Shades of Gray (35 page)

He took her hands and helped her to her feet, his heart pounding wildly as she unfastened her garter belt and slowly, oh so slowly, peeled off her nylons to stand before him wearing nothing but a scrap of white lace.

"Marisa." His voice was warm and thick, like sun-warmed molasses, as he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. He paused inside the door to rain feather-soft kisses over her cheeks, her nose, her brow.

He glanced at the hearth, and it blazed to life. The crackle of the flames was the only sound in the room as he carried her to the bed.

The covers had already been turned down. There was a bottle of champagne, a bottle of red wine, and two glasses on the bedside table, along with a slender crystal vase that held a single, perfect red rose.

He lowered her to the mattress, and followed her down, gathering her into his arms. "I can't believe you are here," he whispered, "that you are mine."

His eyes blazed with fervent heat as he kissed her, the touch of his lips igniting a fever of desire deep within her. Her arms twined around his neck, holding him close, as she returned his kisses. His hands caressed her, aroused her, until she writhed beneath him in sweet agony.

He tore off his briefs, removed her panties, and then hovered over her, his dark eyes intent upon her face. "Tell me," he said hoarsely, "tell me that you love me."

"I love you." She lifted her hips in silent invitation. "Love you, love you!"

"Ah,
cara."
He breathed the words as he made her his.

She gasped, then clutched him to her, trembling as her body stretched to accommodate him.

"Shhh,
cara,"
he murmured, "I'll never hurt you again."

She nodded, her face buried in his shoulder, as he began to move slowly within her, the tension melting away as pleasure built deep inside her. He whispered soft words in her ear, love words spoken in French and Italian. She felt his breath hot against her neck, felt his tongue sweep over her heated flesh. She moaned with delight, her body moving with his.

She closed her eyes, awash in a sea of pleasure, and he was there beside her, his breath harsh, his body slick with perspiration, his voice moving over her like black velvet. She was reaching, reaching, and he was there, lifting her higher, taking her where she wanted to go, until she was hovering on the brink. She cried his name, felt his teeth at her neck, and then she was flying, soaring, as wave after wave of ecstacy washed over her.

Slowly, like a feather drifting on the wind, she floated back to earth. She was smiling and couldn't seem to stop. Sleepy, yet wide awake. All her life she had waited for this moment. Had it been as wonderful for him as it had been for her?

She ran her hand through his hair, caressed his shoulder. He started to pull away, but she held him close. "Not yet."

"I must be
heavy."

"No, I like it."

Resting on his elbows, he turned his head so he could see her face, frowned when he saw the tears in her eyes.
"Cara!"
he exclaimed softly. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Oh, no. It was wonderful."

A smile of pure masculine delight curved his lips.

Marisa lifted a hand to her neck. Had she imagined it, or had she felt his teeth nipping at her throat?

She felt him stiffen as the thought crossed her mind.

His gaze slid away from hers. "Forgive me,
cara."

She caressed his cheek, ran her finger over his lips. "It's all right, really."

"I had hoped — " He shook his head.

"Hoped what?"

"I had hoped I could separate my love for you from the Hunger, but my desire for your sweet flesh arouses my thirst until I cannot resist." He ran his fingertips over the two tiny marks on her throat. "I took but a little."

She didn't know what to think, what to say. She tried to feel repulsed, betrayed. Instead, she felt a sense of fulfillment in knowing that she had nourished his Hunger and satisfied his desire.

She ran her hands down his arms, marveling at the latent strength she felt there. His skin was warm beneath her fingertips.

Grigori closed his eyes and surrendered to the touch of her hands. Her fingertips explored the muscles in his arms, traveled over his chest, massaged his shoulders, slid over his back, his buttocks.

He groaned softly, felt his body's quick response to the sheer pleasure of her touch as she continued her exploration. He drew a deep breath, fighting to keep his Hunger under control as she began to kiss his neck. Her breath tickled his skin; her breasts were warm and soft against his chest. And he wanted her again, wanted to hold her and kiss her, to bury himself deep within her, to drink in her sweetness again and yet again.

