Shades of Gray

The next few days flew by in a flurry of excitement. Marisa called her parents and her brother and listened patiently to their objections to her marrying a man she had known for such a short time. She spent three lunch hours shopping for a wedding dress; then she spent a Saturday afternoon with Linda picking out dresses for Linda and Barbara to wear. There wasn't enough time to order engraved invitations, so she sent out handwritten ones to a few close friends. She ordered a small cake, made arrangements for the church, made an appointment to get her hair and nails done. She spoke with Mr. Salazar, inviting him to the wedding and asking if she could have two weeks off for a honeymoon. He grumbled a bit, but, in the end, he agreed.



If her days were hectic, her nights were not. Grigori came over each evening and it was then, wrapped in his arms, that she found the peace that eluded her during the day. He never failed to bring her a gift of some kind: flowers  -  white roses by the dozen, yellow ones, pink ones, a single, perfect, bloodred rose; chocolates and perfume; a lovely silver filigreed heart on a delicate chain; a diamond necklace that was so beautiful it took her breath away.



"You don't have to bring me a present every time you come over," she chided one night, but he dismissed her objection with a wave of his hand.



"It pleases me to bring you things," he replied. And then he grinned at her, a sly, roguish grin that made her insides melt and her toes curl. "Besides, I like the way you express your gratitude."



Marisa shook her head. "Silly! I'd kiss you even if you didn't buy me extravagant gifts."



"Would you?"



"Of course. I kissed you tonight, didn't I? And you didn't bring me anything."



He lifted one brow. "Didn't I?"



"Did you?"



With a flourish, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small square box. He handed it to her with a wink.



"What is it?" Marisa asked.



"Open it and see."



Stomach fluttering with excitement, she lifted the lid. A key rested on a bed of blue velvet. She looked up at him. "Let me guess. It's the key to your heart, right?"



He laughed softly. "No, bella, it's the key to your new car."



"New car! You bought me a car?"



Grigori nodded. "It's parked out front."



Marisa ran to the window, drew back the curtains, and looked outside. There were two cars parked at the curb. A sleek black Corvette, and a red Corvette convertible.



"You don't mean one of those?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.



Grigori came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. "Which one do you like?"



"Which one? You bought them both?"



He nodded. "I thought you would prefer the convertible, but you can have the other, if you like."



She didn't know what to say.



Grigori put his hands at her waist and turned her around to face him. "Would you rather have something else?"



"No. No. Who wouldn't want a Corvette, but  -  "



"But?"



"They're so expensive. And the insurance. I could never afford it."



"Cora, it's all paid for."



"But... it must have cost you a fortune to buy two cars, and insurance and  -  "



He placed a finger over her lips. "I have a fortune, cara mia. Let me spend it on you."



She looked up at him, wondering how she had ever thought him a monster. He treated her like a queen, spoiled her shamelessly, and not just by buying her presents. He was thoughtful of her wants, her needs. He valued her opinions, listened to what she had to say.



"Grigori, you're so good to me."



He smiled down at her. "Ah, cara, it is you who are good to me. It's been so long since I've had someone to care for, someone to take care of. I'd forgotten how wonderful it is."



"I love the way you take care of me," she murmured, and drawing his head down, she kissed him.



As always, the touch of his lips on hers flooded her with heat, made her long for the day when she could be his, body and soul.



"Three more days," she whispered. Today was Wednesday. She had taken Thursday and Friday off to spend with her family and run a few last-minute errands. She had to pick up her wedding dress tomorrow afternoon; tomorrow night they were all going out to dinner so Grigori could meet her family. Saturday morning she had to pick up the flowers and get her hair done. The wedding was at six o'clock at the Methodist church around the corner.



"Three more days," he repeated softly, and the idea filled him with such longing, he thought he might die of the pain.



Three more days. He could wait that long. With an effort, he stilled the hunger within him. "So," he said, "which will it be? The red one, or the black one?"



"What? Oh, the cars." She smiled up at him. "The red one. I've always dreamed of owning a red Corvette." She tilted her head to the side. "But you know that, don't you?"



"What do you mean?"



"You've been reading my mind again."



"No," he replied. "It just looked like you."



"Honest?"



"Honest."



"My parents will be here tomorrow." She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She loved her folks, she really did, but she wasn't looking forward to having them underfoot for the next three days. For one thing, she wouldn't be able to sit up late at night and neck with Grigori on the sofa, not with her father staying up to watch the eleven o'clock news. Her brother and his family would have to stay in a motel. There was just no room in her apartment for Mike and Barbara and their kids, unless she wanted to move out. Which might not be such a bad idea, she mused, if she could move in with Grigori.



