After Sundown

Chapter Eight

Khira's words echoed in Grigori's mind as he waited for the dawn. Ramsey could be dangerous. Be wary of him . Lying in bed, with Marisa's head pillowed on his shoulder, he pondered the vampyre's words. Ramsey could be dangerous . To whom? To Marisa? He knew Ramsey had been in love with Marisa. Who wouldn't be? She was a beautiful woman with a generous heart and a beautiful soul. He knew Ramsey had proposed to her, knew the man had been hurt when she refused, but he had never given it any more thought. Marisa was his wife, and that ended it. Perhaps Khira's warning had been for himself. There was little doubt that Ramsey despised him for bringing him across, for making him what he had hated and hunted. Or had Khira merely been warning him that Ramsey was still a danger to their kind? Ramsey the mortal, obsessed with slaying vampyres, had been dangerous enough, with his accumulated knowledge of the hunt. If Ramsey the vampyre retained that obsession, despite his altered state, that would be another level of danger indeed.
Slipping out of bed, Grigori padded noiselessly to the window, drew back the heavy drapes that shut out the rest of the world, and gazed into the darkness. In the past, he had drunk of Ramsey's blood to survive; Ramsey had taken his blood to cheat the grave. They were bound together now, linked by a bond of blood that could not be broken until one of them was dead.
The community of vampyres was small. Because of what they were, because of the kind of lives they led, they tended to be solitary creatures, distrustful of others, even their own kind. He had known, when he invited Khira to stay, that she would refuse. Most vampyres preferred to sleep alone, keeping their resting place a secret from others of their kind. But there was no way for him to hide from Khira. She had made him what he was; she would always be able to find him.
Not long ago, he had thought himself and Kristov the only vampyres in the city. But, once Kristov had been destroyed, he had learned there were four other vampyres living in the general vicinity. One was a rock star who lived in West Hollywood and called himself Prince Dracul. The second, Noah Fox, was a reclusive businessman who made his home in Brentwood. He was wealthy enough that his odd hours were considered eccentric and not abnormal. Kyle LaSalle, author of a dozen successful techno-thrillers, lived in a mansion in Beverly Hills. And then there was Madame Rosa. She was a mystic of some renown whose paranormal ability to read minds had gained her a remarkable reputation, and an equally remarkable fortune. She had appeared on all the late-night talk shows; one of them had offered ten thousand dollars to anyone who could prove she was a fake.
Ramsey upped that number to five. And now there was Khira.
Too many, he thought, for such a small space.
He wondered if the other vampires were aware of Khira's presence, wondered if their lives were in danger. If Khira decided to stay in this area for an extended period of time, she would not allow the others to remain. Indeed, she might insist that Grigori and Ramsey leave the city, as well. She had never shared her hunting grounds with any save for him, but they had been lovers then. Might have been lovers to this day had he not seen her bending over that child, her fangs extended, the lust for blood hot in her eyes.
He shivered with the recollection. Until that moment, he had been lost in the intoxication of his new condition, preoccupied by Khira's attention, as dazzled as a schoolboy by her lovemaking. But that night he had seen her for what she was: a ruthless, soulless hunter, a predator without feeling or remorse. She had been a vampire for so long that she was no longer hindered by any empathy for her victims. And in that frozen moment of time, he had seen what he was well on his way to becoming, what she wanted him to become. In his mind's eye, her victim that night had blended with his lost children and reawakened the furious hatred that had spurred him to accept the Dark Gift. Mesmerized as he had been by her, he had forgotten why he wanted the Dark Gift in the first place.
He had looked deep into her eyes when he wrested the child from her grasp. He had seen no remorse reflected there, no regret, no shame - nor any love for him. He had, however, seen his own destruction in the depths of her hungry eyes.
But, to his surprise, there had also been a trace of fear. Fear of his strength, his power.
