After Sundown

by Amanda Ashley

  Thoughts of vampire killing brought Tom Duncan to mind. How long could he avoid hunting with his old friend before Duncan got suspicious? How long before Duncan realized the truth? And when he did, which of them would survive?

  Grigori felt her presence as soon as he left the house. It swamped his senses like sweet poison—alluring but fatal. He continued down the street, ignoring her in hopes she would tire of the game and leave him alone. But it was not to be.

  A whisper of air, the scent of jasmine, and she was there, linking her arm through his. His gaze moved over her in frank male appreciation. Whatever else she might be, she was blatantly beautiful. Her dress, of midnight blue velvet, clung to her perfect figure.

  "Buona sera, il mio amore."

  "Khira."

  She looked up at him through the veil of her lashes, a seductive smile caressing her lips. "Will you come hunt the night with me, my handsome one?"

  She never gave up. She was like a child who was certain she could have her own way if she just asked often enough.

  His first instinct was to refuse, as always, but then it occurred to him that it might be wiser, safer for all concerned, if he acquiesced to her wishes. But he had one stipulation.

  "No killing."

  She grinned up at him as her hand slid down his arm, her fingers intertwining with his. "No killing," she agreed.

  They stalked the night like the shadows of death, creeping up on their prey, silent as moonlight. She had always loved the hunt, loved to let her victims see her for what she was before she took them. She fed on their terror, wanted it, needed it, as much as their blood. She was not troubled by right and wrong. No, not Khira. She reveled in what she was, her excitement palpable. Contagious. They hunted for hours, prowling in dark alleys, cruising high-class nightclubs, slinking around in cheap dives. Her nearness and her laughter were as intoxicating as whiskey.

  He had all but forgotten the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of the chase. For too many years, he had fed out of necessity, taking what he needed quickly, efficiently, painlessly. But now… He looked at the woman in his arms. She stared up at him, her expression blank, her mind linked to his. A single drop of crimson stained the pale skin of her neck. He looked at the pulse throbbing in her throat, and he wanted to drain her dry, wanted to take it all, every heartbeat, every memory, every drop of life.

  "Remember," Khira said, her voice gently mocking. "No killing."

  He glanced up to find Khira watching him, a knowing look in her eyes.

  "Take her," Khira said, her voice filled with triumph. "You want to; you know you do! Why fight it any longer? This is what you are, Grigori, what you were meant to be!"

  The truth of her words seared his brain. He had not killed in decades, but the urge to abandon all control, to unleash the ravening beast within him, was all but overpowering. With a wordless cry, he thrust the woman away from him, released her with a thought, then turned and fled.

  The sound of Khira's laugher followed him down the street.

  Marisa looked up as he burst into room, her expression startled. Usually, he entered the house so quietly she didn't hear him.

  "What is it?" she asked, seeing the haunted look on his face. "What's wrong?"

  Crossing the floor, he dropped to his knees and buried his face in her lap, his arms wrapping so tightly around her waist, she could scarcely breathe.

  "Grigori, what is it? What's wrong?"

  "I went hunting with Khira."

  "So? You've hunted with her before."

  "But tonight… tonight she reminded me of what it is like to truly be Vampyre."

  "I don't understand."

  He shook his head, his whole body trembling. "I don''t think I can explain. It's… how can I tell you… ?" He swore a vile oath. "She made me hungry again as I have not been in over a century. I held a woman in my arms, and I wanted to…"

  His arms tightened around her even more. He couldn't say it, couldn't tell Marisa how he'd longed to bury his fangs in the woman's throat and take everything she had, everything she was.

  He looked up at Marisa. She was beautiful, happy, with a family that loved her. How could he make her what he was? How could he subject her to the hunger that plagued him? What if, once the deed was done, she hated him for it?

  "Grigori?" She was watching him through wide, troubled eyes. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. I want to help, but I need to understand."

  He shook his head. There was no way to explain, no way to make her understand the icy fear that was spreading through him, the awful suspicion that he had been kidding himself all these years. He looked up at her, his gaze drawn to the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her throat. Marisa's blood. How often had he tasted it and wanted more?

  He jerked his arms from around her waist, gained his feet, and began to pace the floor. Damn Khira! One night of hunting with her had reawakened cravings he thought he had conquered over a century ago.

  Blood. It was all he could think of. The craving, worse than any addiction that plagued mankind. Blood. Hot. Warm. Sweet. What had Khira done to him, that he should feel this way after so many years?

  An oath escaped his lips.

  He heard Marisa gasp, knew she was seeing the hunger that writhed within him.

  "Go to bed," he said thickly. "Now!"

  She didn't question him. Rising, she walked out of the room and up the stairs. She didn't look back. But she didn't run. He could have kissed her for that, but he didn't dare go near her. Not now.

  He paced the floor, too agitated to sit still. He could hear Marisa moving about upstairs, could hear the heartbeats of the city, each one calling to him with a Siren song of blood that was his for the taking. And over all, the sound of Khira's taunting laughter, and the echo of her words in his mind:

  "This is what you are, Grigori, what you were meant to be!"

