the darkness—the soft curve of her cheek, her full pink lips—but it was her eyes that held his gaze. She had beautiful eyes, as green as fine jade. Expressive eyes that could not lie.

“I don’t regret anything,” she said fervently. “I love you, Grigori. I always will.”

He couldn’t wait any longer. Switching off the engine, he drew her into his arms and kissed her, heat spiraling through him like summer sunshine as she melted into his embrace. It had ever been like that between them, he mused. A look, a touch, and the fire that had pulsed between them from the first sprang to full flame.

He murmured her name as he kissed her, the sweetness of her kiss flowing over him, soothing him, arousing him. She tilted her head to one side, granting him access to her throat, moaning with pleasure as his teeth grazed her neck.

“Marisa?”

He didn’t take from her often, took only a few small sips when he did, and never without asking her first. She found it very endearing somehow, especially since she had never refused him, would never think of refusing him.

There was no pain, only a quick heat followed by a languid sense of pleasure. And then he was kissing her again, his clever mouth arousing her, making her think of dark nights and satin sheets and the ecstasy of his body pressing against hers.

“Let’s go home,” she said. “Hurry.”

He smiled at her, his eyes hot as he opened the door and got out of the car. Rounding the vehicle, he opened her door and swept her into his arms.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Taking you home the fastest way I know how,” he said.

There was a faint roaring in her ears, a dizzying sense of incredible acceleration as he moved through the night with preternatural speed toward home.

She was laughing when he set her on her feet in their living room moments later. “You really were in a hurry, weren’t you?”

He nuzzled her neck, his tongue a flaming caress against her skin. “Tell me you aren’t?”

She wrapped her arms around him, her heart pounding with joy and excitement. Once, she had been afraid of him, but no more. No more.

He was the air she breathed, the center of her world, the reason for her existence.

She closed her eyes, felt his power breathe across her skin. One day soon, she would ask him to make her as he was. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight she was content to be mortal.

She sighed his name as he kissed her again and she was caught up in the magic that was Grigori.

Noah Fox bade his financial adviser good night, then went to the window and gazed down at the driveway below. As soon as he was certain the man was off the premises, he called downstairs and informed his staff he was retiring for the night and would have no further need of their services.

Going into his bedroom, he took off his designer dress shirt, slacks, and loafers and donned a pair of black sweats and tennis shoes. It was a simple matter to leave the grounds without being seen.

He had not fed for several days, preferring to hunt the night when the hunger was clawing at his vitals, when the driving need for sustenance added zest to the chase, making the reward all the sweeter.

He had always harbored a secret yearning to be an actor, and he indulged the fantasy when he was on the hunt. Some nights he played the English lord: polite, polished. Some nights he played the rogue: brutal, arrogant. At other times he took on the persona of a swashbuckling pirate; sometimes, like tonight, he pretended he was just an ordinary mortal out for a late-night walk.

At one time or another, he had hunted the plush homes of Beverly Hills and the cardboard shacks of the homeless, plundered the beaches, roamed the desert resorts and mountain cabins.

He prowled the streets of the city, preying on the young and the old, male and female, but young females were his prey of choice. He loved the smell of them, the taste of them, their innocence and vulnerability.

He licked his lips as he walked down the deserted street. Dark-gray clouds hung low in the sky. He was passing an alley when he felt it: a heaviness in the air. It made every hair on his body stand at attention.

He had never been a coward. Even as a mortal, he had feared little, but he was afraid now without knowing why.

A gust of jasmine-scented wind slapped his face and he whirled around, his gaze probing the night. “Who is it? Who’s there?”

His only answer was silence, and a feeling of being closed in by an otherworldly power stronger than his own. “Show yourself, damn it!”

Was it his imagination, or did he hear a faint sound of mocking laughter?

It had been decades since he had known fear, but he felt it now, creeping down his spine, coiling around his insides like the cold bony fingers of certain death. Was this what his victims felt as he closed in on them, this horrible sense of doom, of knowing that, no matter how fast they ran, there was no escape?

And he was running now, skimming across the ground with preternatural speed, yet the other stayed close behind him, driving him out of the city toward the small wilderness area that bordered the southeast edge of the town.

Trees and thick shrubs rose up before him, and he ran toward them, as if they could offer him refuge from the terror that stalked him.

With a cry, he fell to his knees and began to dig into the dirt, hoping to find sanctuary deep in the earth. Too late, too late. A strangled cry escaped his lips as a hand closed over his shoulder and lifted him effortlessly to his feet.

It was then he got his first glimpse of his pursuer. He almost laughed with relief—until he looked into her eyes. How could such a beautiful woman have such hellish eyes?

“Hello, Noah.”

He licked his lips. “Khira.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

He nodded, his movements jerky, like a puppet on a string. “I was going to leave tomorrow night.”

“You were supposed to leave last week.”

“I . . . I had some . . . some matters of business that I had to take care of.”

A smile curved her lips. He wondered if it was meant to be reassuring. It wasn’t.

Her fingers dug into his shoulder, the nails piercing the cloth and the skin beneath. The smell of blood filled the air. His blood. Red. Dark.

He stared at her, mesmerized, as her lips drew back to reveal her fangs. “After tonight, you won’t have to worry about business anymore.”

“Khira . . .” He tried to pull away from her.

She laughed softly. He was a tall man, strong and lean, but he had no strength at all compared to hers. She reveled in her power, her strength. As a mortal woman, she had been nothing but chattel, without rights, without physical strength. Subject to her father’s will, she’d had nothing to say about her life, her future. Had her father been so inclined, he could have sold her and no one would have questioned his decision. But now—ah, now—no man on earth was her equal or her master.

“Khira . . . please . . .”

“Vampire blood is the sweetest of all,” she murmured, and with a low growl, she buried her fangs deep in his throat, and drank and drank, drinking his strength and his blood, his memories and his knowledge.

He struggled helplessly against her, his heart beating frantically. His hands clawed at her, locking on her arms in an effort to break her hold, but to no avail. His essence filled her, flooded her, warmed her. She held him to her until his heart beat its last, until the spark that had been Noah Fox ceased to exist and all that remained was a dry, empty husk.

She left the body concealed behind a clump of shrubbery. The dawn’s light would dispose of the remains quickly and efficiently, leaving nothing behind.

Licking the blood from her lips, she left the park.