Shades of Gray (21 page)

"Are you planning to use that?" Grigori asked, gesturing at the stake clutched in Ramsey's hand.

"If I have to. I don't mind being an appetizer, but I'm not willing to be the whole banquet."

Grigori laughed in spite of himself.

"It's not funny," Edward retorted. He sat down on the bench, his body quivering with tension, his eyes wary. "Go on, get it over with." Ramsey flinched as Grigori sat down beside him.

"You don't have to do this," Grigori said curtly.

Edward glanced up at Marisa, and then back at the vampire. "Yeah, I think I do."

"Give me your left arm."

Ramsey grunted. "Sure you don't want to go for my throat?"

Grigori shook his head. Nuzzling Ramsey's neck was the last thing he wanted to do.

Ramsey took a deep breath, and then held out his arm.

Grigori rolled up Ramsey's shirtsleeve. He stared at the man's wrist, despising himself for his need, for the fierce hunger that could not be denied.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Grigori said, his voice gruff with the need churning through him. The fact that Ramsey knew what he was feeling only made it worse.

"Just do it." Edward hissed the words between tightly clenched teeth.

"Make a fist."

Edward did as bidden, watching, in morbid fascination, as the vampire bent over his wrist. Never, in a million years, had he imagined he would be nourishing one of the undead.

Grigori swore under his breath as he lifted Ramsey's arm. He could hear the rapid beat of Ramsey's heart. The scent of the man's blood, the fear he was trying to control, filled his nostrils.

He felt his fangs lengthen as he bent over Ramsey's arm.

Edward's right hand tightened around the stake until his knuckles went white with the strain.

Marisa stood across the room, her hand at her throat, feeling as though she were trapped in a living nightmare that had no end. Edward looked up, grimacing as he met her gaze. She tried to smile; instead, she felt tears well in her eyes. Tears of gratitude for Edward's sacrifice, tears of pity for Grigori.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than a minute, Grigori released Ramsey's arm and stood up.

"Thank you. I know how difficult that was for you," Grigori said stiffly. "You should get something to drink."

Edward rolled his shirtsleeve down. "Does this mean you'll be able to read my mind now?"

"I could always read your mind, Ramsey."

Edward stood up. He looked at Marisa, then at Grigori. "I'm going back to bed."

"Ramsey."

Edward turned around. "What do you want now, vampire?"

"Tomorrow," Grigori said, his voice ragged with pain. "Be swift. And merciful."

With a curt nod, Edward left the room.

"She won't feel it, will she?" Marisa asked, horrified to think that Antoinette might be aware of what was happening to her.

"I don't know. I hope not."

"Where will you sleep tomorrow?"

Grigori shrugged. "I don't know. I'll find a place, don't worry."

She went to sit beside him on the bench. "Have you ever regretted becoming a vampire?"

"No." He had enjoyed being a vampyre. He was never tired, never sick. He didn't suffer from the usual aches and pains that plagued mankind. He could move with preternatural speed. He had watched nations rise and fall, seen man leave the earth behind and take to the stars. And yet… His gaze moved over Marisa in a long, heated caress. "I've never regretted it," he said heavily. "Until now."

"Would you be mortal again, if you could?"

"I don't know, but it isn't possible, even if I wished it."

"Oh." Suddenly weary, she leaned back and closed her eyes, wishing, with all her heart, that she had never ventured out of her house on that rainy Halloween night.

Several minutes passed, and then she felt Grigori's arm slip around her shoulders. Grateful for his nearness, she snuggled against him, felt his hand stroke her cheek.

He was still holding her when she fell asleep.

She woke to the smell of coffee brewing. With a frown, she sat up. For a moment, she had almost imagined herself at home. Brushing the hair from her face, she stood up. It was then that she saw the dress lying across the foot of the bed. It was a pretty thing. The bodice was a rich, lustrous green silk with long, full sleeves and a square neckline edged in delicate rows of white lace; the full skirt was made of varying shades of light and dark green silk and satin. There was a note lying beside it. Curious, she picked it up. The message was brief:
You shouldn't have to wear another woman's clothes. I hope the shoes fit.

