Amanda Ashley (18 page)

Sadness flickered in Grigori’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Do you like being what you are?”

“As I said, it’s a good life in many ways.”

Kelly leaned forward. “But?”

Grigori looked at Marisa. Not long ago, she had been certain she wanted to be what he was, but he knew she was having doubts, knew she had been having second thoughts ever since Khira had mentioned her regret at not being able to bear a child.

“I had lived a full life as a mortal,” Grigori went on, his gaze on Marisa’s face. “I had been married, had children. They were killed by a vampyre, and I chose this life to avenge their deaths. I was not aware of all the ramifications, of course. It is not easy, to be a vampyre. To watch those you love grow old and die. It is not easy to say good-bye to the sun. Not everyone can survive in a world of darkness.”

“Do you still miss the daylight?” Kelly asked. “Even after so many years?”

He nodded. “But the loss of the sun was a small price to pay to avenge the deaths of my children.”

“Would you be mortal again, if you could?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, you do like being a vampire?”

“I am used to it,” Grigori replied. “After two hundred years, I doubt if I could go back, even if it were possible.”

“Kelly, let’s talk about something else,” Ramsey suggested.

“But I want to know all I can, Eddie.”

“Leave her alone, Ramsey,” Grigori said. “I don’t mind answering her questions.”

But later that night, after Ramsey and Kelly had gone home, Grigori found himself thinking of his wife and children again. The memory of losing Antoinette a second time stirred his anger, and his hunger.

He went to Marisa and drew her up into his arms. He hugged her tightly for a moment. “I’m going out,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

 

 

He prowled the dark streets, becoming a part of the night and the darkness, his thoughts chaotic. He wondered if Marisa was regretting her decision to marry him. She wanted children, and he could not fault her for that. He remembered his son and his daughter, the exquisite joy they had brought into his life, the laughter and the good times. He had loved being a father, wrestling with his son, taking walks with his daughter, telling them stories at night. What right did he have to deny Marisa the chance to have children, to experience the love and happiness he had known? He had loved her and wanted her and swept her into his world, selfishly thinking his love would be enough.

His hunger stirred, growling within him.
When you are out of control, people die.
Those were the words he had spoken to Ramsey. He repeated them now, to himself.

He found a young woman sitting on her front porch. Wrapped in a heavy jacket, she was watching it rain, her expression somewhat wistful. Effortlessly he cocooned her in his power, then bade her come to him. Like a sleepwalker, she rose and walked toward him. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the shadows, the beast within him clawing at his insides as the scent of her blood filled his nostrils.

He took her quickly, at that moment hating what he was doing, because it seemed to emphasize the distance, the difference, between himself and the rest of the world. Between himself and Marisa . . .

Marisa.
Pain twisted his heart. He loved her desperately, needed her as he had never needed anyone, even Antoinette.

He closed his eyes, and only then did he become aware of the heavy, irregular beating of the woman’s heart. With an oath, he drew back, his gaze frantically searching her face. She was pale. Too pale? He swore again. It had been decades since he had taken a human life, but he was perilously close now. Why? Why, after so many years, did he have this sudden urge to glut himself with blood?

Sweeping the woman into his arms, he carried her into the house and placed her on the sofa. He found a bottle of apple juice in the refrigerator and poured a glass, then carried it to her and commanded her to drink it.

When she was finished, he covered her with the afghan neatly folded at the end of the sofa. He stood there, watching her for several minutes, listening as her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.

His mind gained a link with hers.
You will remember nothing of this night.
He searched for her name.
Sally Anne. Nothing beyond the time I called you to me. You will remember only that you sat outside and watched the rain, then came inside to get something to drink and fell asleep on the sofa.

He was about to go out the front door when a battered pickup pulled into the driveway and a man got out, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Father, husband, boyfriend—he didn’t know. Nor did he care.

A thought took him home.

Marisa had gone to bed. He stood there, watching her sleep, his heart aching with love. He should let her go. She would object. She would swear she loved him, that children weren’t important, that she would never love anyone else, but, in time, she would find love again with a man who could share her whole life.

