Amanda Ashley (25 page)

“Here.” Marisa’s voice.

He opened his eyes as the scent of coffee tickled his nostrils.

“Can you sit up?”

“I think so.” It took all his strength to pull himself into a sitting position. When he had his back braced against the headboard, she handed him the cup. “Thanks.” He took a sip, sighed, and took another drink. The hot, bitter brew slid down his throat.

“What did she do to you?” Marisa asked.

“Beats the hell out of me.” He drank the last of the coffee and put the cup on the table beside the bed. “Ramsey told me your husband is shacked up with Khira.”

“He is not shacked up! He’s . . .” She turned away, but not before he saw the anguish in her eyes.

“Hey, I’m sorry. But he is living with her, right?”

She nodded. “She told Grigori she’d kill me unless he agreed to spend a year with her.”

“And when the year is up, what then?”

“I think . . . I think she’s hoping that he’ll want to stay with her.”

“Will he?”

“I don’t know.”

It was a question that haunted her long after Duncan had fallen asleep. Sitting in the chair by the window, her legs curled beneath her, Marisa thought about Grigori. She had been drawn to him from the moment she first saw him, mesmerized by his voice. She recalled thinking it was richer than dark chocolate, more intoxicating than wine. She remembered the night, soon after she had met Grigori, when she had felt Alexi’s presence outside her apartment. Grigori had gone out to meet him, and they had struggled. Grigori had returned, his cheek bleeding from where the other vampire had stuck him. The wounds had been deep, down to the bone. The sight had made her sick to her stomach, yet the wound had healed before her eyes.
Vampire.
She had not wanted to believe it, had fallen in love in spite of what he was.

She thought of the horrible night that Alexi had been destroyed, the night Grigori had, at her urging, bestowed the Dark Gift upon Edward. So much had happened since then.

She recalled all too clearly the night Grigori had come home after hunting with Khira. He had never spoken to her of that night, but she had known what he was feeling, had sensed his struggle to suppress the darkness within him. One night of hunting with Khira had destroyed the peace he had fought so hard to achieve, awakened cravings he had thought long subdued.

She had seen the demon within him that night, seen the raw, aching hunger for blood. What would he be like after spending a year with Khira? Would the Grigori she loved return to her or be lost forever? Where was he now?

She closed her eyes, her soul searching for him, her heart aching, her arms yearning to hold him.

“Grigori.” She wrapped his name in her love and sent it out into the night, hoping he would hear.

Khira paced the floor of her bedroom, her eyes blazing, her hands curled into tight fists. Curses spewed from her mouth like venom, filling the air with the poison of her hatred.

Grigori stood in the doorway, every muscle taut, his face impassive as he waited to see where her fury would lead. Earlier, it had taken all the strength he possessed to drag her off Ramsey and out of the park. He only hoped Ramsey had sense enough to take Kelly and leave town, or at least go to ground until Khira’s rage ran its course, until they could formulate a plan to destroy her. And Marisa . . . He dared not send his power into the night searching for her lest his thoughts betray her whereabouts to Khira. Surely the vampyre hunter, Duncan, would have sense enough to lie low and take Marisa with him.

Absently he rubbed his fingertips over his wrist. As soon as they had reached home, Khira had grabbed his arm and fed. She had not asked. There had been no gentleness in her as her fangs had ripped into his flesh. He had steeled himself for a fight to the finish then, certain that, caught up in her rage, she would kill him without a thought. But she had stopped well short of draining him, and he knew it had been her way of reasserting her dominion over him, proving to him—and perhaps to herself—that she was still in control.

She had not needed to feed so soon, not after she had drained Lisa of blood in what had been an act of cruelty, not of necessity. Khira hadn’t been in need of anything but a reaffirmation of her power. Duncan’s use of the holy water had shaken her badly. She was nothing if not vain of her appearance.

His gaze moved over Khira’s face. Already the effects of the holy water were fading. By tomorrow or the day after, her skin would be as unblemished and flawless as before.

Looking at her now, her features contorted with hate, he wondered how he had ever thought her beautiful.

“We are not all monsters.”
Her words from long ago echoed through the corridors of his mind.
“Look at me. Do I appear a monster to you?”
She had not looked like a monster then. With her regal bearing and costly attire, she had looked like a queen.

She did not look like a queen now.

She whirled around, pinning him with her venomous gaze. “Say something!”

“What would you have me say?”

