Chapter 30
Grigori stood in front of the house he shared with Marisa, imprinting it on his mind so he could picture her here while he was away. A year wasn’t such a long time, he told himself again, but a year without Marisa . . . it would seem like an eternity.
Muttering an oath, he climbed the porch stairs and opened the front door. Her scent enveloped him the moment he entered the house, and he took a deep breath, as if to inhale her very essence.
“Grigori?”
He moved into the living room. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” He crossed the room and sat down beside her on the sofa.
“I don’t know. It just seemed . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.
“I love you,” she whispered, snuggling against him.
“Ah,
cara . . .”
“I’ve been sitting here, trying to guess what bad news you’d bring home.” Her fingertips drifted over his cheek. “It is bad, isn’t it?”
“That depends,” he replied, “on how you feel about separate vacations.”
“What?”
There was no easy way to say it, no way to make it sound better than it was. “I’m going to move in with Khira.”
Marisa stared at him. She would have thought he was joking save for the expression on his face. She felt suddenly sick to her stomach. “Move in? With her?”
He nodded. “For a year.”
Marisa shook her head. “Why?” She wanted to say, “What about me?” but she was afraid of the answer.
He told her the rest of it as gently as he could—how Khira had threatened to kill her if he refused.
“So you’re going to live with her, because of me?”
“Cara,
what else can I do?”
“I don’t know.” She wanted to cry, to scream, to pound her fists against his chest and demand that he think of something. “When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“So soon?” Rising, she went to stand in front of the window, her back to him so he couldn’t see her tears.
He sat there a moment, listening to the tears roll down her cheeks, and then he went to stand behind her, close but not touching. Waiting.
She turned and buried her face against his shoulder. “Why is she doing this?”
Grigori shrugged. “Who can say why she does what she does? She is easily bored. Perhaps she will grow tired of me before the year is out.”
Marisa shook her head. No woman, mortal or vampire, would ever grow tired of such a man.
“I’m afraid, Grigori.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m afraid I’ll never see you again.”
“Hush,
cara.
It will be all right. A year is not so long.”
“Maybe not to you. Please don’t go. Let’s leave town. Now, tonight.”
“Marisa, there is no way you can hide from her.”
“But you can, can’t you?”
He nodded. “I could go to ground, but you and I would still be apart. And I cannot—I will not—take a chance on her taking her anger at me out on you.”
She looked up at him, making a valiant effort not to cry. “What will I do without you for a whole year?”
“Spend it doing whatever you wish. Finish decorating the house. Go see your family. Take a vacation.”
She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
“This might be a good time for you to rethink our relationship.”
“What do you mean?”
Taking her hand, he led her to the sofa and drew her down beside him. “Marisa, take a good look at me. You know what I am, how I live. Think about it while I’m gone. We have talked about bringing you over. This will give you a chance to decide if it is what you really want.”
“You’re tired of me, aren’t you? That’s what this is all about.”
A vile oath escaped his lips. “You don’t mean that.”
“Then why aren’t you more upset by it all? You tell me to do whatever I want, take a vacation. I want to be with you.”
His knuckles brushed her cheek. “Marisa . . .”
“Go on,” she said, bolting to her feet. “Go play with Khira for a year. Two years! I don’t care.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” She had truly hurt him now. She could see it in his eyes. But it was nothing compared to the hurt she was feeling. She held herself stiff and cold, a cold that radiated from her frozen heart. “I thought you loved me . . .”
“Cara, cara . . .”
He reached for her, and for the first time in their relationship, she pulled away. He dropped his hands by his side and stood, stricken.
“I asked Ramsey to look after you while I’m away,” he said woodenly. “To protect you.”
“Isn’t Ramsey afraid of Khira, too?” she asked bitterly. “If she is such a fearsome creature, how can he be expected to protect me, if you can’t?”
“Marisa . . . damn it, Marisa, I’ve got to go with her. There are things you don’t know, things I can’t tell you! Not when your life hangs in the balance.”
“I know enough. Khira calls, and you come running. She is quite beautiful, after all . . .” She forced a smile. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine.”
Grigori reacted as if she had slapped him. “Marisa . . .”
She had never heard his voice so full of pain and longing. But she steeled herself against it.
Grigori felt her resistance. His reaction came naturally, his power reaching out.
Marisa’s lips twisted as she felt his power gather in the room. “Will you use your vampire power against me now? Force me to do your will? One last quickie with me before you go to her?”
Her words stopped him cold. “I had better go,” he said stiffly. “Good-bye,
cara.
I have always loved you. . . .” He turned away.
And her rebel heart melted, all in a rush. “Grigori . . .”
He stopped, still not looking at her. “Yes?”
She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. Look at me.”
He turned slowly. Marisa tilted her head back so she could look into Grigori’s eyes. “I love you so much. I’ll always love you. Nothing, no one, can ever change that.”
She took his hands in hers. “Can we . . . do we have time to say a proper good-bye?”
He groaned low in his throat. “Oh, my sweet, sweet love,” he murmured brokenly, “we’ll make the time.”