As though sensing his presence, her eyelids fluttered open. “Grigori?” She sat up, sleepy-eyed and beautiful.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight. He inhaled the scent of her, felt her arms slip around his waist, the silk of her hair against his cheek, the warmth of her body chasing away the coldness in his own. Guilt rose up within him. What right did he have to love this woman?

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No,
cara,
nothing’s wrong.” He kissed her cheek, her neck, shuddered with the need to taste her sweetness. Even though he had just fed, he felt empty inside.

She snuggled against him, one hand brushing the hair away from her neck. “Drink, Grigori,” she urged softly.

He shook his head, denying himself the pleasure he sought.

“Grigori? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Marisa . . .”

Her hand cupped his cheek, soft and warm and tender. “It’s all right, Grigori. Take what you need. I give it to you freely, willingly, as always.”

And he closed his eyes and surrendered to the need burning within him.

“Eddie, do you think you’ll ever like being a vampire?”

“I don’t know.” They were home, in the backyard, sitting on the swing Kelly had bought earlier that day. Ramsey slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.

She looked at him, her gaze searching his. “Do you still hate it?”

He thought of what he had lost: his humanity, the sun, the ability to sire a child to carry on the Ramsey name. He thought of the hunger, the darkness, the aloneness, the sense of being separated from the rest of the world. And then he thought of what he had gained: his increased senses; his immunity to sickness and disease and aging; his ability to read minds, control thoughts, move through the night faster than a thought.

“Not as much as I used to,” he admitted slowly. His arm tightened around her shoulders. “If I weren’t a vampire, I never would have met you.”

“That’s true,” she said brightly. Leaning forward, she kissed him.

“Why were you asking Chiavari all those questions when we played cards the other night?”

“I was just curious. I’ve been thinking . . . Marisa’s going to let Grigori bring her across. I don’t want to be the only one who’s not a . . .”

“Forget it, Kelly! Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m afraid of growing old, Eddie. I’m afraid of losing you.”

“You will not lose me.”

“You say that now. But how will you feel when I’m old and ugly? When people start thinking I’m your mother, or your grandmother?”

“Kelly . . .”

“I know you think of yourself as a monster, but I don’t see you that way. I want to be like you.”

“I’ve never done it.” He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Kelly.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

“I’m not!”

“Maybe Grigori could . . .”

“No!” he said firmly, and left her sitting there, alone, in the dark.

She asked him the next night and the next, and every night for the next two weeks. And every night he refused, but the thought was always there in the back of his mind, teasing, tempting. He couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be to have someone to share his life with him, someone who would understand, who would always be there. And even as he considered it, he wondered at the change in him. Once, he had killed vampires. Now, he was thinking of creating one.

She was waiting for him when he woke the next night. Sitting on the sofa, the lamp turned low, her hair falling over her shoulders like a river of ebony, her body clad in a nightgown that was no more than a whisper of peach-colored silk, she waited.

He might have thought of himself as dead, but his body came instantly to life, humming with need, with desire. “Kelly . . .”

She held out her arms. “You’re hungry,” she said, her voice low and sultry.

“Hungry” didn’t begin to describe what he was feeling. Lost in the heat of her eyes, he moved across the floor like a sleepwalker, sank down on the sofa beside her, drew her into arms that trembled.

She tilted her head up and back, exposing the slender column of her throat. Her blood called to him, more enticing than any perfume, more intoxicating than the finest brandy.

“Do it, Eddie.”

He knew what she wanted, knew she was deliberately tempting him. He should turn away, leave the house before it was too late.

“No.” He shook his head even as he felt his fangs lengthen, felt the hunger awake and stretch its claws.

Her nails dug into his arm. “Do it, Eddie. Now.”

He was afraid. Afraid for her, for him. “If I take too much . . .”

“You won’t.”

“This isn’t something you want to rush into, Kelly girl. There is no going back once it’s done. You need to be sure.”

“I am sure.” She cupped his face in her palms and kissed him deeply.

Desire and need clashed within him, fighting for control. She was sweet, so sweet. So warm, so alive. All that would change if he did as she asked.

