Shades of Gray

Chapter Twenty-three

Grigori rose before sunset the following evening. By the time he had showered and dressed, night had fallen. A phone call brought him the information he needed. A contrived explanation as to why he must see the property at night, the promise of a quick sale, and it was done.
He met the realtor a half hour later. He had already explored the house from cellar to attic, but he walked through it again with the agent, and then gave her a check for the down payment. The house hadn't been lived in for several years. The paperwork would take thirty days, and then it would be his.
He bid the realtor good night, shook her hand, and watched her drive away. When he was certain she was gone, he went back up to the house. A wave of his hand unlocked the front door.
It was an old two-story house, probably built at the turn of the century. The exterior paint, once a dark shade of green, was faded and peeling. The shutters, once white, looked gray.
It had the musty smell of a house long empty. The place needed a coat of paint inside and out, a new roof, new carpeting. The kitchen and bathroom needed remodeling, but none of those things were important. What mattered was that it was a house surrounded by a high brick wall. A house that stood alone on an acre of land. Tall trees shaded the front and back, providing added privacy.
Starting at the basement, he walked through the house again, memorizing the location of every door and window between the cellar and the attic. As old as the place was, it was sound from top to bottom, save for the roof. It suited him perfectly.
Thirty days, the realtor had said. Grigori smiled faintly. As far as he was concerned, it was already his. The fact that there was no phone, no lights, and no running water mattered not at all. He had no need of those things.
He would take possession of the house that night.
Marisa glanced at the clock as she went to answer the door, wondering who would come calling so late. It was almost eleven.
"Who is it?"
"Grigori."
She rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. She hadn't seen him in over a week, and though she had missed him, she was relieved that he was out of her life. No matter how attractive she had found him, he was a vampire. Relationships with normal men were hard enough; she didn't need the added baggage of dating the undead.
With a sigh, she opened the door. "It's late."
"I know." He held out a bouquet of roses. "May I come in?"
"It's late," she said again. "I was just going to bed."
"Marisa..."
She looked up at him, not wanting to hear the loneliness in his voice, not wanting to remember the kisses they had shared, or the night she had held him in her arms.
"Please, Grigori  -  "
He thrust the flowers at her. A dozen perfect white roses, and in their center, like a drop of blood, a single red bloom.
"They're lovely," she said.
"As are you."
She recalled that he had said those very same words to her that night they had walked in the park together. She ran her fingertip over one of the rose petals. "What do you want?"
"To see you, nothing more."
"No." She shook her head. "I told you, I don't want to see you again."
She felt the anger that stirred within him. She remembered a line from a Star Wars movie, something about it not being wise to upset a Wookie. Obviously, the same warning applied to vampires.
"I told you once," Grigori said, his voice as hard as tempered steel, "I would never take you against your will."
"And I told you to stop reading my mind!"
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm afraid I've become accustomed to having my own way."
She looked into his eyes, those deep, dark eyes, and in the back of her mind she heard Edward's voice warning her that Grigori could read her mind, that he could make her do whatever he wished. They have no morals, Edward had said, no qualms about taking whatever they want. Grigori could hypnotize her with a look, she thought. Perhaps he was doing it now.
She drew her gaze from him. "I think you'd better go."
"As you wish." His gaze caressed her, warming her skin. "Good night, Marisa."
"Good night."
She closed the door, and then leaned back against it, her nostrils filling with the scent of roses.
In the distance, she heard the melancholy wail of a wolf.
The dreams started that night  -  sultry, erotic dreams that made her toss and turn so that she woke drenched in perspiration; dreams that lingered in her mind long after she awoke; dreams that left her feeling as though she had done something wicked in her sleep. Dreams that made her angry because she knew he was sending them to her, knew it was his way of telling her that if she would not see him during her waking hours, she would see him when she was at her most vulnerable.
Even if she could forget the dreams  -  and there was no chance of that  -  he found another way to keep in touch. The day after the dreams began, he started sending her flowers at work. Always roses. White ones, red ones, pink ones, until her office looked like a florist shop.
He sent flowers to her house. Dozens and dozens of long-stemmed bloodred roses.
He sent her heart-shaped boxes of chocolates.
And more flowers.
Linda and the other girls at the office began to tease her about her new boyfriend, demanding to know his name and when they were going to meet him.