  Chapter 28

  Marisa woke in midafternoon. Accustomed as she was to spending the silent predawn hours awake with Grigori, she had not been able to sleep last night when he sent her up to bed. Only with dawn had her eyelids grown heavy, and when sleep finally came, her dreams had been filled with shadowy images of Grigori chasing her, his eyes glowing red, his fangs dripping blood. Khira had been mixed in there, too, and Edward. Once, she had awakened, or thought she had awakened, to find Grigori staring down at her.

  He had not come to bed at the sun's rising, leaving her to wonder where he was now that the sun was up.

  Feeling bleary-eyed and not the least bit rested, she showered, then pulled on a pair of old jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of tennis shoes and went downstairs. She poured herself a cup of coffee, then stood at the window, wondering where he was. Was he sleeping elsewhere in the house? If not, where would he go?

  Carrying her coffee with her, she wandered through the house looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Returning to the kitchen, she refilled her cup, then sat down at the table. Where had he gone? What had happened last night to affect him in such a way? Khira… what had the vampire done to him? She had never been afraid of Grigori before, but last night… She shivered with the memory.

  Gulping the last of the coffee, she grabbed a pair of gardening gloves and left the house. She needed to be outside, in the sunshine. She drew on the gloves, determined to pull the weeds that grew alongside the driveway. She'd never gotten around to calling a gardener. Now she was glad. She needed to be busy, needed something to occupy her mind.

  It was a beautiful day, clear and sunny. How long since Grigori had seen the daylight? Did he remember what it was like? The touch of the sun? The glory of a sunrise?

  She thrust the thought from her mind. Gazing around the yard, she imagined how the grounds would look once they were landscaped. She would have to decide what kinds of flowers and trees she wanted, and where she wanted them. Maybe, instead of hiring someone, she'd just do the job herself. Heaven knew she had plenty of free time.

  She paused on the thought. Unless Khi
ra drove them away from here. That dark thought cast a pall on the brightness of the day. She would not think of that now, would not let Khira ruin what was a lovely day. She wandered through the yard, pausing now and then to imagine this plant or that in a particular setting. She could buy some sod to replace the weedy grass, maybe put a wrought-iron bench under the big old oak tree on the east side of the house, plant some flower beds on either side of the porch and under the front windows.

  It might be fun to do it herself. Maybe some night-blooming jasmine… She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. What was she thinking? That was Khira's scent. Honeysuckle would do just as well.

  She stood in the sun, gazing around the yard. Where was he? Last night was the first night he had not shared their bed. She had missed falling asleep in his arms, missed waking with him beside her. Damn it, where was he?

  She checked her watch. Almost four. Hours yet until he would rise from wherever he had gone. Where had he gone? Khira… the vampire's name slid through her mind like oily, black smoke. Surely he hadn't gone to stay with Khira. Still, they had once been lovers…

  She shook the thought from her mind, only to have it rise again. Khira had made him what he was. There was a bond between the two of them that could not be broken—a bond she would never be able to break, one she would never be able to share.

  Until you become a vampire.

  She pushed the thought from her mind. She would not think of that now.

  With a sigh, she decided she would start weeding near the street and work her way back up the driveway. When she reached the house, she would reward herself with a root-beer float.

  When she reached the front gate, she was surprised to find it open. Grigori always locked it. She was about to close it when a sudden shiver ran down her spine. Turning, she gasped as she came face to face with a man she had never seen before.

  "Excuse me!" she exclaimed. "You gave me quite a start."

  He stared at her through blank gray eyes. "You will come with me," he said woodenly.

  Revenant.

  She recognized him for what he was instantly. She took a step backward, chilled by the empty look in his eyes. Whoever the man had been, he was forever lost now, his mind no longer his own. Soulless, mindless, a creature made by a vampire, yet not a vampire. Alexi Kristov had turned Grigori's first wife, Antoinette, into such a creature. When Ramsey and Grigori joined forces to hunt Kristov, the ancient vampire had used Antoinette against Grigori. To rescue her from her thrall to Kristov, Grigori had brought her all the way across, given her the Dark Gift. But Antoinette could not endure being a vampire. She had begged Grigori to release her, but it had been Ramsey who had laid her soul to rest.

  The creature took a step forward, his arms outstretched. "Come."

  She didn't waste time or energy arguing. Instead, she turned and ran for the house.

  Grigori! Grigori! Help me!

  She screamed the words in her mind, screamed in terror as the revenant tackled her from behind. She cried out again as her knees slammed against the driveway.

  She lashed out at him, kicking and scratching, but it was no use. He was oblivious to her blows. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to her feet; then, lifting her into his arms, he carried her down the driveway and out the gate.

  She raked her nails down his face, hoping, praying, that someone would come along to save her, but there was no traffic on the street.

  She struggled anew as he opened the passenger door to an old pickup truck and thrust her inside. As soon as he closed the door and started for the driver's side, she reached for the door handle. There was none.

  Fear rose up in her throat, making it difficult to breathe, to think.

  She sat as close to the door as she could get as the revenant slid behind the wheel. He looked at her through soulless eyes as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hypodermic needle.

  "No!" Marisa begged. "Please, don't."

  She might as well as been talking to a piece of wood.