She deepened the kiss, her tongue stroking his, her hands sliding up and down his back. His body responded to her touch, his desire growing. And with desire came the overwhelming need to feed. The hunger clawed its way to the surface as he held her closer, closer.

His lips slid down to her neck.

She moaned softly, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh.

She shivered as his fangs pierced her flesh, tensed as fear of the unknown overcame her eagerness. She cried his name, her voice hoarse, uncertain.

But he was past hearing. He drank deeply, aware of nothing but the pounding of her heart, the panic that made it beat harder, made the blood flow faster, sweeter. A distant part of his mind told him she wanted him to stop, but there was no going back, not now.

He drank and drank. Drank until her heart was beating in rhythm with his, until it slowed, almost stopped. He drew back abruptly, stared at her in horror. She lay across his lap, her head lolling over his arm, unmoving, barely breathing, as pale as death.

“Kelly! Kelly!”

Fearing he had taken too much, he bit his wrist and held the bleeding wound to her lips.

“Drink, Kelly,” he urged. “You must drink. . . .”

 

 

Khira lifted her head, the young man in her arms momentarily forgotten as a new heartbeat rode the dark wings of the night.

“Ah, Edward,” she murmured. “What have you done?”

 

 

Grigori paused on the narrow wooden pier, a sudden chill running down his spine.

“What is it?” Marisa asked. She glanced around the park, wondering if Grigori had sensed danger lurking in the shadows. They walked here often in the evening. She remembered the first time they had come here, shortly after they met. She hadn’t known he was a vampire then, only that he was dark and handsome and strangely compelling. That night, walking hand in hand through the park, had made her feel like a teenager with her first crush. She looked up at Grigori. He was wearing the same black sweater he had worn that night. It was a color that suited him, making it seem as if he were a part of the night itself.

He swore softly. “There is a new vampyre in the city.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ramsey brought Kelly across.”

“How do you know?”

“I can feel it.” Grigori took her hand and started walking again. He turned left at the end of the bridge and made his way toward the shallow stream that cut through the middle of the park. “He would have been wiser to wait a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“In a word, Khira.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Khira has already destroyed most of the vampyres in the city. To my knowledge, there were only three of us left; Ramsey, Lisa, and myself.

“Lisa? I’ve never heard you mention her before.”

“She is Rosa’s fledgling, and still new to the Dark Gift.” Grigori shook his head. “Ramsey should not have brought Kelly across until Khira left town.”

“Do you really think she’ll leave?”

“She will go back to Italy sooner or later; I have no doubt of that.” He stopped walking and drew Marisa into his arms. “I don’t want to talk about her now. Do you remember the first night we came here?”

“Of course. You asked me what scared me, and I said vampires.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Are you still afraid of vampyres?”

She slid her fingertips through the hair at his nape. “What do you think?”

“I think we should go home.”

“Do you?” Standing on tiptoe, she nibbled on his lower lip. “Why?”

He drew her up against him, letting her feel the obvious evidence of his desire. “That’s why.”

She looked up at him and batted her eyelashes. “Why, sir,” she drawled in her best Southern belle imitation, “whatever do you mean?”

Grigori burst out laughing. “Minx!”

“Minx! Minx, am I! Sir, if I had a fan, I should strike you with it.”

He ground his hips against hers. “Do your worst, Miss Scarlett.”

“My worst, sir? Oh, no, I shall do my best.”

“Do not tempt me,
cara,
or I shall take you here, now.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Marisa asked, suddenly serious.

“No.”

“But . . .”

He stilled her protest with a kiss as he swept her into his arms and carried her up the side of the hill until he came to a large weeping willow tree whose branches brushed the ground. Inside the shelter of the branches, he sat down, then slowly fell back, drawing Marisa down on top of him.

He had kissed and caressed her all the way up the hill. Now, locked in his arms, with his mouth warm on hers and his hands sliding seductively over her body, she had no thought except to pleasure him and be pleasured in return.

She moaned his name as his fangs brushed her throat. What would it be like to be able to give him the same kind of ecstasy he gave her?