Shades of Gray (26 page)

Moments or hours later, she wasn't sure, he set her on her feet.

She felt a sense of power flowing past her, and the room was suddenly filled with the light from a dozen candles.

"Where are we?" Marisa asked.

"My home."

She glanced around. The room was large, with high, vaulted ceilings and old-fashioned leaded windows. Faded green drapes hung at the windows; a faded green-and-gold carpet covered the floor. The walls had once been pale yellow. A huge stone fireplace with a black marble mantel took up a good portion of one wall.

"You live here?" Her voice echoed off the high ceiling.

He nodded. "But it won't be legally mine for another week or so."

"Oh." She was trembling again.

He whispered her name as he took her in his arms. "Don't be afraid. You're safe now."

"He… he had a gun."

"Not anymore."

"You took it?"

Grigori nodded.

"You drank from him, didn't you?"

"Yes. And then I wiped it from his mind." She felt the muscles in his arms tense. "It troubles you, doesn't it?"

"A little." She smiled up at him tremulously. "But I'm getting used to it."

"Ah, Marisa, do you have any idea how much I need you?"

"You? Need me?"

He nodded. "Shall I wax poetic and tell you that I need you as a flower needs the sun, as a starving man craves sustenance? Shall I tell you how beautiful you are to me, how much I want you?"

She stared up at him, the mugger momentarily forgotten. Candlelight danced in the inky black of Grigori's thick black hair and cast golden shadows over his face. And his eyes… his eyes burned with a radiant heat that spoke more eloquently than words.

"I shall not rush you,
cara.
I shall not ask more of you than you wish to give. I ask only that you let me see you each night, and dream of you each day."

He lifted his hand, one long finger lovingly outlining the contours of her face. "Say yes,
cara mia.
I have lived alone too long."

It was tempting, so tempting. He needed her as no one ever had, ever would, and yet she couldn't forget what he was.

"I'm sorry." She whispered the words, afraid of hurting him, afraid of incurring his anger. "Please try to understand. I don't want to hurt you. I wish that I could
— "

He placed his fingertips over her lips, stilling her words, and then, slowly and deliberately, he lowered his arms and took a step backward. "I understand."

"Grigori, please, just let me explain — "

"It isn't necessary," he said flatly. "I am Vampyre. I know your thoughts, Marisa, better than you know them yourself. Be assured, you have nothing to fear from me. Come, I will see you safely home."

There were no more flowers after that, no more erotic dreams that filled her with both embarrassment and pleasure. She buried herself in her work, spent her weekends doing last-minute Christmas shopping. She mailed her Christmas cards, late as always, went to a holiday party at Linda's house and tried to pretend she was having a good time.

She checked the newspapers every morning and listened to the news each night, but there were no more vampire killings, no sign that Alexi Kristov had returned.

She went out to dinner and a movie with Edward a few times, and then Christmas week was upon them.

The office closed early on Wednesday, and Marisa packed her bags and went to Florida to spend Christmas with her parents and her brother and his wife and kids. She endured her mother's gentle urging to settle down, listened to her father complain about the fate of the nation, tried not to be jealous of Mike, who seemed to have everything: a lovely wife, four beautiful children, a new car, a thriving business.

It always amazed her how she became a little girl again as soon as she walked into her mother's house. Part of her resented it, but the other part, the part of her that had never grown up, would never grow up, was happy to let her mother fuss over her.

Christmas passed pleasantly. They exchanged gifts, went outside to watch the kids ride their new bikes. Later, they ate a big breakfast, followed by an enormous dinner, and then, too soon, the day was over. Mountains of paper and tissue and ribbon filled the trash cans. The kids, worn out after a day of playing and pigging out, went to bed early.

Marisa stayed up after everyone else had gone to bed. Sitting in the living room in front of the fireplace, she stared at the flickering flames. She wondered where Alexi had gone, how Edward had spent the day. She should have asked him to spend the holiday with her and her parents. It wouldn't have been any trouble to put him up, but she didn't want to encourage him, didn't want him to think that they could ever be more than friends.

Leaning back, she tried to focus on making New Year's resolutions. More exercise, less chocolate. Go to church. Help out at the soup kitchen. Call home more often….

Finally, she gave up and let herself think of Grigori. How had he spent the day? Did vampires celebrate Christmas, or was it just another day in an endless string of days? Or nights.

How had he endured for two hundred years? What would it be like to be young forever, never to be sick, never to have to worry about dying? What was it like to know that everyone you knew would grow old and die while you stayed forever the same?

She closed her eyes, lulled to sleep by the lateness of the hour and the warmth of the flames….

It was Christmas Eve and he was walking alone down a residential street. Dressed in the sweater and jeans she had picked out for him, he moved soundlessly through the night, oblivious to the bitter wind and the rain. Christmas lights twinkled from porches and housetops, shimmering with moisture. And all around him, he could hear the sounds of Christmas carols and laughter as families gathered together to celebrate the most joyous day of the year.

He walked for miles, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his face turned to the wind. She sensed his loneliness, his separation from the rest of the world. She felt his hunger, saw him pause outside an all-night drugstore, his nostrils flaring as he came upon an old man huddled in the doorway. She felt the hunger clawing at him, urging him to take what he needed, to satisfy his thirst. She felt his hesitation, and then, with a muttered oath, he passed the old man by, and she knew it was because it was Christmas, because the old man was on his way home to his invalid wife.

And then she saw him in the house he had bought, and she knew he had bought it because of her, that he had hoped she would share it with him.

She saw him walking through the dark, empty rooms, heard his voice whisper that he needed her, that his life had lost all hope, all meaning.

And then she saw him standing outside again, his head thrown back, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He spoke her name, and then, riding on the
wings of the wind, she heard the melancholy wail of a wolf…

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding as she glanced around the darkened room. "Grigori?" But of course he wasn't here. He was back in L.A.