She was glad when Thanksgiving came. The office closed Thursday and Friday, giving her a long weekend. She intended to spend it finishing up her Christmas shopping. Her parents had asked her to come spend the holiday with them in Florida, but she just wasn't up to the trip. Linda invited Marisa to spend the day with her and her family, but she declined, deciding what she really needed was some time alone.
Being alone had seemed like a good idea on Wednesday after a busy day at work. Thursday morning she thought it stank. Everyone she knew was spending the day with friends and family, and she was going to be sitting home by herself.
Well, it was her own fault. She spent the morning wrapping Christmas presents, ate lunch, watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.
Later, bored, she did a load of wash. She was folding it when the phone rang.
She answered it on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Marisa?"
"Edward, how are you?"
"Fine. And you?"
"I'm good. I thought, well, I thought you'd probably left town by now."
"No." He didn't say why he was still in the city, but they both knew it was because he was worried about her. "I was... that is, I know you're probably busy, but I was wondering, if you're not doing anything... would you like to go out for dinner with me?" He said the last in a rush, as if he was certain she would refuse him and he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.
"I'd like that," she said, surprising them both.
"You would? That's great. What time shall I pick you up?"
"Five?"
"I'll be there. And Marisa? Thank you."
"Thank you."
She was humming when she hung up the phone.
Edward arrived promptly at five, bearing a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. He looked quite handsome in a light gray suit. She stared at him a moment, trying to figure out why he looked different, and then realized he wasn't wearing brown.
"Hi," she said, "come on in."
"Thank you." He handed her the flowers and held up the wine. "Shall I open this now?"
Marisa nodded. "I'm going to put these in some water."
He followed her into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine while she pulled a vase from one of the cupboards.
"They're lovely." She arranged the bouquet in a cut-glass vase that had belonged to her grandmother, and then placed it on the kitchen table. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He handed her a glass. "You haven't heard from Alexi, have you?"
"No. Why? Do you think he's come back?"
Ramsey shrugged. "I don't know, but if he does, you'll probably be the first to know it."
"That's a comfort. There haven't been any more deaths reported in the papers." She read the Times every morning, always afraid she'd see those awful headlines that read vampire killer strikes again.
"Have you seen Chiavari?"
Marisa shook her head. "No." Except in my dreams, she thought. But she couldn't tell Edward that.
"So," Edward said, "where shall we eat?"
"I don't care. It's up to you."
"Do you want turkey and all the trimmings?"
"I'd rather have lobster."
They went to dinner at a seafood restaurant. Edward ordered fried shrimp; Marisa had lobster.
"How much longer will you be in town?" Marisa asked.
"I don't know. I rented a house down by the beach."
"You did!"
He nodded, somewhat sheepishly, she thought. "I really like it down there. I've never lived by the ocean. It's... I don't know, kind of peaceful."
"Kind of expensive, too, I'll bet."
"Yeah, but I can afford it."
"I never thought about it, but I guess there must be good money in vampire hunting."
"Yeah, it's a specialized field," Ramsey agreed. "People are willing to pay a great deal to get rid of a vampire."
"Do you have any family anywhere?"
"Here and there. I've got an old maiden aunt in Chicago, and a couple of cousins in Boston. What about you?"
"My folks live in Florida. They moved there two years ago when my dad retired. My brother, Mike, lives in Denver. He's a stockbroker. I haven't seen him since last Christmas."
"Christmas," Ramsey murmured.
"I'm going to Florida to spend it with my parents," Marisa said. "I'm not really in the mood, but they're expecting me. My brother and his family will be there. It's about the only time of the year we're all together."
"Must be nice," Edward remarked.
"What are you going to do?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'll go back to Chicago and see my aunt, get rid of my apartment, pick up my mail, change my address." He grinned crookedly. "Sounds like a fun holiday, doesn't it?"
"I'm sorry."
"Hey, no problem. I'm used to it."
"Maybe we can get together when I get back," Marisa suggested.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
They spoke of inconsequential things over dinner. Marisa mentioned she was getting a raise the first of the year; Edward said he was thinking of buying a new car.
"Would you like to go to a movie?" Edward asked as they left the restaurant.
"Sure, why not?"
They drove uptown. Marisa gazed out the window, admiring the lights and decorations that adorned the houses. Hard to believe it was almost Christmas, that another year was drawing to a close.
"You know, I still can't believe it was real," she remarked as Edward parked the car. "It all seems so bizarre."
