"I have to go to my boss's house for New Year's Eve," Marisa said. She tucked her legs under her and sipped her wine. "Would you come with me?"
Grigori lifted one brow. "Do you think that would be wise?"
"Why not?"
He shrugged. "I should think that would be obvious."
"Please come."
"If you wish. What should I wear?"
"Suit and tie are de rigueur at these things."
"I shall be honored to escort the most beautiful of women."
"Flatterer."
"I only speak the truth."
They were sitting on the sofa in her apartment, sharing a glass of wine. Save for a quick kiss, he had not touched her since his arrival two hours earlier. They had watched an old John Wayne movie on TV, and he had been aware of her amusement at doing something so mundane with a man who was a vampyre. He had not meant to probe her mind, but when she sat so close, when her thoughts were centered on him, it was difficult to resist. He had known her almost two months, he mused, and though she professed to love him, there was a part of her that still thought of him as something less than human. She found it amazing that he walked in the park, read books, watched television, went to the movies, visited museums. She seemed to think his life should consist of little more than haunting the shadows wrapped in a long black cape, and frightening unwary mortals.
He took a deep breath, willing himself to be patient, to give her time. It wasn't easy, accepting something one had always thought impossible.
She was about to pour another glass of wine when the doorbell rang.
"Geez, I wonder who that is?" Marisa muttered. "It's almost eleven."
"Do you want me to get it?"
"If you don't mind."
He brushed his hand across her cheek as he stood up, and she felt a tingle of desire sweep through her. Tall, dark and handsome, she thought. He fit the description to a T. She watched him walk away, thinking again that she had never known anyone who moved the way he did.
Grigori crossed the floor, aware of Marisa's gaze on his back. He could feel the desire radiating from her. He was smiling when he opened the door. And then he frowned.
"It's Ramsey," he called over his shoulder.
"Tell him to come in."
Grigori stepped back. "A little late to be calling, isn't it, Ramsey?"
"You're here."
With a shrug, Grigori stepped back. "Come on in."
Edward stepped into the entryway, and Grigori closed the door. As soon as the vampire turned his back, Edward tackled him. Startled, Grigori hit the floor, face down. Moving quickly, Edward looped a thick silver chain around the vampire's neck and pulled it tight. There was an ugly hissing sound as the silver burned through preternatural flesh.
With an outraged roar, Grigori rolled onto his back, but Edward was ready for him. Straddling Grigori's legs, he laid a heavy silver crucifix on the vampire's chest.
Grigori went rigid as the silver burned his flesh. Though the cross was not heavy, he could feel it weighing him down, clouding his vampyric powers.
"Edward!" Marisa shrieked. "What are you doing?"
"Killing a vampire."
"Stop it!"
"Don't interfere, Marisa."
"Stop this, Edward! Are you crazy?"
"Look at him, Marisa! Come and see him as he really is."
Lips parted, fangs bared, Grigori glared up at Ramsey, but Ramsey refused to meet his gaze.
"He's evil, Marisa! A killer! He's got to be destroyed."
Grigori sucked in a deep breath. The silver burned his skin like a fine white flame. "Edward, release me."
"Your mind games won't work, vampire." Ramsey drew a stake and a wooden mallet from inside his jacket. "Not this time."
Grigori went suddenly still. Marisa, who had been watching in horror, felt a palpable tremor in the air, a vibration, like static electricity, and knew that Grigori was summoning his power.
It was an awesome thing to see. Or not see. There was nothing tangible, nothing visible to the naked eye. Yet she sensed the power building within Grigori, bubbling to the surface like lava from the depths of a sleeping volcano. Why didn't Edward feel it?
She held her breath, afraid to watch, unable to look away.
And then Grigori lifted his arms, placed his hands around Ramsey's waist, and stood up in a single flowing movement, carrying Ramsey with him. The crucifix tumbled from Grigori's chest to the floor. He wrapped one hand around Ramsey's neck and lifted the man off the ground, then ripped the heavy silver chain away from his throat.
Marisa gasped when she saw Grigori's neck. It was raw and red.
Ramsey squirmed in the vampire's grasp, his face turning purple, his eyes bulging, as his breath was slowly choked off. The stake and mallet hit the floor with a dull thud, and he wrapped his hands around Grigori's, trying to loosen the vampire's deadly grip on his neck.