Grigori's name was scrawled across the bottom of the paper.

How had he known it made her uncomfortable to wear Antoinette's clothes?

Slipping out of her borrowed apparel, she drew the gown over her head, smoothed it over her hips. The skirt fell to the floor in a whisper of silk. She found the shoes at the foot of the bed. They were half boots, actually, made of kidskin.

"A little fancy for every day," she remarked. But the silk felt heavenly against her skin. The boots, she discovered, fit perfectly.

Feeling a little like Juliet, she went into the kitchen.

"Hey," Edward said.

"Hey yourself," Marisa replied with a grin. "I see you got a new wardrobe, too."

Ramsey grunted as he regarded his outfit. The shirt was stiff white linen with a fall of lace down the front. The trousers were mustard-colored, tighter than he normally wore. Grigori had provided a coat, as well. Made of dark brown wool, it was hanging over the back of a chair.

"Not exactly my style," he muttered.

"You look quite dashing."

"And you look like a princess."

Marisa stared at him, startled by the compliment. "Thank you." She glanced at the food on the table. "If I didn't know better, I'd think we had a fairy godmother."

Ramsey grimaced. "Grigori hardly qualifies for that position. Here," Edward said, handing her a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." She took a drink, feeling the warmth steal through her. She jerked her chin toward the pan on the stove. "You want me to do that?"

"No, sit down and take it easy. I'm almost done."

Marisa glanced out the window, trying to judge the time. It felt early. Sitting down at the table, she sipped her coffee.

"I hope you're hungry," Edward said.

Marisa stared at the plate he put in front of her. It was piled high with scrambled eggs, sausage, and sweet rolls. Edward sat down across from her, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands.

"Aren't you eating?" Marisa asked.

"No." A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "I made enough for the two of us, but I don't have much of an appetite."

"Did you… did you do it?"

"Not yet. I don't think it's something I want to do on a full stomach."

"I don't envy you."

He shrugged. "I've done it before. This is just the first time it's been a woman."

Marisa glanced out the window. The sky was blue. She could hear birds singing. "It's still so hard to believe," she murmured.

Edward nodded. It was difficult to accept. Even now, after hunting the creatures for almost thirty years, it seemed unreal. He had seen things no one should see, done things no human being should have to do. He stared down at his hands, wondering that they weren't stained crimson with the blood he had shed. He thought of Antoinette, of the life that had been stolen from her, the torment she must have suffered while being enslaved to Alexi. It was so unfair, and yet no one had ever said life was fair.

"Edward? Do you want me to go with you?"

"No." He drained his cup, then stood up. "Well…"

She looked up at him, wishing she knew what to say.
Good luck
seemed
too flippant. "Be careful."

"Always." He put on his coat and stood there
a
moment more, looking unsure. Then he bent down and kissed her. It was a remarkably gentle kiss, filled with tenderness and uncertainty.

Marisa blinked up at him when he drew away, wondering if she looked as surprised as she felt.

Edward looked embarrassed. "I'm… I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"Marisa, I — " He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "I guess I'd better be going."

"Hurry back," Marisa said. She stared after him as he left the room, her thoughts chaotic. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. Edward Ramsey had kissed her. She shook her head in amazement, wondering what ever had possessed him to do such a thing.

Ramsey called himself ten kinds of a fool as he gathered up his supplies and left the house. She probably thought him an old fool, and she was right. He was forty-two years old and he had never been in love. Never had time for love. He'd been hunting vampires since he was a teenager, traveling the world over, going wherever he was needed. He had seen most of the world, but he was abysmally ignorant when it came to women.

Ramsey couldn't help grinning when he saw the horse tethered to a bush outside the front door. Grigori was quite the fairy godmother after all, he mused. First he'd provided breakfast, now a ride.

Taking up the reins, he hauled himself into the saddle. He dropped the bag containing the stake, mallet, and cleaver over the saddle horn, and turned the horse south, toward the graveyard. Two miles, Grigori had said.