"I know. Sometimes I can't believe it myself."
He got out of the car and came around to open her door. "It's just so unreal. I mean, here we are, going to the movies as if it had never happened. I can't believe that just two weeks ago, we were fighting a vampire. Tell me," she said as they walked toward the theater. "How do people get in touch with you? You don't advertise in the phone book, do you?"
He laughed at that. "Not quite. It's mostly just word of mouth. There are people throughout the country who know what I do. When they hear of unusual killings, they notify me."
He bought two tickets for the latest Mel Gibson movie and they went inside. "Popcorn?" he asked.
Marisa shook her head. "Not right now. I'm still full from dinner."
"Yeah, that lobster was almost as big as you are."
Marisa grinned at him.
They held hands in the show, went out for ice cream afterward.
"Thanks," Marisa said when they reached her apartment. "I had a really nice time."
"Me too. Maybe we can do it again."
"I'd like, that." She looked up at him and knew he was going to kiss her good night. "Marisa  -  " He put his arms around her and drew her close. There was nothing tentative in his movements now, no hesitation.
Marisa closed her eyes as his mouth covered hers. It was a pleasant kiss, evoking neither passion nor revulsion.
"Good night," lie whispered.
"Good night. And thank you for a nice time."
He nodded. "See ya."
"See ya."
She watched him get into his car and drive away, and still she stood on the landing, staring into the distance, at the twinkling lights on the houses across the way, at the twinkling stars overhead.
She wished that she could love Edward, but she didn't feel passion for him, only affection. Maybe it was the age difference. After all, he was eighteen years older than she was, she mused, and then laughed out loud. Grigori was two hundred years older than she was and she didn't have any trouble whipping up a grand passion for him.
She crossed her arms over the railing and let out a long, slow sigh. Was that why she was feeling so melancholy? Because she missed him?
"Might as well admit it," she muttered. "Vampire or not, you're in love with him. But that's all right. You'll get over it."
"Get over what?"
She whirled around, her heart in her throat, at the sound of his voice. "What are you doing here?"
"I come here every night."
"What?"
"You heard me."
"What for?"
He lifted one dark brow in an all too familiar gesture. "Why the hell do you think?"
"I told you I don't want you here."
"I stopped doing what other people tell me to do a long time ago."
"Well, it's late. Good night."
"Sweet dreams, Marisa."
"Stay out of my dreams!" Unlocking the door, she went inside and slammed it shut behind her, only to find him waiting for her when she turned around.
"Marisa."
"Oh! I hate it when you do that." She threw her purse on the chair, and then crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"
"I want you."
"Well, that's too bad."
"Tell me you don't want me."
"I don't want you."
"Liar."
She glared up at him, all her anger and frustration boiling to the surface. Before she realized what she was doing, she slapped him.
The solid smack of her hand striking his flesh seemed to echo and re-echo in the stillness that fell between them.
She stared at him, horrified by what she had done, by what he might do in retaliation.
"Feel better?" he asked quietly.
"No." She blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. "Please leave me alone."
"I can't."
"Why? Why are you doing this?"
"I told you. I want you."
"I can't. I don't believe in casual affairs."
"Is that what you think I want?"
"I don't know. I don't want to know."
"Marisa..."
His voice moved over her, whisper quiet, whisper soft. She shook her head, her heart fluttering like a kite caught in a high wind, as his knuckles caressed her cheek.
"Don't." She forced the word from a mouth gone dry.
"You want me, too."
"It isn't right." She swallowed hard. "It isn't natural." She'd hurt him now. She could see it in the depths of his eyes... those devil black eyes that could look as soft as velvet or as hard as granite.
"There's nothing unnatural about what I want from you," he replied, his voice sandpaper rough. "Do you deny you've thought of it, wondered about it?"
She yearned to deny it with every fiber of her being, but she knew she couldn't lie to him. She could lie to herself as much as she wished, she could even voice the words aloud to Grigori, but it would be a waste of breath, because he could read the truth in her mind, the feelings in her heart.
Grigori held out his hand. "Come to me, Marisa."
"Please, don't ask me." He was close, so close. Too close. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her pants to keep from reaching for him, and yet, in spite of all she could do, she felt herself being inexplicably drawn toward him. Was it Grigori's own inherent power exerting its influence over her, she wondered, or was it her foolish heart overruling her mind?
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.