"Marisa…"

"Hmmm?"

He kissed her, kissed her until she was breathless, until she cried out for him to take her. He held nothing back this time, overcome by his need to possess her, to brand her as his forevermore. He brought her to the brink and carried her over, his mind melding with hers, making them one in mind and body, and when, at last, she fell asleep in his arms, he knew he would never let her go.

He stood outside the house, his body lighter than air, filled with the blood of his latest victim. So, Chiavari had made the woman his wife. That was a rather interesting turn of events.

He had thought to end it quickly, to destroy Chiavari once and for all. Ramsey was no longer a threat. The woman could be taken at any time. But she was Chiavari's
wife now…

He stared at the house for a long while, his hatred growing, swelling, spreading through him. After the battle in the cellar, he had gone to ground to heal his wounds and nurse his rage. It had taken weeks for the gaping hole left by the wooden stake to heal. Ramsey, damn his soul to hell, had soaked the wood in holy water.

It was time to raise the ante, to bring the game to a close. He was weary of this modern world, of the constant rush, the noise, the pollution that stung his nostrils and burned his eyes. He yearned for the romantic days of the past, for the elaborate costumes, the pageantry, the ignorance of the common people.

Tomorrow, he mused, tomorrow he would send Chiavari a surprise, and when the vampire was dead, he would take the woman.

Marisa woke slowly, a smile on her face, as the last remnants of a wonderful dream faded away. She had been making love to Grigori, and it had been the most amazing experience of her life. She rolled onto her side, came face-to-face with the man of her dreams, and knew it hadn't been a dream at all.

She pulled the sheet up under her arms and regarded the man sleeping beside her. How handsome he was! She smiled as she recalled the night past, glad that she had waited, glad that he had been the first man to make love to her. He had been so gentle, so tender, so eager to please and pleasure her. He had made love to her three times, and each time had been better than the last.

She had felt his mind probing hers, melding with hers. It had been incredible. She had felt every beat of his heart, every breath, knew the same excitement, the same ecstacy he did. Had he felt hers in return?

She glanced at the window. Dark green drapes lined with black shut out the morning light, reminding her that she had not married an ordinary man. She looked at Grigori again. He seemed to be sleeping, but was he, or was he trapped in some kind of darkness, unable to move?

She lifted her hand, hesitated, and then placed it over his heart. It was beating slowly, steadily, but he didn't move. Could he feel her touch?

"Grigori?"

His eyelids fluttered open. "What is it you wish?"

"Nothing, I just wondered — "

He raised one brow. "What?"

"I thought maybe… I mean, well — "

She started to draw her hand away, but he covered it with his own. "Is there something you need?"

"It's morning."

"I know." His body felt heavy, sluggish.

"I thought that — " She shrugged one shoulder. "How can you be awake?"

"It isn't easy," he replied with a wry grin. Indeed, he could feel the darkness calling him. "I must rest,
cara mia."

"Okay." She bent down to kiss him. "See ya later."

He pressed a kiss to her palm, and then his eyelids fluttered down.

She watched him a moment. His eyelashes were short and thick, his hair was mussed. He was beautiful.

Slipping out of bed, Marisa went to take a shower. Her body ached a little, reminding her of the night past. Making love to Grigori had been everything she had hoped it would be, and more.

He was deeply asleep when she returned to the bedroom. She dressed quickly, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and went downstairs.

He had been busy since the last time she had been at the house. The fridge and the cupboards were filled with food.

She opened the egg carton and found a note inside. She unfolded it.
I
love you.
She smiled as she tucked it into her pants pocket.

There was a note inside the coffee canister:
I
love you. You're beautiful.
Another inside the sugar bowl:
I
am dreaming of you.
Inside the silverware drawer, she found his Mastercard, a couple hundred dollars in cash, and another note:
Go buy us some living room furniture, something we can snuggle on in front of the fire.

