Shades of Gray

Grigori's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing as he heard Marisa's voice screaming in his mind.



"What is it?" Ramsey asked.



"Marisa."



"What about her?"



"I know where she is."



Ramsey stood up, his hands clenched. "How do you know?"



"Alexi has told her, and she has told me."



Ramsey stared at the vampire for a moment, and then he swore under his breath. "You drank from her."



Grigori met the other man's gaze, and then he nodded. "Not enough to hurt her."



"I can't believe you would do something so despicable. I can't believe she let you. Or did you first play with her mind?"



"I did what I had to do."



"Yeah, right."



"I marked her as mine," Grigori replied coldly. "And for this very reason."



Ramsey frowned, confused. "But she's not like Antoinette."



"No. I would not steal her mind, her will."



"But Alexi could do it, couldn't he?"



Grigori nodded. The older vampyre could make her a revenant, or force the Dark Gift upon her. Either one would negate Grigori's power.



Ramsey stared at him, his anger slowly fading. "So where is she?"



"Alexi has taken her to a small vineyard about three miles from here. It used to belong to my uncle Pietro."



"Three miles! That's a heck of a walk."



Grigori arched one brow. "We aren't going to walk."



"So what are we standing here for? Let's go."



"All in good time." Grigori looked over at Antoinette. She was sitting on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap. A puppet waiting for someone to pull the strings. It grieved him to see her so, she who had always had a mind of her own, who had been vibrant and alive. He thought of the high-spirited arguments they had had, the way her eyes had flashed at him when he had roused her temper, the delight of making up afterward.



Crossing the floor, he knelt before her. Lifting one hand, he stroked her cheek, let his fingers trail through her hair. "Antoinette, close your eyes."



She stared at him, trusting as a puppy, and then her eyelids fluttered down.



"What are you going to do?" Edward asked.



"Free her."



"What? Wait a minute, you don't mean to  -  "



"I'm going to bring her over." Grigori stared at Edward over Antoinette's head. "Have you ever seen anyone made Vampyre, Ramsey?"



Edward shook his head.



"Do you want to stay?"



Edward hesitated a moment, and then nodded.



Grigori took a deep breath and then he sat down on the sofa beside Antoinette. Enfolding her in his arms, he bent her back and kissed her.



Ramsey stood where he was, unable to move, as he watched the vampire tilt Antoinette's head to the side, gently brush the hair away from her neck. He sensed an energy in the air, a gathering of preternatural power, as Grigori bent over his wife's neck. Chills ran down Edward's spine as he imagined the vampire's fangs piercing the tender skin at the side of Antoinette's neck, and then, with revulsion, he imagined Grigori's fangs at his own throat, drinking his life's blood.



Edward wiped the cold sweat from his brow. There was no sound in the room save the rasp of his own breathing.



He stared at the vampire and the woman, his hand clutching his cross, the stake shoved into the waistband of his trousers feeling suddenly heavy. This was the perfect time to destroy Chiavari and the woman... to free the woman's soul from Chiavari's evil influence and send the vampire to hell where he belonged. But Edward couldn't move, could hardly breathe.



Chiavari seemed to loom over the woman like a great black bird of prey, yet he had not changed shape. Antoinette had gone limp in the vampire's embrace. Her face was turned toward Edward. She looked deathly pale; he couldn't tell if she was breathing.



A deep sigh rose from Grigori's throat. He drew back and Edward caught a glimpse of hell-red eyes and fangs stained with blood.



He realized he was holding his breath, that his hand ached from holding the cross so tightly. He felt the bile rise in his throat as the vampire bit his own wrist, and then pressed the bleeding wound to Antoinette's mouth.



"Drink, Antoinette," Grigori urged softly. "You must drink."



A shiver of repugnance slithered down Ramsey's spine as he watched the woman drink the vampire's blood. He watched in morbid fascination as the color returned to her cheeks. Her hands clutched the vampire's arm, holding his wrist to her lips.



"It is done!" Grigori wrenched his arm from Antoinette and stood up. He ran his tongue over the wound in his wrist, licked the blood, hers and his, from his lips.



Edward Ramsey swore under his breath as Antoinette stood up, her cheeks rosy with life, her eyes filled with awareness and intelligence. And confusion.