She lifted a hand to her cheek, surprised to find it damp with tears.

"Why do you weep, Marisa?"

She should have been frightened, or, at the very least, surprised. Instead, the soft, husky sound of his voice sent a warm glow pulsing through her. "Don't you know?"

"I'm trying not to read your mind, since it upsets you so."

"I was dreaming." She wrapped her arms around her waist and looked up at him. He stood beside the sofa. Wrapped in a flowing black cloak, he looked tall and dark and dangerous. The light from the fire haloed his hair. "But you know that, don't you?"

He shook his head. "No. What was it about?"

"It doesn't matter. What are you doing here?"

"What do you think?"

Her heart began to pound. Her mouth went dry. "I — " She swallowed. "I don't know."

He knelt beside her, the cloak settling around him like a pool of black ink.

"I missed you," he said quietly. "I came to see if maybe you had missed me, too." His gaze found and held hers. "Did you?"

She couldn't lie to him, not when he was looking at her like that. She could feel his loneliness as if it were her own. It made her feel powerful and humble at the same time, to think that he had come here. It was frightening, to know she had the ability to hurt him, to shatter his pride and wound his ego.

She looked at him and reminded herself that he was a vampire, but all she saw was a faint ray of hope in a pair of deep black eyes.

She looked at him and tried to see a monster, but all she saw was a man who had been alone too long, a man who needed her.

"Did you think of me at all while you were here?"

"Yes." She had thought of him constantly. At church on Christmas Eve, she had wished he could be there beside her. All day today, she had thought of him, lost in the dark sleep, alone, while the rest of the world celebrated the wondrous birth of the savior of the world.

"You missed me then?"

She nodded. "Yes. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it."

The hope in his eyes burned brighter, its heat enveloping her. "Marisa."

"Merry Christmas, Grigori," she whispered, and held out her arms.

He could only stare at her, momentarily stunned by the love he read in her eyes, and then, with a cry, he drew her down into his lap and wrapped his arms around her.

"Marisa… Marisa…" He buried his face in the silky cloud of her hair and held her tight.

She clung to him, feeling the tremors that shook his body as he whispered her name over and over again.

"Aren't you going to kiss me?"

He drew back a little, a faint smile curving his lips. "As often and as long as you wish."

Happiness bubbled up inside her like champagne. "I wish," she murmured, "I wish you would kiss me now."

"Ah,
cara,"
he said fervently, "your wish is my command."

She closed her eyes as his head dipped toward hers, sighed as their lips met. She had yearned for this, hungered for this. Why had she fought it for so long?

Without taking his lips from hers, he turned her in his lap so that she was facing him, her legs circling his waist, her breasts crushed against his chest. His hands roamed over her back and shoulders, down her arms, along her thighs, tantalizing her with his touch, arousing her until she ached with needing him.

He burned with the same desire. She could feel it in every quivering muscle, hear it in the ragged edge of his breathing, in the rasp of his voice when he whispered her name.

She was breathless when he took his mouth from hers. "Grigori… have you always had this power over women?"

His knuckles brushed her cheek. "What power is that,
cara?"

"You know very well what I mean. One kiss and I'm on fire."

"It isn't power,
mi amore."

"Magic, then?"

He smiled at her, his expression tender. "More like a miracle."

"A miracle?" She traced his lips with her fingertip, and then cupped his face in her hands.

"That you could love me."

"I do love you," she said, "but — "

He placed his hand over her mouth. "Let us not worry about the future tonight," he said. "Just let me hold you until the dawn."

She licked his palm, and he groaned low in his throat. "I can't believe you're here."

"You wanted me here, did you not?"

She nodded and snuggled into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. "I think this is the best Christmas I've ever had."

His arms tightened around her. "For me, as well," he said, his breath warming her neck. "For me, as well."

They sat there for hours, content to hold each other close and watch the flames dance in the hearth. Grigori told her of his childhood in Italy, of his father who was a cobbler, of his older brother who became a priest. He told her of faraway places he had explored in centuries past, and she could see it all in her mind, the house where he had been born, Grigori as a young boy, tall and dark and handsome, even then. She saw the world through his eyes, the pyramids of Egypt and the canals of Italy, the great cathedrals of Europe, the jungles of Africa. How wonderful, to have lived so long and seen so much.

After a time, he grew silent, and she knew that dawn was drawing near. She stared at the hearth, only then realizing that, though they had never added more wood to the fire, it had burned all through the night.

"I must go." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "When will you be home?"

"Sunday night. I wish you didn't have to leave."

He shrugged. "It cannot be helped. I will see you when you return, yes?"

"Yes."

He held her close, breathing in her scent, silently vowing that he would grant her every wish, fulfill her every desire, as long as she would let him stay by her side.

He stood up in a fluid motion, carrying her with him. "I'm afraid I've robbed you of your sleep."

She locked her arms around his neck and smiled at him. "I don't mind. I can sleep late tomorrow."

"Dream about me?"

She grinned. "I always do."

He kissed her again, long and hard, and then, ever so gently, set her on her feet. "Until Sunday night,
cara mia."

"One more kiss?"

He swept her into his arms and kissed her until she was breathless, and then, in a swirl of black silk, he was gone.

Head whirling, heart filled with a dozen conflicting emotions, she made her way up the stairs and fell into bed.

She was in love.

With a vampire.

And it was the most exciting thing in the world.

It was a little after eight when the plane landed. Holding her purse and a small carry-on bag, she followed the other passengers up the ramp. It had been fun spending the last three days with her family, but she was glad to be home again. She couldn't wait to see Grigori.

The airport was crowded with people returning home. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to be patient. She wasn't the only one in a hurry.