Grabbing the boy from her arms, he had fled into the night. She had not followed him. He had shaken her to her core with his rebellion. It was a simple matter to probe the boy's mind and discover where he lived. He had returned the boy to his home, confident Khira would not follow, that she would not dare to attack that particular child again. He knew other innocents would fall prey to her hunger, but he could not protect them all. And there had been a far darker evil in the land, and his name had been Alexi Kristov.
As soon as the boy was safely home, he had gone in search of Kristov.
It had been a long and frustrating quest, but Kristov was dead now, destroyed with Ramsey's help. Had it not been for his search for Kristov, he would never have met Marisa.
Turning, he let his gaze wander over her face. With his preternatural senses, he could see her clearly in the darkness, hear the whisper of her breath. A faint smile tugged at her lips, and he wondered if she was dreaming of him. They had made love earlier. As always, her tenderness, her total acceptance, touched a chord deep within him. It still amazed him that he had won her heart, that she looked at him with love and desire instead of fear and revulsion. When she was ready, he would bring her across, and she would be his forever. It was a possibility he looked forward to with mixed emotions. He loved her as she was - vital and alive. He had no wish to watch her beauty fade, to see her steps slow, watch the sparkle dim in her eyes; and yet, on a level he did not quite understand, he was reluctant to bestow the Dark Gift upon her. She would be the same as she was now, and yet not the same.
He stood at the window a few moments longer. In the distance, the sky was growing lighter as dawn lifted her curtain on a new day. Next door, a dog barked at an early-morning jogger. His body grew heavy, heavier, as the sun climbed higher. Once, the deathlike sleep had claimed him at dawn's first light, but no more. With each passing year, he was able to rise a little earlier, seek his rest a little later.
With a sigh, he returned to bed. Sliding under the covers, he drew Marisa into his arms, where she belonged.
Marisa woke slowly. Though it was after three, the room was as dark as night, due to the heavy curtains that covered the windows, shutting out the glare of the sun. She had changed her lifestyle to accommodate Grigori's, staying up until dawn so that they could be together before he surrendered to the Dark Sleep.
Sitting up, she glanced over her shoulder at Grigori. She knew now where the term "sleeping like the dead" came from. It was a little disconcerting, seeing him when he was trapped in the Dark Sleep. She knew he would hear her if she spoke to him - knew that, with a great deal of effort and energy, he could fight off sleep's hold for a short time.
Rising, she went into the bathroom to shower and brush her teeth. She dressed quickly in a pair of well-worn jeans and her favorite Beauty and the Beast T-shirt, then went downstairs. Grigori often teased her about the T-shirt, claiming she was indeed the beauty and he was the beast.
Going outside, she strolled down the long driveway and picked up the newspaper. Moving back up the walk, she recalled the first time she had seen the house. Situated on an acre of land, surrounded by a high brick wall, and shaded by tall trees both front and back, it had reminded her of the spooky old houses Dracula always haunted in the movies. Since moving in, they had spent a small fortune fixing up the inside of the old place, but it had been worth it. The rooms had all been restored to their former elegance, but the outside was still in need of work. She stared at the peeling green paint. Next week she would see about hiring someone to paint the exterior, assuming she could decide on a color. She didn't care for green, wasn't fond of white or yellow. Perhaps driftwood or sand. It was hard to believe that this house was hers, that Grigori was hers. Never in her life had she expected to live in such a fabulous place, or to be loved by such a fabulous man.
She stopped to pluck a few weeds from the flower bed alongside the driveway. Once the house was painted, she would hire someone to landscape the yards. Some fruit trees would be nice. And roses, lots of roses. Maybe a fountain or a small waterfall.
Returning to the house, she fixed herself some toast and a cup of hot chocolate, then sat down to read the paper. She stared at the headline.
FOUL PLAY IN WESTWOOD. ROCK STAR PRINCE DRACULA MISSING, BELIEVED KIDNAPPED
Marisa frowned as she read the story. Dracul had been reported missing by his manager. Police reported that bloodstains had been found on the floor mats of the rock star's car. They suspected Dracul might have been kidnapped; however, there had been no demand for ransom.