She stared at Grigori uncertainly, and then smiled. "Mi amore," she murmured. "I have missed you."



Grigori nodded. "And I have missed you." He stood there, waiting for her memory to return, and it would, all of it, everything that had happened. He wondered if she would hate him for what he'd just done.



"I feel so strange," she murmured.



He knew the moment her memory returned. He saw it in the horror in her eyes, heard it in the hoarse cry that was torn from her throat.



"Antonio," she whispered. "Martina." She ran out of the room.



Grigori followed her into the bedroom. She was standing in the doorway of the room their children had shared, tears streaming down her cheeks.



"He killed them," she said. "And I shall kill him."



He saw her hands clench, heard the steel in her voice.



Slowly, she turned to face him. "What have you done to me, Grigori?"



"I have made you what I am," he replied. "What he is."



"And what is that?"



"You know," he replied quietly.



She stared at him, and he saw the knowledge grow within her. Would she accept the Dark Gift? Or would it drive her to madness?



She lifted one hand and studied it carefully. And then, slowly, her fingers curled into a fist. "I shall tear out his heart."



"And I'll help you."



She smiled at him then. "Thank you, Grigori, for freeing me."



"You don't hate me, then, cara?"



"I could never hate you. But tell me, how did you become Vampyre?"



He related the story quickly, and then told her everything that had happened since Alexi had escaped the carnival. "And now he's brought Marisa here," he said in conclusion, "and I've got to find her."



Comprehension flickered in Antoinette's eyes. "You love her."



He had not wanted to admit it, not even to himself, but he couldn't lie to Antoinette. "Yes."



She accepted it with a nod of her head. "What do you want me to do?"



"I'm not sure."



"We are three to his one," Antoinette said with determination. "He shall not escape us."



"Don't underestimate his power," Grigori warned. "My strength is not equal to his, and yours is less than mine."



"I am not afraid of him," Antoinette replied with a toss of her head. "I will not rest until I have avenged the deaths of my children."



"Nor I."



"I shall ask one thing of you, Grigori, and you must promise me you will do it."



A stillness rose within him as he waited for her to go on. He knew what she would ask. Knew he could not do it.



"When he is dead, when our children have been avenged, you will destroy me."



It was what he had been expecting. "Cara, do not ask this of me."



"Please, Grigori, I do not want to live in darkness. I cannot live on the lives of others. Promise me."



He hesitated a moment before he said, "I promise."



A long look passed between them, and then she smiled at him.



"He's at old Pietro's winery, and Marisa is with him," Grigori said. "Let's go."



"Are you crazy?" Ramsey exclaimed. "It's a trap."



"Don't you think I know that?" Grigori asked, his voice sharp. "But I can't leave her there. You know what he'll do if I don't come."



"He'll do it anyway!"



"Perhaps, but I told you once before, we'll never catch him until he lets us. This may be our only chance."



"We need a plan," Ramsey said, his agitation rising. He clutched his cross, rubbing it between his palms.



"I plan to kill him," Grigori said.



"We are wasting time," Antoinette said.



"Right, as always, cara," Grigori replied with a wry grin. "Let's go."



Marisa woke to darkness. When she tried to move, she discovered that her hands were bound behind her back. Fighting down the fear that threatened to choke her, she sat up and glanced around. Nothing but blackness met her eyes. She struggled against the ropes that bound her wrists, but to no avail.



Where was Alexi?



Where was Grigori?



Where was she?



She had a vague recollection of waking in a small house, of lying on a bed while Alexi prowled through the rooms. Was this the same house?



With an effort, she gained her feet and then, one shoulder against the wall, she began to walk slowly around the room, searching for a door. She cried out when her knee struck something. Turning around, she felt the obstruction with her hands. It was a staircase. Moving carefully, she climbed up, grunting when she hit her head. She was in a cellar. She could see a sliver of dark blue sky through the crack in the heavy double doors above her head.



"Hello? Is anyone there?" She heard the edge of panic in her voice. "Hello! Help me! Someone, please help me!"



"Someone is coming, Marisa."



The low voice startled her. She whirled around, her foot slipping on the stair. With a shriek, she tumbled down the steps to land in a heap on the earthen floor. The sound of soft laughter filled her ears.



