Shades of Gray (25 page)

Feeling as though she were moving in slow motion, she withdrew her hand from her pocket and placed it in his, felt his long, cool fingers curl around hers.

His arm slid around her waist, his touch light, yet she felt the latent strength in that arm, knew he could break her in half if he had a mind to. But there was no violence in him now.

Gently, ever so gently, he wrapped her in his embrace and covered her mouth with his. Magic flowed between them, cocooning them in a world that was big enough for only the two of them, a world where there was no night and no day, no wrong or right, only one man and one woman who should never have met.

She pressed herself against him, felt his arm tighten around her waist as he deepened the kiss. His free hand skimmed over her back, slid forward to brush the curve of her breast. Fire shot through her at his touch. Heat uncurled deep within her as every nerve, every fiber of her being, responded to his nearness, to the silent invitation of his lips. Never before, she thought, never before had she felt like this. She had been kissed, she had been caressed, but nothing had aroused her like the tender touch of Grigori's hands, the gentle persuasion of his kisses.

She felt the heat of passion warm her skin and flush her cheeks. She ached deep inside, ached for his touch, for his possession. He was the reason she had never slept with another man. She had been waiting, waiting for the enchantment that came with this man's touch.

"Marisa," His breath fanned her cheek. His lips feathered across her brow, the tip of her nose, the curve of her cheek.
"Cara mia, mi vita, mi amore."

A low moan rose in her throat at the wanting in his voice, a wanting that thrummed through her with every beat of her heart.

She felt his lips at her throat, felt his tongue explore the pulse beating in the hollow there.

He groaned as, abruptly, he put her away from him. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely.

"What's wrong?" She stared at him, still caught up in the passion that had burned so brightly between them.

"I think we shall have to postpone this for another time."

"Why?" Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He was staring at her throat, his nostrils flared, his hands tightly clenched.

"I should have known better than to come to you when I'm not fully in control." He dragged a hand through his hair, hating the Hunger raging through him, the images that chased themselves across his mind
— images of Marisa enfolded in his arms, images of himself bending over her, his fangs bared. "Good night, Marisa."

"Good night," she replied, but he was already gone, leaving her feeling bereft and unfulfilled.

She stayed up late that night. She told herself it was because she wasn't tired, that she wanted to watch Jay Leno because Mel Gibson was going to be on.

When the Leno show was over, she changed into her nightgown, then plucked a book off the shelf. She'd read it before, but it was one of her favorites. She managed to get through the first chapter before her mind strayed and she found herself wondering where Grigori was. She admitted then that the reason she didn't want to go to bed was because she didn't want to go to sleep.

And she didn't want to go to sleep because she knew he would come to her in her dreams, when she was receptive and vulnerable.

At two
a.m.
she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She slid into bed and stared out the window.

"Please, Grigori," she whispered. "Please leave me alone."

She was walking in the park in the moonlight, and she was afraid. Every drifting shadow held the threat of danger. Every sound sent her heart into her
throat. She was afraid
—
afraid of the dark, afraid for her life.

She called his name, knowing he was the only one who could save her, called his name again and again until she was sobbing. And then he was there. Tall and dark and dressed all in black. The opera cloak he had worn in Italy fell from his shoulders, blowing about his ankles though there was no wind. His skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. But it was the hungry look in his midnight black eyes that held her captive.

"Why do you fight it? " he asked, and his voice was like distant thunder. "Why do you fight me?"

She stared up at him as he took a step toward her.

"We are connected, you and I," he went on. "Your blood flows within my veins. I know your thoughts. I can feel your desire." He held out his hand. "Come to me, Marisa; let me show you my world."

"What if I refuse?"

"Do not let your fears imprison you."

"I can't help it. I'm afraid of the darkness, of the unknown."

"Don't be afraid, Marisa. I won't let anything hurt you."

He took another step toward her, his hand still outstretched. "Come to me. It is what you want."

"Yes." She placed her hand in his, and felt the
strength that flowed through him, the strength of two hundred years.

"Marisa!"

She lifted her face for his kiss. His lips seared hers, branding her, and she knew him. Knew him as she knew herself. She saw his childhood in Italy, knew he had loved his parents, been jealous of his older
brother. She experienced his love for the land, his longing to travel to other parts of the world. She felt his joy and pride in his children, his grief at their loss, his guilt at Antoinette's death, his rage that he could not avenge himself on Alexi. And, over all, the Hunger that coiled deep within his belly, ever a part of him, coloring his thoughts, his needs. She was aware of the desire that heated his blood, felt it pounding in his veins, in the tension that caused his arms to tighten around her.

He lowered her to the ground, only it wasn't grass beneath her, but a coffin, and he was pressing her down, lowering himself over her. His hands and lips mesmerized her as they aroused her and she felt herself losing her identity, becoming a part of him, a part of his world.

She felt his teeth at her throat, knew that he was going to drink her
blood, drink and drink until there was nothing left of her…

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding like thunder, her body drenched in sweat. Flinging off the covers, she reached for the light and turned it on, relieved to find herself in her own bed, in her own house.

"A dream." She said the words aloud, comforted by the sound of her own voice. "Just a dream."

But she couldn't help wondering if maybe it was a warning of things to come.

Friday morning dawned clear and bright and cool. Marisa rose late after a restless night. She drank three cups of coffee, dressed, cleaned her apartment, which seemed suddenly large and empty.

She fixed a sandwich for lunch, wishing she had some leftover turkey, but it was hard to have leftovers when one ate dinner out.

She turned on the TV and watched the last half of
The Way We Were,
and then, feeling melancholy, she went for a walk in the park.

She tried to sort through her feelings for Ramsey, for Grigori, but it seemed impossible to concentrate. She could think of nothing but the last time she had seen Grigori, the kisses they had shared. The dream that was, even now, all too vivid in her mind.