She fixed breakfast, turned on the radio, and then sat down to eat. Maybe she would quit her job, she mused. She didn't have to work anymore. It might be fun to stay home. She could sleep late every morning, spend her days reading, or gardening, or shopping, or doing anything else she pleased.

She gazed out the window. The backyard was huge. There was a pool, a large covered patio, a gazebo, a rose garden. Of course, the yard was overgrown with weeds.

She put her dishes in the dishwasher, poured another cup of coffee, then went out to get the morning paper.

She was sorry the minute she opened it.

TERROR STALKS THE STREETS

VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN

Inside, she sat down and read the story. The body of a young man had been found in a ditch near West Road.

Marisa stared at the headlines. She had lost count of how many killings there had been. In the last two weeks, she had refused to think about Alexi, refused to let him or anything else intrude on what was supposed to be the happiest time of her life. But she couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't forget that it had been the scent of her blood that had aroused him from a century of sleep.

How could she have gone blithely on, planning her wedding, having a good time, when people were being murdered, when she was partly responsible?

She had to do something. But what? If he returned to the past to rest during the day, they would never find him. And if Edward and Grigori hadn't been able to find him, what hope did she have?

And yet they had to find him, had to stop him. But how?

Feeling a sudden need to see Grigori, she put the newspaper aside and went upstairs.

Standing in the doorway, she watched him sleep. What was it like for him? she wondered. What was it like to live for hundreds of years? Did one grow weary of living, of being forever young? She had often wished she could live forever, and now the means was within her grasp. Would Grigori make her a vampire if she asked it of him?

She moved closer to the bed, watching the nearly invisible rise and fall of his chest. What would it be like to be a vampire, to watch her friends and family grow old and die? Would living forever be worth the price of losing everyone she loved? It might be fun, if she could go on as she was now, but that would be impossible. She would have to be always on her guard, never able to tell her friends what she was. There would be no more beach parties in the summer, no more Christmas mornings with her family. No more company Fourth of July picnics, or vacations at the lake. No children…

She felt a tug at her heart. There would be no children for her in any case, not as long as she was married to Grigori.

If she called his name, would he hear her? If she crawled into bed beside him, would he awake and take her in his arms?

"Grigori?"

She moved closer to the bed and called a little louder. "Grigori?"

His eyelids fluttered open and he gazed up at her.
"Cara,
is something wrong?"

"No. I was" — she shrugged — "lonesome for you."

He held out one arm in silent invitation and she slid under the covers.

"Does it bother you to be awake during the day?"

"No, but it is difficult, when the sun is high."

"Maybe I should let you rest."

"No." He hugged her to him. "I thought you would be out shopping."

"That's what I was going to do, but then I read the paper. We've got to do something, Grigori. We've got to stop him."

"Alexi."

"There's got to be a way. He can't be infallible."

"If he has a weakness, I have yet to find it." He smiled lazily as he took her hand in his and licked her palm. "I have a weakness,
cara mia.
Shall I tell you what it is?"

She shivered with delight as he licked the inside of her wrist. "I think I can guess."

"Can you?" He rained kisses on the inside of her arm, licked the bend of her elbow.

She leaned closer and kissed him, felt his free arm slide around her waist, and then she was lying on top of him, her breasts crushed against his chest. "I thought vampires were weak and vulnerable during the day."

"You make me weak," he murmured. "Weak with wanting you."

"Do I?"

"Cara…"

She ran her hands through his hair, feathered kisses over his brow, his cheeks. His hands slid restlessly up and down her back, and then he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue teasing her lips until, with a low moan, she opened to him.

He caressed her out of her clothing, and then there was nothing between them but desire and his mouth on hers. She felt his power surround her, felt the world spinning away, until there were only the two of them, caught up in a magical sphere where touch was everything. Her whole body tingled with awareness, and then they were one, joined flesh to flesh and heart to heart. He carried her to the brink, and when she was teetering on the edge, she felt the touch of his teeth at her throat, heard him groan with pleasure as they plunged over the abyss together. It was like free-falling through a rainbow.