“I want you to tell me why you took their side.” Her voice rose. “I want you to tell me why you did not come to my aid when they attacked me!”

It was the question he had been waiting for. And dreading.

“Why?” Teeth bared, she flew at him.

He ducked out of her way, whirled around to face her. “Stop it.”

She drew herself up to her full height. “You dare to tell me what to do?” she demanded imperiously.

“Enough is enough. You are acting like a spoiled child.”

“You betrayed me.”

“I did nothing of the kind.”

Renewed anger flared in the depths of her eyes. “I expected you to fight at my side.”

“And do what?” he retorted. “Help you destroy Ramsey? I did not save his life to have you take it from him.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why did you save him?”

“Because, in spite of everything he was, everything he believed, I respected him.”

“You are a fool!”

“But not a tyrant.”

She glared at him. “A tyrant? Because I demand loyalty?”

“What have you ever done to earn it?”

She placed her hand over his heart. “Have you forgotten that I made you what you are, Grigori?” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet.

“How could I?”

Her fingers dug into his flesh. “I gave you this life, my handsome one. I can take it from you just as easily.”

“You think so?” he asked, his own considerable anger rising to meet hers. “Then try! Go on, do it! I grow weary of your threats.”

He had pushed her too far this time. As soon as the words were uttered, he knew with a dreadful certainty that he had made what might be a fateful mistake. She bared her fangs in a feral snarl, her eyes glittering like blue hellfire.

She was going to kill him.

Her power lashed out at him with sudden force. His knees buckled beneath the weight of it, but did not give. He bit back the groan that rose in his throat. There was no pain in the world quite like it. Even the hot kiss of the sun was not as excruciating as the cold fire that flowed through him now, burning him from the inside out.

Gathering his strength, he met force with force, his legs spread, his head high.

They faced each other, unmoving, as their wills clashed. Slowly, inexorably, he felt her strength begin to erode his own. In that moment, when her power flowed over him and through him, he knew he had no hope of defeating her. Not now, not alone. She had taken only a little of his blood, but it had been enough to weaken him and strengthen her. What a stubborn, arrogant fool he had been to challenge her in her present mood. Had she known he would defy her? Had she purposely set out to rouse his ire in hopes of bringing him to his knees?

He swore under his breath. He would not submit to her. Nor was he strong enough to defeat her in a head-to-head confrontation. But he was still strong, and smart enough to end the battle before she anticipated his intent.

Drawing from the deep wellspring of Marisa’s love, he reached down inside himself, gathered his power around him, and in a last desperate maneuver, flung it outward, momentarily blocking Khira’s attack. Using the last of his strength, he willed himself out of the room and out of the house.

Her outraged cry followed him into the night.

“I will destroy you! I will destroy all of you! And your woman, too!”

 

 

Marisa bolted upright. “Something’s wrong!”

Duncan switched on the light next to his bed. “What’s the matter?” he asked sleepily. “Bad dream?”

“No. It’s . . .” She glanced around the room. “It’s Grigori. He’s in terrible pain.”

She had gone to bed fully clothed, shy in the presence of a man who was little more than a stranger. Throwing back the covers, she slipped out of bed and went to the window, where she pulled the heavy drapes aside. The sky was just turning light.

Chilled, she folded her arms across her chest. “Grigori has quarreled with her. He’s run away. Grigori,” she whispered. “Grigori, my life, my love, where are you?”

 

 

He fled the mansion, fled the city, with the sun rising behind him, and with Khira’s last angry words ringing in his mind:
“I will destroy all of you! And your woman, too!”

“Like hell,” he muttered. With the help of Ramsey and Marisa, he had destroyed Alexi Kristov, once the most powerful vampire that had ever lived. They had done it once. They could do it again.

He fled through the weak light of early dawn, feeling the lethargy of the Dark Sleep pulling at his weakened limbs, until he found what he was looking for: a barren stretch of ground. Using the last of his strength, he burrowed into the earth, clawing at the dirt with his fingers, digging deep, deeper, in a frantic effort to escape the rising sun.

Panting, he gathered the dirt around and over him, blotting out the first deadly rays of the rising sun. His last thought was of Marisa, and then he was beyond thought as the Dark Sleep enveloped him, pulling him down, down, into nothingness.

Kelly snuggled against Edward. “Will we be safe here?”