"Grigori will come for you," Alexi said. "And then we will end the game. I will drain his life, and that of the vampyre hunter, as well, and then I shall make you mine."



"No!"



"Oh, yes, Marisa. Do not doubt it." He cocked his head to the side, and smiled. "Listen! They come!"



Grigori stood at the entrance to the cellar, his senses probing the darkness. Marisa was here, and so was Alexi. He glanced at Antoinette, standing serenely beside him, then at Ramsey. Tension flowed from Ramsey in waves, but he had his fear well in hand. Moonlight gleamed off the cross around his neck. He held a hawthorne stake in one hand, a hammer in the other. A bottle of holy water was tucked into his coat pocket.



Grigori blew out a deep breath.



There was nothing to be said. They would rescue Marisa and kill Alexi, or they would die.



He kissed Antoinette, and then he turned, took hold of the cellar doors, and ripped them off the hinges.



Marisa was lying on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Blood oozed from her cheek, her arm, her leg. The scent inflamed his senses.



"Alexi!"



"I am here, Chiavari."



"Show yourself."



"Come, find me."



"Coward."



"Come, come, Chiavari, play the game."



With a roar, Grigori launched himself down the stairs. Scooping Marisa into his arms, he carried her out of the cellar and thrust her into Ramsey's arms. "Get her out of here! Now!"



He didn't wait for an answer, but flew back into the cellar, his gaze piercing the darkness, his nostrils flaring, his fangs bared.



"I'm here," Alexi said, and before Grigori could locate the voice, Alexi was on him.



Grigori fell back under the other vampyre's onslaught. Alexi had fed recently, and the scent of blood teased Grigori's senses. Alexi clawed at his face and chest, his nails and teeth tearing through skin and flesh and muscle. Rage flowed through Grigori. His fangs lengthened, his own hands became claws, slashing through the air. The sound of Alexi's mocking laughter rang in his ears. The scent of his own blood filled his nostrils.



He felt the vampyre's teeth savage his neck, tearing at his throat. The thought of the vampyre drinking his blood filled him with fury, and he flung Alexi away from him, heard a satisfying thud as the vampyre slammed into the wall. Almost immediately, Alexi was back, his eyes glowing blood-red in the darkness, his lips stained with crimson.



Blood. It was everywhere. Marisa's. His own. Alexi's. The air was thick with the warm, sweet scent of it. Hunger rose up within Grigori like a bright crimson flame, blinding him to everything but the awful need that overshadowed everything else. He felt Alexi's fingernails tear at his throat again, slashing through his flesh, severing his jugular, and he fell back, his strength gushing out of him in a dark red torrent.



A shrill scream filled the air as Antoinette lunged toward Alexi. Grigori sat up in time to see her drive a fat wooden stake into Alexi's back. With a roar of pain and rage, Alexi whirled around to face her.



With a feral growl, Antoinette hurled herself at Alexi. All trace of humanity was gone from her eyes as she flung herself at the creature who had killed her children. Her arms and legs curled around him, holding on with iron tenacity.



Alexi reeled backward, his eyes blazing with pain, the wooden stake protruding from his back. He tried to shake her off, but somehow she managed to hold on. Her fangs sank deep into his neck. Her nails gouged his cheeks, his eyes....



Grigori watched, helpless, as Antoinette and Alexi struggled. Even though Alexi was bleeding, even though she had driven a stake into his body, her strength, that of a newly made vampyre, was as nothing compared to Kristov's. A low growl rumbled in Alexi's chest as he sank his teeth into her jugular.



"No!" Gathering what little strength he had left, Grigori gained his feet and grabbed Alexi's arm, but the vampyre shook him off. Grigori stumbled backward, his head striking the edge of the stairs. He felt the skin split, felt a rush of hot blood flow down his neck.



"It's not over, Chiavari," Alexi declared, and clutching Antoinette's limp body in one arm, he vanished into the night.



Grigori tried to stand up, but he had no strength left. Blood soaked his clothing, the ground beneath him. He glanced at the sky, judging the time, and knew he had to find a place to hide before the sun found him.



On his hands and knees, he dragged himself up the stairs and across the damp ground, searching for shelter.