Shades of Gray (7 page)

With a shake of her head, she got up and padded into the living room. "Grigori?"

He wasn't there. She went into the kitchen, but he wasn't there, either. Perhaps he'd had an early appointment, she thought as she fixed herself a cup of coffee. And then, in a rush, everything that had happened the night before came back to her.

Grigori telling her that Alexi Kristov was after her, that vampires were real. She recalled feeling that same sense of evil she had felt once before. Grigori had rushed out of her apartment, only to return a short time later, his face cut to ribbons.

She drew back the curtains and stared out the kitchen window, but it wasn't the building next door she saw; it was the long scratches in Grigori's face, healing before her very eyes.

Maybe she had dreamed it, as she had dreamed he was bending over her. That had to be it. What she'd seen, what she
thought
she had seen, was impossible.

She drained her cup and poured another. Going into the living room, she sat down on the sofa, felt a sudden chill as she saw the washrag on the coffee table. The reddish brown stain looked very dark, very ominous, against the white terry cloth.

It had been real, all of it.

Feeling light-headed, she put her cup on the coffee table. There had to be a logical explanation. There simply had to be.

She just wished she knew what it was.

Edward Ramsey was waiting for her when she stepped out of the elevator after work that night. Dressed in brown slacks, a white shirt, and a paisley tie, his brown hair neatly combed, he blended in with the other men heading home after a day at the office.

"Miss Richards."

Marisa glanced around, hoping to find a security guard. "What do you want?"

"I wondered if you'd thought about what we discussed."

"I don't want to talk about it." She swept past him, reaching into her pocket for her car keys as she went.

He fell into step behind her.

Her hand was shaking as she unlocked the car, then slid behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, and locked it.

She glanced in the rearview mirror as she pulled out of the parking lot onto the street. A dark blue Chevy followed her out of the driveway. Ramsey was in the driver's seat.

She thought of going to the police, of driving around until she lost him, but there seemed no point in it. He knew where she lived, and she had to go home sooner or later.

She pulled into her parking space, noticing, as she did so, that Ramsey parked at the curb in front of the building.

He was waiting for her when she reached the stairs.

"Mr. Ramsey, what is it you want?"

"Nothing, Miss Richards. I simply wanted to see you safely home."

"Oh. Well, I… thank you."

"And to give you this."

Marisa stared at the cross on a chain he offered her. It was about an inch wide and an inch and a half long. She knew without asking that both the cross and the chain were made of pure silver.

She wanted to refuse it, knowing that, if she took it, she would be admitting she believed in vampires, believed what Ramsey had told her.

"Please wear it," Ramsey said. "If not for your own protection, then for my peace of mind."

"Oh, all right."

"Here, let me put it on for you."

She turned around, feeling foolish, as he fastened the heavy silver chain around her neck. The metal felt cool against her skin.

"I shall be in my car if you need me. You have my number?"

Marisa nodded.

"Have a good evening, Miss Richards."

"Thank you."

Conscious of his gaze on her back, she climbed the stairs and went into her apartment. Tossing her handbag on the sofa, she went to the window and drew back the drapes, one hand fingering the chain around her neck. She could see Ramsey sitting in his car.

With a shake of her head, she changed out of her work clothes into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She started to remove the cross, but it gave her an odd sense of security, so she tucked it out of sight beneath her T-shirt, and then went into the kitchen to see about dinner.

She went to the window several times. It made her feel funny, having Ramsey sitting out there, guarding her. But, as night began to steal across the city, she was suddenly glad of his presence.

When dinner was ready, she picked up the phone and dialed the number he had given her.

"Mr. Ramsey? This is Marisa Richards. Would you like to come up and have something to eat?"

There was a slight pause. She could imagine him staring at the receiver in surprise.

"Mr. Ramsey?"

"Yes, thank you."

A few moments later, he was knocking at her door.

Marisa opened the door, wondering if she had done the right thing. "Come in. Dinner's ready. I hope you like pork chops and scalloped potatoes."

