Chapter 29
Khira stirred as she felt Grigori’s anger flow over her. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, she smiled into the darkness.
You will not find her,
she thought.
Unless you do as I say, you will never see her again.
Feeling pleased and a trifle smug, she closed her eyes and fell back into the thick velvety blackness of the Dark Sleep.
Ramsey moaned softly, his rest disturbed by the rush of power that flowed over him, painful in its intensity. Beside him, Kelly slept soundly, her body unmoving, barely breathing. In the brief time before the Dark Sleep laid hold on him once more, he wondered again if he had done the right thing in bringing her across.
Grigori woke the moment the sun began its descent. He dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt, jammed his feet into his boots, put on a pair of sunglasses, and left the house. The sun, though not at its zenith, felt like spiders crawling over his skin as he left the shade of the front porch.
Marisa!
Try as he might, he could not sense her presence.
Swearing softly, he willed himself across town to the mansion that had once belonged to Kyle LaSalle. He wondered if LaSalle had put up a fight or simply moved out at Khira’s whim.
She was waiting for him at the door, a tall, slender figure clad in a gown of flowing crimson silk. Her silver-blond hair shimmered with red in the light of the setting sun.
“Where is she?”
“Quite safe. For now.”
“Damn it, Khira, where is she?”
A lazy smile curved her pale pink lips. Taking a step backward, she beckoned him to enter.
“I don’t have time for this,” Grigori said curtly.
“On the contrary, you have nothing but time. Come in,
mi amour.”
Knowing it was useless to argue with her, Grigori entered the house. A long hallway done in black-and-white tile led to a large square drawing room dominated by a floor-to-ceiling fireplace. The walls and carpet were white. A fire burned in the hearth, adding a note of cheerfulness to the room. Dark furniture. Dark drapes at the windows. A dark painting on the wall depicted a stag in full flight from a pack of wolves. On the mantel, a vase held a single bloodred rose.
“I’m here,” he said. He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. “What do you want?”
“What I have always wanted. You.”
He almost laughed, and then he realized she wasn’t making a joke. “Why? Why now, after all this time?”
She flowed toward him, the red silk of her gown trailing behind her like a river of blood. “I have missed you, my handsome one. Last night was like old times. Do you not remember the fun we had, in the beginning?”
“I remember.”
“I want it again.” Eyes burning, she ran her finger over his cheek, down his neck, splayed her fingers over his heart. “You owe me your life, Grigori. I wish to share a part of it, for a time.”
He shook his head. “Khira, what you want is impossible. I love Marisa. She’s my wife.” He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his anger, his fear. “Where is she?”
“As I said, she is well—for now.”
“This reeks of blackmail. What is it you want of me?”
“I want a year of your life, Grigori. I want you to come back to Italy with me.”
“And do what? Be your gigolo?”
“My companion,
mi amour
. Only a year. Such a little bit of time. It seems a fair exchange, does it not, for the life of your woman?”
“And where will Marisa be during this year?”
“Asleep, I think, like the princess in a fairy tale.” She laughed softly. “You can awake her with love’s first kiss when you return.”
“I want to see her. Now.”
“Not until we have an agreement.” She smiled, then moved across the room and sat down on the sofa. Her skirt had a long slit up one side. It parted now to reveal the smooth length of a shapely leg.
He stared at her, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I can’t believe you mean this, that you think I’d even consider it.”
“You can refuse, of course.”
He didn’t have to ask what the consequences for Marisa would be. Khira was a killer, quick and efficient and without remorse. He took a step toward her. He could kill, too, if need be.
He took another step forward and her power slammed into him, driving the breath from his body. Twin flames burned in her eyes, flowed across the space between them, poured over him like liquid fire. Though she hadn’t moved, he could feel her hand at his throat, slowly choking off his breath.
“All right.” He forced the word through clenched teeth. “You made your point.”
She held him in her grasp another minute, then let him go.
He felt suddenly limp. Had he been alone, he would have dropped to his hands and knees, but he refused to give her the satisfaction.
“You always were stubborn,” she mused. “And strong. Though, in time, I think Ramsey will be stronger, even stronger than he is now.” She gazed into the distance, considering what she had said. “Perhaps when our year is over,
mi cara,
I will persuade him to be my companion for a time. . . .”
“Ramsey can fend for himself. Where is Marisa? I want to see her. Now.”
Khira shook her head. “You can be quite wearisome at times, did you know that?”
“Damn it!”
Khira laughed softly. “Very well, you may see her.” She stood up. “Follow me.”
He paid little attention to the rooms they passed through, save to note that all the windows were covered with heavy black cloth.
Khira paused when they reached a narrow door off the kitchen. “She is down there. You will not be able to awake her.”
“What have you done?”
“She is unharmed, only deeply asleep.”
Brushing past Khira, he opened the door. A long flight of stairs led him into what had once been a wine cellar. Dozens of dusty cobwebs festooned the ceiling and corners of the room. He could hear the sound of mice scurrying away, smell the decay of rotting wood.
He sensed a presence in the room. Not Marisa. Though he detected her scent, he had no sense of her being there. Two heartbeats. One very faint. One heavy and dull.
He made his way through the darkness to another door. Taking a deep breath, afraid of what he might see, he opened the door and stepped into the room.
It was small and square. A man, or what had once been a man, sat in a chair in the corner, his eyes vacant, his expression empty. He stood up as Grigori entered the room, but Grigori paid him no mind. His attention was focused on the narrow cot pushed against the far wall, and the woman lying on the cot. Marisa. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted. Her breathing was slow and shallow. A thick chain made of pure silver shackled her left ankle to the frame of the cot.