She grinned at the thought. Tempting as it might be, she couldn't do it. Her parents would have a fit. They'd only be here for three days. She could stand anything that long. And then she would belong to Grigori forever.



"Come on," she said, grabbing his hand. "Let's go for a ride."



It was the most luxurious car she had ever seen. The interior was butter-soft leather, and it smelled as only a new car could smell. She fastened her seat belt, slid the key in the ignition, felt a thrill of excitement as the engine hummed to life. Purred might have been a better word, she mused as she pulled away from the curb.



"You like it?"



"I love it." It handled like a dream. "But why did you buy two?"



"One for you, one for me."



"I thought you just wished yourself wherever you wanted to go."



"Well," he admitted with a wry grin, "after I test-drove one for you, I sort of fell in love with it. I mean  -  " He shrugged. "I've never driven anything like it."



"Typical male," she muttered, and then laughed. There was nothing typical about Grigori. "What'll I do with my old car?"



"Whatever you want. Sell it. Junk it. Give it away."



She laughed then, laughed because she was happy, because Grigori was beside her, because, in three days, she would be his wife.



She was happy, so happy. She should have known it wouldn't last.



At seven-thirty a.m. Thursday morning, Edward Ramsey knocked at Marisa's door.



"Hi, Edward," Marisa said, yawning. "What are you doing here so early?"



"You haven't seen the papers, have you?" He thrust a copy of the L.A. Times in her face. "I think he's back."



She didn't have to ask who. Her hands were trembling as she took the newspaper and began to read.



VAMPIRE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN



The headlines screamed the news. She read the story quickly. The body of a young woman had been found in the Griffith Park area the night before. There had been no visible sign of a struggle, no indication of violence, save for the tiny wounds in her throat, and the fact that her body had been drained of blood.



Marisa stared at Edward, the paper falling, unnoticed, to the floor. He was back. Alexi was back. She folded her arms over her chest, suddenly cold clear through.



He was back.



"Is Chiavari still hanging around here?"



She nodded. "Come on in." Rubbing her hands over her arms, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of black coffee.



Her parents were due in half an hour. Mike and Barbara would be arriving around noon.



She was getting married in two days.



Alexi Kristov had returned.



"After all that's happened, I can't believe you're still seeing Chiavari. The man's a vampire, for crying out loud."



"I love him." She took a deep breath. "We're getting married."



"Married!" Edward stared at her as if she'd just grown another head. "You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."



Edward had picked up the paper on his way into the kitchen. Now he shook it in her face. "Vampire, Marisa! Does that ring a bell? He's no different from Kristov. Sure, he's handsome as hell, but he's still just a walking corpse. He's capable of murder, just like Kristov. You'll never be safe with him. Never! Some night he won't be able to control his hunger and he'll turn on you."



"Stop it!" She pressed her hands over her ears to shut out his voice. "Stop it! I won't listen."



"You will listen!" He dropped the newspaper and grabbed her hands, imprisoning them against his chest. "He's a killer. You know it. Stop thinking with your hormones and start using your head. Just because he comes in a pretty package doesn't change what he is. He's a vampire, and they're killers by nature."



"He's not! He told me he hasn't killed anyone in over a hundred and fifty years, except to preserve his own life, and I believe him."



"Then you're a fool. He wants you, Marisa, he's wanted you from the first, and he'll do anything, say anything, to have you."



She shook her head. "If he's what you say, he could have taken me at any time. He wouldn't have to marry me. He loves me."



"Dammit, Marisa, he's a vampire. He's incapable of love."



"No, no, no!" She tried to jerk her hands from his grasp. "Let me go, Edward."



"Not until you hear what I'm saying."



"I hear you."



"Do you?"



"Yes," she replied sullenly. "I hear you, but it doesn't change anything. I love him, and I'm going to marry him."



Edward stared at her a moment, and then, with a sigh of defeat, he released her hands. "It's your life," he muttered. "I guess you can throw it away if you want. But before you make a fatal mistake, ask him. Ask him how many people he's killed in the last two hundred years. Don't listen to that crap about not hunting where he lives, or only killing in self-defense. Just ask him flat-out. Ask him how many lives he's taken to sustain his own. And then ask yourself if you want to be next."



"Edward  -  "



She called after him, but it was too late. He was already gone.



The door had barely closed behind him when her parents arrived.