She was crying openly as he lifted her into his arms. He carried her swiftly up the stairs. With a thought, he kindled a fire in the hearth. As the flames flickered, he stood her gently on her feet and lifted her T-shirt over her head. Then he slid her jeans slowly down her legs. He removed her bra and panties with slow deliberation, his eyes burning brighter and hotter than the flames in the fireplace.
She felt their minds join in the sweet familiar way. Excitement rippled through her as his hands glided over her body, awaking her, arousing her. She purred with feminine satisfaction that was leavened with grief and sadness.
“Cara, mi amante . . . mi vita . . .”
She loved the sound of his voice, the way it moved over her like rich black velvet, warm and soft and sensual. She looked at him, and love swelled her heart until it ached. How could she endure a year without him?
She slid her hands under his sweatshirt, ran her fingertips over his belly, his back, reveling in the hard-muscled strength of him. Removing the sweatshirt, she tossed it on a chair, then began to unzip his jeans.
“Careful there,” he muttered.
She laughed softly as she eased his jeans down over his hips. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“My, my,” she murmured.
“I dressed in a hurry.”
“Your boots,” she said with a grin.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots and socks. With a sultry grin, Marisa pulled off his jeans, then straddled his hips. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I know.” He fell back on the bed, drawing her with him. “I know.”
“Will you call me while you’re away?”
He shook his head, his hands moving lightly over her back, his thumbs skimming her breasts. “I have promised her I will not, but I will know if you need me.” He nuzzled her neck, his tongue hot against her skin. “Marisa?”
She brushed her hair away from her neck and closed her eyes, yielding to the need in his eyes. Once, the thought of anyone drinking her blood had been repulsive, but no more. It was strangely erotic to know that her blood sustained him, bound them together. There was no pain. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around him and held him closer, tighter, urging him to take as much as he needed. There was no need for words between them. She knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. His tongue laved her neck, sealing the wounds.
As he rolled over, tucking her body gently beneath his, she put everything from her mind and gave herself over to the magic, the love, that was Grigori. There would be time for tears tomorrow, but tonight there was only Grigori, filling her, completing her.
Loving her, until dawn stole the darkness from the sky, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
It was dusk when she woke. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to wake up. She didn’t want to face the coming evening, or tell Grigori good-bye. A year. Not long ago, she had complained that time went by too fast, but she knew that would not be true now. The days would drag, and the nights would be unbearable.
She snuggled closer to Grigori, frowned as she felt the tension flowing through him. “Grigori, what’s the . . . ?”
She opened her eyes, drew the sheet up to her chin, when she saw Khira standing in the doorway. Dressed in ice blue silk that matched the color of her eyes, her long silver-blond hair falling over her shoulders like a mantle, the vampire looked as cool and beautiful as always. There was a faintly amused look in her eyes.
“It’s time,” Khira said.
“Khira, get the hell out of here,” Grigori said brusquely.
She glanced at Marisa, then fastened her gaze on Grigori. “Don’t make me wait too long,” she warned, and left the room.
Grigori looked at Marisa. “My ride is here.”
She nodded, unable to speak, knowing that if she tried, she would burst into tears.
His gaze caressed her face as he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I can wipe my memory from your mind if it will make it easier.”
“No!”
“I know this will not be easy for you, but try and make the best of it. Spend time with your family. Call your friend Linda Hauf. You have neglected her since we got married. And try not to worry. Everything will be all right.”
She nodded and forced a smile. He didn’t want to leave her. She wouldn’t make it more difficult by crying or making a scene.
He kissed her, then slid out of bed and began to dress.
Such a beautiful man,
she thought as she watched him. Lithe, supple, perfectly formed. He moved with a fluid grace no mortal could ever hope to achieve. And he was handsome, so very handsome. No wonder Khira wanted him . . .
The thought of Grigori with Khira was like a knife piercing her heart. She had often wondered how anyone could commit murder, but she understood now. Jealousy and impotent rage flooded her heart, and she wished suddenly that Khira were just a woman, one she could fight on equal terms.
“Marisa, don’t.”
She met his gaze, knew her thoughts had betrayed her.
“I can’t help it.”
He pulled on his boots, then sat on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms. “I love you. Only you. Remember that.”
“I know.”
“I shall miss you,
cara mia
. I will think of you every night, dream of you every day.” His hands slid over her shoulders and down her arms. His gaze burned into hers, his mind brushing hers, and she felt his love wash over her like a warm, sweet tide, seeping into the very deepest part of her, touching every nerve, every cell, every particle of her being. It filled her heart with peace, eased the ache in her soul, overflowed in a cascade of silent tears.
His arms tightened around her. “Ah,
cara,
please don’t cry. I cannot abide your tears.”
She buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m not,” she said, sniffing.
He rained kisses on her hair, her cheeks, her neck, the tip of her nose, the hollow of her throat. “I have to go,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret. “She is calling me.” He cupped Marisa’s face in his hands. “I love you. Never forget that.”
“I won’t.”
He kissed her again, slow and long and deep, and then he was gone.