Ramsey followed her into the kitchen, sat down at her invitation.

Marisa sat down across from him. He was a nice-looking man, she decided. Not one you'd notice in a crowd, but handsome in a quiet sort of way.

For a time, they ate in silence. It made her nervous, having a stranger in the house.

"Why are you hunting the vampire?" she asked when the silence grew too loud.

"A vampire destroyed a young woman I once held dear."

"You can't mean Kristov. He's been helpless for a hundred years."

"No, it wasn't Kristov."

Marisa swallowed the lump rising in her throat. "You mean there are more of them?"

Ramsey nodded, his expression somber. "I destroyed the vampire who killed my friend, and I shall destroy Kristov, as well. They are evil, all of them."

"You think he'll come here again, don't you? Kristov, that is?"

"He has been here."

"How do you know?"

"I know." His pale blue eyes met hers. "Am I wrong?"

"No, he was here last night."

"Have you seen Grigori again?"

"Are you going to kill him, too?"

"Yes," he replied mildly, "when the time is right."

She blinked at him, amazed that he spoke of it so calmly. "Why?"

"Why?" Ramsey looked surprised by the question. "Why, because he's a vampire, of course."

Marisa shook her head. In spite of what she had seen last night, in spite of everything Grigori had said, she didn't want to believe it.

"It's true." Ramsey looked at her sharply. "Chiavari's been here again, hasn't he?"

"Last night."

Briefly, she told him what had happened the night before, how Grigori had gone out after Alexi and come back, his cheek gouged and bleeding, how the bone-deep cuts had healed before her eyes.

She waited, hoping that Ramsey would tell her she must have imagined the whole thing.

"You saw," he said, "and you still don't want to believe."

"It just seems so impossible." She shook her head. "How long have you been hunting vampires?"

"Since I was sixteen."

"Sixteen! What did your parents say?"

"It is what we do," Edward said. "Ramseys have been hunting vampires for hundreds of years. It is our gift, our curse. Our destiny."

"Your gift?"

"To be able to sense their presence."

"Then why haven't you been able to find Alexi?"

"I don't know. It troubles me." He speared a piece of meat, chewed it thoughtfully. "Is Grigori coming here tonight?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

Ramsey lifted his head. "He's here."

"Who's here?" Marisa asked, her heart pounding, though she knew it wasn't Alexi. She would have recognized his evil presence.

"Chiavari."

"Are you sure?" Even as she asked the question, there was a knock at the door. "What should I do?"

"Let him in," Ramsey said. "He's on our side."

Marisa stared at the man. The words
for the time being
seemed to hover, unspoken, in the air between them.

He's a vampire.
The words screamed in her mind as she went to open the front door.

"Good evening," Grigori said.

"Hi." She looked up at him, wondering how a man who was so handsome, who exuded such vibrant masculinity, could be one of the undead. He was dressed in a pair of gray slacks, a white shirt open at the collar, black loafers.

"May I come in?"

A burst of hysterical laughter bubbled up inside Marisa. It was too late to refuse him entrance to her house. She moved aside, then shut the door after him. "I have company," she said.

"Oh?"

Marisa nodded. "We just had dinner. Would you care to join us for coffee?" She couldn't help it; she giggled. "I guess you don't drink coffee."

"No." Grigori's eyes narrowed as he studied her.

Marisa swallowed hard, then turned and headed for the kitchen.

Ramsey was standing beside the table, one hand fisted around the crucifix that dangled from a chain around his neck.

Grigori grunted softly when he saw the vampire hunter.

Marisa stood at the counter, glancing from one man to the other. Whoever said looks were deceiving had certainly been right. Ramsey, pale and mild mannered, looked more like a bank teller than a vampire hunter. And Grigori
— tall and dark and confident, always well dressed — looked like he should be on the front cover of
GQ.

"I guess you two know each other," Marisa said.

Grigori nodded curtly. "Ramsey."

"Chiavari," Ramsey replied, his tone equally blunt. "Miss Richards tells me Alexi was here last night."