"Grigori, don't hurt him!"
"He was going to kill me."
"Please..." Marisa clasped her hands in an attitude of prayer, uncertain if she was asking Grigori to be merciful or begging for divine intervention. "Please."
Grigori focused his gaze on Ramsey's face. "Can you hear me, Ramsey?"
Edward nodded as best he could.
"You leave me no choice but to kill you."
Edward stared up at him, his eyes filled with resignation.
"Grigori, don't," Marisa pleaded softly. "Please let him go."
The vampire turned his head to look at her, and she felt his power slither over her skin. His dark eyes were filled with pain and rage. She wanted to look away, wanted to run away, but she stood where she was, knowing Edward's life depended on her. "Please don't hurt him."
Grigori gazed at her for a long moment, and then he lowered his arm, allowing Ramsey's feet to touch the floor. Wondering if he would live to regret what he was about to do, he relaxed his hold on the man's throat, though he did not release him.
"Look at me, Edward, and pay close attention to what I tell you. Do not cross my path again. You will not like what happens if you do."
His hand tightened around Edward's throat. "Do you understand me?"
"Y-yes."
"Don't make me kill you."
Grigori held Ramsey in his grasp a moment more, and then released him.
Edward gasped and stumbled backward, his hand massaging his throat, his eyes glinting with hatred.
"Edward, are you all right?"
Ramsey nodded, but he didn't take his gaze off the vampire. Never, he thought, never had he been so close to death. He thought of all the vampires he had hunted and destroyed, thought of the many times he had congratulated himself on ridding the world of evil. Only now did he realize how lucky he was to be alive. None of the other monsters he had destroyed had possessed the kind of power Chiavari possessed. If they had, he had no doubt that he would have been killed long ago. All this time he had thought himself a master vampire slayer. He knew now that all the creatures he had destroyed had been easy to find, easy to dispatch, because they had been young vampires, newly made, vulnerable.
Grigori jerked his head toward the door. "Get out."
Edward didn't meet the vampire's gaze as he backed toward the door.
A tight smile curved Grigori's lips as he willed the door to open. "Remember what I said, Ramsey. Don't cross my path again."
With a nod, Edward slipped out into the darkness.
Grigori stared after him a moment, and then closed the door. He took a deep breath, a little fearful of facing Marisa after what had happened.
She stared at him, at the horrible burns on his neck. The silver had burned through his shirt; she could see a dark smudge on his chest where the metal had burned his skin.
"Is there... is there anything I can do?" Her voice was faint, unsteady.
He shook his head, quietly cursing Edward Ramsey. Damn the man. His timing could not have been worse.
On legs that trembled, Marisa went into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. She wanted to pour herself a glass of wine, but her hands were shaking so badly, she didn't think she could manage without spilling it.
Uncertain as to what he should say or do, Grigori filled her glass with wine and placed it in her hand. "Drink."
She took several sips, then sat back and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax. It was over. Grigori was still alive. Edward was still alive.
"Marisa..."
She stared up at him, mute.
"Do you want me to go?"
"I don't know."
"You knew what I was. What I am."
Oh, yes, she knew, but in the last few days, she had managed to shove reality into a distant corner of her mind. He'd been so kind, so attentive. She had never dated a man who treated her with such tenderness, such respect, who listened so attentively to what she had to say, who valued her opinions, who needed her love so much. She had never known a man like this man, and he was not a man at all.
It wasn't going to work, Grigory realized. She would never see him as anything other than a monster, and why should she? To her, that was what he was. He had been a fool to think she could love him, accept him. A fool to think he could make any kind of life with a mortal woman.
He drew in a deep breath, held it for stretched seconds, then released it on a sigh. It was time to stop kidding himself, time to remember who and what he was. Time to go home, back to Tuscany, where he belonged.
"Good-bye, Marisa."
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing.
There had been something final in the tone of his voice, as if he meant good-bye forever and not just for the night.
She stood up. The thought that she might never see him again overrode her doubts. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
"I'm never going to see you again, am I?"
"No." He slid his finger under her chin. Tilting her head back, he brushed his lips across hers. "Be happy, cara. Find yourself a nice young man. Someone who can give you lots of children." His knuckles caressed her cheek. "Someone who can grow old beside you."