With a sigh, she sat down under a tree and gazed into the distance. She wasn't ready to make the kind of earth-shattering decision that becoming involved with Grigori would entail. She hadn't been deeply in love, or even in lust, with many men. In high school, she'd been active in sports and dance. She'd hung around with the "in" crowd, busy all the time. She'd gone to college, made new friends, and then started working for Salazar and Salazar.

She'd had her fair share of dates, but never met that one special someone. She knew she was something of an oddity, a twenty-four-year-old virgin, yet she hadn't met anyone she was willing to give it up for. None of them had tempted her as Grigori tempted her… but succumbing to his dark power could cost her so much more than her virginity. The cost could very well be her life.

That thought made her smile. One of the reasons she had avoided intimacy was the very real threat of AIDS. Sex wasn't something she was willing to die for… and yet getting involved with Grigori could be just as dangerous, just as life-threatening.

She fell back on the grass and stared up at the sky, which was, for once, clear of smog. Strange, that she seemed to attract men who were too old for her. Grigori was hundreds of years older than she was, though he looked no more than thirty. Edward was in his forties. Still, he was attractive in his own way, and one of the nicest men she had ever met. Too bad he was too old for her.

The sun was warm on her face. Feeling drowsy, she closed her eyes….

Grigori stalked the dark rooms of his new abode, waiting for the sun to go down. For the last half century, he had been able to rise a little earlier each year, though he still succumbed to the dark sleep when the sun was high in the sky. Was it possible that, in time, he would not have to sleep at all? Had Alexi reached that plane of existence?

Alexi. Was he still in the past, licking his wounds?

Grigori moved to the window that looked out over the backyard. He could see the last splash of color against the western sky, feel the coming night creeping over the land, feel all his senses come fully to life. Awareness flowed through him. He could feel the energy of thousands of people pulsing through him, hear the pumping of their hearts, smell their blood. He could hear the barking of a dog a mile away, the constant hum of car engines, the hum of electricity through the wires. He knew it would rain before the night was over.

He knew Marisa was thinking of him.

He focused on her, felt his pulse increase as his heart began to beat in time with hers.

Marisa… she was a part of him whether she liked it or not.

He closed his eyes and her image leaped into his mind. How lovely she was, his Marisa, with her dark brown hair and vibrant green eyes. Her skin bloomed with the vibrant beauty of youth; her lips were warm and pink. He had dreamed of her last night. That in itself was a sign that his preternatural powers were growing stronger. Newly made vampires did not dream. Locked in the dark sleep, theirs was a dark and empty rest.

He recalled those early days when he had dreaded the hours of nothingness, when he had feared the darkness, feared the helplessness that had come over him, feared that some overzealous mortal would find him while he was vulnerable.

He recalled the nights when awareness had returned with a suddenness that left him feeling breathless with fear.

But those days were long gone. The dark sleep no longer frightened him, no longer held him powerless in a web of nothingness. He could move about during the daylight hours as long as he stayed out of the sun's light; even in sleep, he was aware of what was going on around him.

He was no longer afraid of anything. Except the touch of the sun, and the thought of losing Marisa.

When had she become so important to him? And what was he going to do about it? How was he going to convince her to look past the vampire and see the man?

Ah, he mused, but did the man still exist, or was he only kidding himself?

He felt his hunger stir to life as night fell, spreading a cloak of darkness across the land.

He changed his clothes, and then left the house. Blending into the shadows of the night, he went in search of prey.

It was dark when she woke. She scrambled to her feet, amazed that she had slept so long, but then, she wasn't getting much rest at night.

Dusting off her pants, she started walking home. It was only six o'clock, but it seemed later. Clouds hid the moon. Feeling suddenly nervous, she glanced over her shoulder, assuring herself that she was alone. The park, which had seemed beautiful and romantic when Grigori had been beside her, now loomed dark and foreboding.

Certain she heard footsteps behind her, she started walking faster.

She screamed when she felt a hand close over her arm.

"Shut up! I don't wanna hurt you, lady. Just give me your cash."

"I… I don't have… have any."

"Don't lie to me! And don't turn around."

"I'm… not… not lying." She was shaking all over. Her legs were weak, and she felt hot and cold at the same time. Fear congealed in her belly. She gasped when she felt something small and round and hard pressed into her back.

"I've got a gun, and I'll use it if I have to. Now, stop stallin' and gimme your money. All of it."

"Honest, I don't… don't… please…" She was going to die. And she wasn't ready. Please, not now…

His hand tightened on her arm, making her wince.

"Please… I didn't bring my wallet with me."

"I don't — "

His words died away in a choked sob and suddenly he wasn't holding her anymore. She heard what could have been a growl, followed by a sharp cry of pain.

Terror held her frozen to the spot. She told herself to run, but her feet refused to obey. It took all the courage she could muster just to glance over her shoulder.

She was sorry when she did.

Two dark shapes stood a few feet away, locked together in a macabre embrace. The taller of the two men was bent over the other one. She heard a muffled sob, caught a whiff of blood, and then she heard a voice, low and hypnotic.

"Leave this place and don't come back. You will remember nothing of this night. Nothing. Do you understand?"

She saw the shorter of the two men nod, then turn and walk away.

She was trembling violently when Grigori took her in his arms.

"Are you all right?" His voice was soft and soothing.

"Y-yes."

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, knowing somehow that if she said yes, the man who had tried to rob her would die. "No. I'm just… just so… so cold."

Wordlessly, he swept her into his arms. Strong arms that would keep her safe. She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. There was a humming in her ears, a sensation of swift movement. She snuggled against him, her eyes closed, her heart pounding. She didn't ask where he was taking her. At that moment, she didn't care. He was warmth and safety. He would protect her.