Grigori stroked his cheek absently, and Marisa noticed the gashes had healed without a trace.

"Yes," Grigori replied. "He knows you're in the city. Be careful."

"He was here, and you let him get away!"

"I didn't
let
him get away, and you know it. He's more powerful than the last time we met. I'm not sure he can be destroyed."

"Have you lost your courage after all these years, Chiavari?"

"I've lost nothing," Grigori replied quietly. "No one wants him dead more than I."

Ramsey's hand tightened around the cross, his knuckles going white. "We must find where he rests during the day."

"That's supposed to be your job."

"Stop it, both of you!" Marisa stepped between the two men. "This isn't solving anything."

"You're right, Miss Richards; forgive me."

"You can go home now, Edward," Grigori said. "I'll keep an eye on Marisa."

Ramsey's gaze rested on Grigori for a long, speculative moment, and then he turned toward Marisa. "Do you wish me to stay?"

"I'll be all right," Marisa said, hoping she was telling the truth. "Thank you."

"Very well. Good night, Miss Richards. Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome."

Ramsey glanced at Grigori again, then nodded at Marisa. "I can find my way out."

Marisa watched Ramsey exit the kitchen, then turned to face Grigori. "I thought you two were supposed to be working together."

"We are." Grigori grinned wryly. "I'm afraid we're both a little on edge."

"A
little
on edge," Marisa muttered. "That's got to be the understatement of the year."

"Well," Marisa said, suddenly ill at ease to find herself and Grigori alone in the house, "do you want to watch some TV?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt a flood of color climb up her neck into her cheeks. Did vampires watch TV? Did she really believe he was one of the undead? Looking at him made the idea seem ludicrous. She had never seen anyone, male or female, who looked more vital, more alive.

He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking.

Marisa brushed by him, eager to have something else to focus on. Picking up the
TV Guide,
she thumbed through the pages, scanning the listings for Friday night.

"Bruce Springsteen was right," she muttered, "fifty-seven stations and there's nothing on."

She jumped as the TV crackled to life. She hadn't turned it on; the remote was on top of the set. "How did you do that?"

He lifted one brow, and shrugged. "I told you, I'm a magician."

She sat down on the sofa, as far from him as she could get, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The theme for
The X-Files
provided a momentary distraction.

"Is it true? Are you really a vampire, like Ramsey said?"

He hesitated only a moment, but there seemed no point in denying it, not after what she'd heard, what she'd seen. "Yes."

The world seemed to shift somehow, and she knew, in that instant, that her life would never be the same again.

"Do you… do you drink blood?"

"When I must."

He spoke so calmly, as if his reply were an ordinary answer to an ordinary question.

She stared at him, speechless. He was a vampire. Dead but not dead. He drank human blood…. It was beyond comprehension. She tried to tell herself it couldn't be true even though she knew, deep in her heart, that it was.

"And do you… do you sleep in a coffin?"

He lifted one brow. "Would you?"

"Of course not. What are you going to do with me?" Visions of sharp fangs piercing her throat rose up in her mind.

He lifted one thick black brow. "Do with you?"

She raised a hand to her throat, the gesture more eloquent than words.

"Afraid I'm going to drink you dry?" he asked, a slight smile curving his lips.

"Are you?"

"Not tonight." He shook his head at her look of horror. "I was joking, Marisa. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'd like to believe that," she muttered under her breath.

"Believe it. I mean you no harm."

His voice seemed to wrap around her, caressing her skin, light and soft as dandelion down. His eyes… she had never seen eyes so deep, so dark, so mesmerizing. Black flames burned in his eyes, threatening to scorch her, to engulf her until there was nothing left but smoldering ash. They seemed to call to her, promising her the secrets of eternity.

Marisa took a deep, shuddering breath. She could hear her heart pounding like thunder in her ears, feel herself succumbing to the dark power that blazed in his fathomless black eyes. She tried to look away, her heart beating triple time when she discovered she could not draw her gaze from his.