He turned, and she knew that in moments he would be gone from her sight, gone from her life.
"Grigori! Wait! Don't leave me."
"It's for the best."
"No, no, it's not. Please." She couldn't bear the thought of never seeing him again, never hearing his voice, feeling his touch. Tears welled in her eyes, trickled down her cheeks. She dashed them away with the back of her hand. "Please, don't go."
"Ah, Marisa," he murmured, "do not weep. I cannot abide your tears."
"I love you. I've never loved anyone the way I love you. I don't care that you're a... a vampire."
"Don't you?"
She shook her head.
"Cara." Slowly, he folded her into his arms. "Cara."
"Are you upset because I didn't want to make love?"
"Marisa mia, you are so young, so innocent."
"I'm not young. And I'm not that innocent."
"Compared to me, you are a child." He kissed the top of her head. "Ah, Marisa, if all I wanted was your body, I could have taken you at any time."
"Then why are you leaving me?"
"Because what happened tonight made me realize this will never work. You may love me, cara, but I doubt you will ever be able to accept me for what I am. And I cannot change that, mi amore, not even for you."
"I can, I will! Promise me you won't leave." She blinked up at him through her tears. "You were going to be my date for New Year's Eve."
He felt his resolve weaken as he gazed down at her. How could he leave her? In two hundred years, he had told no one what he was, found no one he dared trust with the truth of his identity. Given time, perhaps she would be able to accept him wholly. Time... it meant nothing to him. What was another month, a year, to one who was Vampyre?
"Ah, mi dolce amore, please do not weep."
"Say you'll stay."
"Are you sure, cara?"
"Yes. Kiss me, Grigori - "
She pressed herself against him, and his arms tightened around her. Heat spiraled through him as her breasts were crushed against his chest. She was light to his darkness, sun to his moon. He would never let her go, not while there was a chance that she would yet be his, fully, completely his.
"Carissima!" He kissed her as he had not kissed her before, letting her feel the urgency of his desire, the fire of his passion. He let her feel the savage hunger that rose up from the very depths of his soul, let her sense the pain that came from refusing to take the love he yearned for, the nectar of life that he needed to survive.
"Grigori - " She drew back, breathless, when he took his lips from hers. "How do you stand the pain?"
"It wasn't so hard to bear until I met you."
"I do love you."
His gaze moved over her face. She basked in the warmth of his eyes, took pleasure in knowing that he wanted her, that he found her desirable. That same knowledge also made her feel miserable because it caused him pain.
She tilted her head to one side, offering him access to her neck. "Drink from me, Grigori. I don't want you to suffer on my account."
"It's not a good idea, cara."
"Why not? You're hurting. I just want to help."
"Do you?" His gaze grew deeply intense.
"I just said I did."
"Will you be my woman, Marisa? Mine in every way?"
"What do you mean?"
"I want you to be mine."
"Are you asking me to marry you?"
"In a manner of speaking. I will pledge you my love and my protection for as long as you wish it."
"But - " She looked up at him, afraid to refuse, afraid of driving him away again.
"You want a real marriage, in a church."
She nodded. All her life, she had dreamed of a big church wedding, of walking down the aisle clad in a gown of pristine white satin. Her father would give her away; her mother would have tears in her eyes; Mike would smile with pride. Her friends from work would be there to wish her well.
"Marisa." He drew her into his arms again and held her close. "Do you want to marry me?"
She nodded. "Yes, if you'll have me."
"Do you know what it would mean, to be a vampyre's wife? There are so many things I cannot share with you. Think carefully before you agree. Once you are mine, truly mine, I will not give you up. You may soon tire of a husband who can share only half your life."
"How do you know you'll want to stay with me? How will you feel when I'm old and gray and wrinkled and you're still young?"
"I shall love you then as I do now."
She looked up into his eyes and knew it was true. "Will you marry me, Grigori? Will you stand beside me in church and vow to be my husband for as long as I live?"
"If that is what you truly wish. But think about it carefully, carissima. Think about what I said, what I am, what you want."
He kissed her lightly, savoring the sweetness of her lips, the way she swayed against him, softly yielding, and then he put her away from him.
"Tomorrow night," he said quietly. "Tomorrow night I will come for your answer."