“We should be.” Edward glanced around the room. It was a first-class hotel in an expensive part of the city. The desk clerk had been reluctant to admit them without any luggage, but Edward had used his Dark Power to cloud the man’s mind, and now he and Kelly were reclining on a big round bed in the bridal suite. The carpet was plush, the furniture elegant, the bathroom, with its sunken tub and double shower, bigger than most of the houses he had lived in.

“She killed that poor girl,” Kelly said, shuddering at the memory. “Killed her for no reason.”

Edward nodded. Stroking Kelly’s hair, he stared into the darkness. He was appalled by the events of the night, by his own shortsightedness and stupidity. He should have known that Khira would not allow Grigori out of her sight. Guilt for Lisa’s death lay heavy on his conscience. And yet it was Khira who was to blame. Khira who must be destroyed.

He squeezed Kelly’s shoulder. “Try not to think about it.”

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to find Duncan and Marisa tomorrow night,” he replied. “It’s time to end this.”

 

 

Duncan woke late the following afternoon. Except for being hungry enough to eat a very large horse, tail and all, he felt surprisingly fit considering all that had happened the night before.

He glanced at Marisa. Exhausted by her worry for her vampire lover, she was asleep, her cheek resting on her hand. It looked as if she had cried herself to sleep. He could hardly blame her. Being married to a vampire couldn’t be easy at the best of times, and now . . . he shook his head. Now it must be hell.

When his stomach growled again, he got out of bed. Going into the bathroom, he made a cup of coffee, then turned on the shower. When the water was hot, he undressed and stepped into the stall, carrying the cup with him.

Standing under the soothing spray, he reckoned it was sometimes the small things in life that were the best. If he had been alone, he would have stayed in the shower until the water got cold, but he was pretty sure Marisa wouldn’t appreciate that. The least he could do was leave her some hot water.

He turned off the faucet, toweled himself dry, dressed, and brushed his teeth. When he reentered the room, Marisa was awake. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No.”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I left you some hot water.”

She nodded wordlessly.

Crossing the floor, he sat down on the bed beside her. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know how awful it was the last time . . . fighting Alexi . . . I don’t think I can go through all that again.”

“I guess it was pretty rough, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“That’s the night Edward was changed?”

She nodded.

“How’d it happen?”

“Edward was under Alexi’s control. He had drugged Grigori, then drained some of his blood to weaken him. Alexi told Edward to take the bowl filled with Grigori’s blood and dispose of it. I begged Edward not to leave me, but he was helpless to resist Alexi’s power.

“But Grigori had taken Edward’s blood and he was able to speak to his mind. I didn’t know that at the time, of course. I fought Alexi, but he only laughed at me.”

She heard Alexi’s voice in her mind again, as real as it had been that horrible night.

 

 

 

 

She shook her head, trying to throw off the horrible memory. “I was so afraid. I looked at Grigori, but he couldn’t help me, and I knew Alexi was going to kill me. And suddenly . . .” She took a deep breath. “Suddenly, Edward burst into the room. His mouth was smeared with blood. I knew it was Grigori’s, that he had . . . had drank the blood from the bowl. His eyes were wild. He had a stake in his hand, and he hurled himself at Alexi.”

“Good old Edward,” Duncan said. “Got him like that, huh?”

“Not quite. Alexi was unbelievably strong. I dragged the heavy chain off Grigori and let him drink from my wrist.”

She remembered the prick of his fangs, the oddly sensual flow of blood from her vein. He seemed to drink forever, yet it was only a handful of seconds, and then he put her from him and rose to his feet.

“Go on,” Duncan urged quietly.

“Edward and Alexi were still struggling. Edward had plunged the stake into Alexi’s chest, but he had missed Alexi’s heart. The vampire pulled the stake from his body and tossed it aside. And then he flung Edward against the wall and held him there. And he . . . he drank and drank. And suddenly, Grigori was there. He grabbed the stake and plunged it into Alexi’s heart.”

Her voice was flat, expressionless, as she relived the horror of it all. “Alexi screamed. It was an awful sound. Grigori twisted the stake, driving it deeper and deeper. Alexi sank to his knees. His face turned a hideous shade of gray. Grigori told me to get the chain and put it over Alexi.” She laughed hollowly. “I don’t know why. I mean, he was dead. Again. I thought Edward was, too. He was . . . he was lying on the floor. His throat was . . . was gone. I asked Grigori if he was dead, and he said no, not yet.”