  He held her immobile with one hand, slid the needle home with the other. A moment later, everything went black.

  Grigori! Grigori! Help me!

  He swam through thick layers of darkness, drawn out of the abyss of the Dark Sleep by the fear and panic in Marisa's voice.

  Grigori!

  He fought against the blackness of eternity that ensnared him, his need to protect his woman stronger than the darkness that weighed him down.

  Struggling, he sat up. He felt the weight of daylight press in on him, knew the sun was still high in the sky by the lethargy that engulfed him. With an effort, he gathered his power around him, sent it outward. Marisa!

  She was in danger. The thought slammed into him, his alarm growing when his mind couldn't connect with hers. Panic drove him to his feet, and he left the attic and made his way down the stairs. He ignored the pain that seared his eyes as he left the protective darkness of the attic. Knowing she wasn't in the house, he still searched every room, including the cellar.

  Marisa!

  He sent his thoughts outward again, shutting out the myriad everyday sounds that assaulted his senses. His mind brushed Ramsey's and Kelly's. They were deeply asleep. He sought Khira, but she blocked his thoughts effortlessly, even in sleep.

  He paced the floor in the living room, the need to find Marisa clawing at him. Torn with the need to find her, he opened the door, but the heat of the sun, the glaring light, drove him back inside. He could do nothing until the sun began to set.

  Eyes burning, skin crawling from the brush of the sun, he went back upstairs and took shelter in their bedroom. He buried his face in her pillow, his senses filling with her scent.

  He whispered her name as the darkness descended on him, drawing him down, down.

  Marisa … I will find you.

  He sent the thought outward, hoping she would hear it.

  He would find her. He would find those who had taken her, and they would pay the ultimate price for their folly.

  Chapter 29

  Khira stirred as she felt Grigori's anger flow over her. Snuggling deeper into the blankets, she smiled into the darkness. You will not find her, she thought. Unless you do as I say, you will never see her again.

  Feeling pleased and a trifle smug, she closed her eyes and fell back into the thick velvety blackness of the Dark Sleep.

  Ramsey moaned softly, his rest disturbed by the rush of power that flowed over him, painful in its intensity. Beside him, Kelly slept soundly, her body unmoving, barely breathing. In the brief time before the Dark Sleep laid hold on him once more, he wondered again if he had done the right thing in bringing her across.

  Grigori woke the moment the sun began its descent. He dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt, jammed his feet into his boots, put on a pair of sunglasses, and left the house. The sun, though not at its zenith, felt like spiders crawling over his skin as he left the shade of the front porch.

  Marisa!

  Try as he might, he could not sense her presence.

  Swearing softly, he willed himself across town to the mansion that had once belonged to Kyle LaSalle. He wondered if LaSalle had put up a fight or simply moved out at Khira's whim.

  She was waiting for him at the door, a tall, slender figure clad in a gown of flowing crimson silk. Her silver-blond hair shimmered with red in the light of the setting sun.

  "Where is she?"

  "Quite safe. For now."

  "Damn it, Khira, where is she?"

  A lazy smile curved her pale pink lips. Taking a step backward, she beckoned him to enter.

  "I don't have time for this," Grigori said curtly.

  "On the contrary, you have nothing but time. Come in, mi amour."

  Knowing it was useless to argue with her, Grigori entered the house. A long hallway done in black-and-white tile led to a large square drawing room dominated by a floor-to-ceiling fireplace. The walls and carpet were white. A fire burned in the hearth, adding a note of c
heerfulness to the room. Dark furniture. Dark drapes at the windows. A dark painting on the wall depicted a stag in full flight from a pack of wolves. On the mantel, a vase held a single bloodred rose.

  "I'm here," he said. He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into the pocket of his jeans. "What do you want?"

  "What I have always wanted. You."

  He almost laughed, and then he realized she wasn't making a joke. "Why? Why now, after all this time?"

  She flowed toward him, the red silk of her gown trailing behind her like a river of blood. "I have missed you, my handsome one. Last night was like old times. Do you not remember the fun we had, in the beginning?"

  "I remember."

  "I want it again." Eyes burning, she ran her finger over his cheek, down his neck, splayed her fingers over his heart "You owe me your life, Grigori. I wish to share a part of it, for a time."

  He shook his head. "Khira, what you want is impossible. I love Marisa. She's my wife." He took a deep breath in an effort to calm his anger, his fear. "Where is she?"

  "As I said, she is well—for now."

  "This reeks of blackmail. What is it you want of me?"

  "I want a year of your life, Grigori. I want you to come back to Italy with me."

  "And do what? Be your gigolo?"

  "My companion, mi amour. Only a year. Such a little bit of time. It seems a fair exchange, does it not, for the life of your woman?"

  "And where will Marisa be during this year?"

  "Asleep, I think, like the princess in a fairy tale." She laughed softly. "You can awake her with love's first kiss when you return."

  "I want to see her. Now."

  "Not until we have an agreement." She smiled, then moved across the room and sat down on the sofa. Her skirt had a long slit up one side. It parted now to reveal the smooth length of a shapely leg.

  He stared at her, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I can't believe you mean this, that you think I'd even consider it."