It was surprisingly pleasant, riding across the countryside in the early morning light. The
horse seemed a tractable beast, plodding .along at a fairly good clip. He had gone about a quarter of a mile when he passed a farmer walking along the road. The man waved at him, and Edward waved back. Farther on, he passed a woman drawing water from a well. She looked up at him and smiled. He saw a small herd of sheep, another of goats.

The church loomed in the distance, the tall wooden cross on the roof rising like a prayer to the heavens.

Edward rode to the rear of the small whitewashed chapel. Dismounting, he tethered the horse to the fence. Lifting his bag from the saddle horn, he made his way through the wrought-iron gates and into the cemetery beyond. A heavy stillness lay over the graveyard, broken only by the sound of his own footsteps.

He felt the hair prickle along the back of his neck as he went on, searching for the sepulcher that held Antoinette's body.

The crypt was located in the far corner of the cemetery, overgrown with vines. Taking a deep breath, he slung his bag over his shoulder, and then put his hand on the latch.

The door opened with a rusty creak, and he smiled in spite of himself. Perfect, he thought.

Standing in the open doorway, he saw Antoinette. She was lying on the floor. A wooden stake had been plunged into her heart. He knew, somehow, that it was the same one she had used on Alexi.

He stared at her for a long time, glad that half of his job had already been done. Left as she was, she would not rise again, but should someone come
upon the body and remove the stake… He could not let that happen.

Taking-a deep, calming breath, he withdrew the cleaver from his bag. One swift blow would do it. She was a newly made vampire. Unlike older vampires, who did not sleep so deeply, who sometimes awoke when they sensed his presence, she was helpless, vulnerable. Totally immersed in the dark sleep, she would be unfeeling, unaware.

Bowing his head, he pressed his crucifix to his lips and uttered the ritual prayers that his father had taught him. The ancient words filled him with a sense of power, of peace. He felt the
rightness of what he was about to do flow through him, strengthening him.

Crossing the floor, he stared down at her for a moment, and then he covered her face with a piece of cloth.

"May your soul find peace," he murmured, and lifted the cleaver.

Grigori came awake with a strangled cry of pain and grief and knew, in his heart, that Antoinette had been destroyed. As though it were happening to him, he felt the blade sever her jugular. He felt her soul depart her body, glimpsed the joy that would be forever denied him as her spirit was welcomed into paradise, where she would be reunited with their children. Unlike him, Antoinette had not sought the Dark Gift. She had not traded her soul for vengeance. Ever a loyal and devoted wife and mother, she would now reap the eternal blessings of having lived a righteous life.

With a sigh, he stared into the darkness that surrounded him. Tonight, he would go to
her
grave and bid her and his children a final farewell.

Marisa felt her breath catch in her throat when she looked up to find Grigori standing in front of her.

Vampire.

She met his eyes, wondering if he was remembering that she had once told him he didn't look like one of the undead.

"Nice cape," she murmured.

He lifted one brow in a familiar expression of wry amusement. "Do I look the part now?"

She nodded. He was dressed all in black save for a white shirt that looked like silk. A long cape hung from his shoulders. He wore soft leather boots that reached his knees. He looked just like Frank Langella in
Dracula.

Grigori's lips curved in a sardonic smile. "Let us hope I don't meet the same fate."

"Stop that," Marisa said. It was disconcerting, having him know her every thought.

He bowed, the gesture innately graceful. "Forgive me." His gaze ran over her in blatant admiration. The dress fit perfectly, showing off every slender curve. The rich green color made her eyes shine like emeralds. "You look lovely."

"Thank you." She smoothed her hands over the skirt's silky material. "I've never worn anything quite so fine. Wherever did you find it?"

"Paris."

"Paris! When were you in Paris?"

"Last night. Where's Ramsey?"

"He's looking after the horse." She grinned at him. "Did you find the horse in Paris, too?"

He laughed softly, and she thought how seldom she had heard him laugh. "No, he's a native Italian. I borrowed him from my neighbor."

"You must have had a busy night."

"Indeed. Where would you like to go for dinner?"

"I don't know."