He thought briefly of picking her up, cot and all, and making a run for it. But there was only one way out of the cellar, and Khira stood there, waiting. He could hear her breathing, hear the slow, steady beat of her heart.
He crossed the floor. Sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, he drew Marisa into his arms. She was limp, almost lifeless. No dreams played in her mind.
“Marisa.” He whispered her name. “Marisa.”
There was no response. He tried to speak to her mind, but it was closed against him. He held her for a long while, rocking her gently as he would a child, his fingers delving into the silk of her hair, sliding over the curve of her cheek. Marisa. He remembered the night he had first seen her at the carnival. She had asked him if he had come to see the vampire, and he had replied yes, and then asked her if she believed in the undead. She hadn’t believed, not then. Had he stayed out of her life, she would not be here now. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew that, had he not followed her home that night, she would have been dead, or worse, at Kristov’s hands months ago. He gazed down at her, a finger tracing the line of her bottom lip. She didn’t stir, barely breathed. She was so young, so innocent still—he could not let Khira take her life. Perhaps it was time to give her up. Perhaps a year without him would give her the time she needed to decide whether or not she had made a mistake in marrying him.
Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, then laid her back on the cot. If she left him, he would have no reason to go on.
A last glance, a last touch, and he left the room.
Khira was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. “Well?”
“Release her.”
“No.”
“You can’t keep her trapped like that for a year!”
“I can.” She held up her hand, cutting off his protest. “But I will release her, Grigori, if you will give me your word of honor that you will come with me to Italy for one year. That you will not contact her during that time; that you will do whatever I wish.”
Interesting, he thought, that she would ask for his word of honor when she had none herself. “I’ll give you a year, but not in Italy.”
“And if I insist?”
He glanced at Marisa. “Then I will do what you want.” He looked up at her and forced a smile. “But I think you will be better . . .” He took a step forward, his fingertips stroking her cheek, sliding down her neck. “. . . satisfied, shall we say, if you give in on this one small point.”
She regarded him for several heartbeats and then nodded. “Very well. But you are not to contact her in any way. I will know if you do.”
“Agreed.”
“I suppose you will want to say good-bye?”
“I want this night with her.”
She nodded, a queen granting a boon to a peasant. “Very well. I shall expect you back here tomorrow at dusk.” Her eyes grew hard and cold. “Do not keep me waiting,” she warned. “You will not like what happens to her if I have to come after you.”
With a curt nod, he turned away. He wanted to run down the stairs to Marisa; instead, he forced himself to walk.
She was as he had left her: deeply asleep, pale, barely breathing. He looked at the man. “Release her.”
The revenant moved with the jerky movements peculiar to his kind as he reached into his pocket, withdrew a key, and unlocked the shackle from Marisa’s ankle.
Lifting her into his arms, Grigori carried her up the stairs and into the drawing room. Khira stood in front of a large marble fireplace. She turned as he entered the room.
“Wake her.”
“That sounds very much like a demand on your part. I don’t like demands.”
He choked back his anger. “Khira, I beg of you, please awaken her.”
A rush of power swirled around him. Marisa stirred in his arms, sighed heavily. The color returned to her cheeks.
“She will awake when you reach home.”
With a nod, Grigori left the mansion. Moments later, he was at home. A look roused a fire in the hearth. Pulling a chair up in front of the fireplace, he sat down with Marisa cradled against his chest.
She yawned, stretched, looked up at him through eyes cloudy with sleep, and then, noticing her surroundings, she sat up.
“What are we doing down here? Why didn’t you come to bed last night?” She looked at the window, frowning when she saw that it was dark outside. She glanced down at her clothing, recognizing the jeans and sweatshirt she had put on earlier that day. “What happened today? What happened
to
today?”
“It’s a long story,
cara.”
She looked at him, troubled by his tone, by the somber expression on his face. “It’s bad, isn’t it? I don’t think I want to hear it, after all.”
“Marisa, why don’t you go take a bath, and then get something to eat? I have an errand to run, but I won’t be gone long.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Where are you going?”
“I need to go out.”
Her gaze moved over him. “You’ve already fed. Where are you going?”
“All in good time,
cara
. I won’t be gone long.”
Rising, he placed her on her feet. Tipping her head up, he kissed her. She leaned into him, softly yielding, her warmth, her scent, enfolding him. How could he leave her?
She was breathless when he released her. “I love you,” she murmured. “Hurry back.”
It was Kelly who answered the door. She looked much the same as when he had seen her last, and yet his vampyre eyes saw the changes in her, subtle though they might be. The Dark Gift had worked its magic. Her beauty was subtly enhanced; she moved with the smooth, easy grace so common to his kind.
“I need to see Ramsey,” Grigori said. “Now.”
“He’s in the living room. Is something wrong?”
He nodded curtly.
“Come on in,” she said, and stepped back so he could enter the house. “Ramsey!”
“I’m here. You don’t have to shout.” Ramsey frowned when he saw the rage burning in the other vampire’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“In a word, Khira. I have agreed to go spend a year with her. In return, she has agreed to let Marisa live.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Ramsey asked incredulously. “She’s already destroyed all the other vampires.”
“Not all. Rosa had a fledgling. Lisa. She is weak, still new. Khira will destroy her, too, if I don’t do as she says.”
Ramsey observed Chiavari through hooded eyes. “She’s going too far. She’s got to be stopped. And you know it.”
“Spoken like a true vampyre hunter,” Chiavari said bitterly. “I felt her power again today. I fear she is too strong for me. Too strong for you, no matter what happened the other night. It might interest you to know that she may have plans for you after my year is done.”
“Alexi was strong, too,” Ramsey said. “Too strong for either of us. But together we destroyed him.” He smiled wryly. “And I was not half the man I am today, thanks to you.”