Grigori had told her that Dracul was a vampire, making her wonder if the blood in the man's car had been his own, or that of some foolish fan who had followed her idol and got more than she bargained for.
She was reaching for her cup when she saw the second headline, smaller than the first.
BODY OF UNIDENTIFIED YOUNG WOMAN FOUND IN SANTA MONICA
It was with a sense of deja vu that she read the story. The woman's body had been found behind a restaurant near the waterfront. Her body had been drained of blood.
"No," she murmured. "Please, not again."
She had thought such horror had ended with Alexi's demise. She stared out the window, wondering if the kill was Dracul's. Grigori had told her he was a reasonably young vampire. And if it wasn't Dracul's, then whose? Edward's? Khira's? She shook her head, unable to believe that Edward would murder an innocent girl, and equally unwilling to believe that the beautiful vampire she had met the night before could be capable of such a thing. Yet she knew Khira killed and enjoyed it. Grigori had left her because of it.
She glanced at the clock. It would be hours before Grigori awoke. Needing something to do to occupy her mind, she went out into the backyard and began pulling weeds. In spite of the warmth of the sun on her back, in spite of the blue sky and the gentle hum of insects, she couldn't help feeling that something terrible was lurking just out of sight. Time and again, she glanced over her shoulder, but there was nothing to be seen but the house and the yard and an occasional bird flitting from one tree to another.
She told herself it was just her imagination, that one body drained of blood didn't mean another vampire was running amuck; but she knew in her heart that she was only kidding herself. Any vampire was capable of killing, and though she didn't like to admit it, she knew that included Edward and Khira. And Grigori.
She shivered, suddenly cold in spite of the heat. And what if she became a vampire? Would she then be capable of killing?
She put the thought from her. She wouldn't think of that now. There was plenty of time to make that decision.
Grigori regarded her through hooded eyes. "What do you want me to say, cara ?"
"I don't know." Wrapping her arms around her body, she watched the sky turn dark and wondered if she would ever feel warm again.
"It wasn't me."
"I know that," she said quickly. "Do you think it was Edward? Or... or Khira?"
"Khira would not leave a body behind. As for Ramsey..." He shook his head. "I don't know." Grigori moved to the window and looked outside. Night was making her way across the land, slowly spreading her dark cloak over the earth, stealing the last bit of the day's light from the sky. A woman drained of blood. A missing vampire. Coincidence? He blew out a deep breath. In his experience, there was no such thing.
He sensed Marisa standing behind him, felt her hands slide down his back. "I know it wasn't you." She pressed her face into the hollow between his shoulder blades and kissed him. He could feel her breath through his shirt, feel it warm his skin.
Turning, he drew her into his arms. "It will be all right, cara ."
She rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, and hoped he was right.
"Marisa."
"Hmm?"
"Do you want to tell me what it is that is bothering you?"
"Nothing," she said guiltily. "Why?"
"You cannot lie to me, cara mia . Something has been troubling you since Khira's visit. What is it? Are you having second thoughts about accepting the Dark Gift?"
"Not exactly." She looked up at him, knowing there was no point in lying. He could easily read her thoughts if he desired. "It's just that, well, I was thinking about what Khira said, about not having children."
"I see."
"Maybe we could adopt a child." She had thought of it earlier. They could adopt a baby and raise it. She looked up at Grigori, wondering what his reaction would be.
"Do you think that would be wise?" he asked gently.
"No, I guess not. I'm sorry I mentioned it."
"If you are having regrets, you have only to tell me."
"I'm not!"
"If you ever do, I will let you go."
"Just like that?"
He nodded. "Just like that."
"You told me once you would never let me go."
"It would not be my choice, but I would not keep you against your will, cara . Your happiness means more to me than my life."
Tears glistened in the depths of her eyes as she placed her hand over his. "I'm not going anywhere."