Breathless and unfulfilled, Marisa stared up at Grigori as he rose up on his knees on the bed. Why had he stopped?
"Hey." She tugged on a lock of his hair. "Hey, why do I have the feeling all of a sudden that I'm alone?"
"What?" He looked down at her, his dark eyes shuttered, his jaw set. His long black hair framed his face.
A shiver ran down her spine as she looked into his eyes. She had known for months what he was, had seen him when the Hunger was upon him, had seen him helpless and in pain. She had seen him at his best and at his worst. Lately, caught up in the excitement of their marriage, she had put the thought of what he was from her mind. The hours they kept no longer seemed strange, and she had come to enjoy the night, to see the beauty in it. They often went walking when the city was asleep. With any other man, she would have been afraid to prowl the dark streets alone. But with Grigori, she had never been afraid. Until now.
"What is it?" she asked tremulously. "What's wrong?"
He looked at her a moment longer, his vampire self evident in every taut line of his body, and then he blew out a deep, shuddering breath. "You might say I just felt a disturbance in the Force."
"What?"
"Nothing." His expression softened as he lowered his head and kissed her.
"Grigori, tell me..."
But he was kissing her again, his mouth hot as flame. She moaned softly, everything else forgotten as his clever hands worked their magic upon her all-too-willing flesh.
Later, after Marisa fell asleep, Grigori slipped out of bed. He gazed down at her a moment, the love he felt for her almost a physical ache. In all his years, in all his life, he had never loved another the way he loved her. She looked so beautiful lying there, her hair spread like brown silk upon the pillow. A faint smile curved her lips. She looked, he thought, like a woman who had been well and truly pleasured, and he knew a brief moment of satisfaction before he turned away from the bed.
Naked, he went out into the yard and let the darkness envelop him. Eyes closed, he let his senses expand. The wind sighed over his skin. He heard the distant roar of traffic on the freeway, the sound of a young couple arguing about money, a cat prowling among the trash cans behind a market, the scratching of a rodent digging under one of the shrubs.
Earlier, he had heard Madame Rosa's frightened cry, felt her life force go out, and knew Khira had struck again. Khira. Powerful. Ruthless. Without remorse. Without scruples. What were they going to do about Khira?
He didn't think he had anything to fear from her. For all her bluff and bluster, she had always been fond of him. But what of Marisa? If Khira truly wanted to hurt him, she would do it through Marisa. Was he strong enough, powerful enough, to keep her safe?
He had been an unutterable fool to invite Khira into their home. Should she take it into her devious mind to hurt Marisa, she had only to wait until he was hunting far from home to make a move. He knew Khira's ability. She could be here and gone before he could sense her presence and return. She had been invited in, and now nothing would keep her out. He would have to be on his guard every minute until this matter with Khira was resolved.
He glanced up at their bedroom window. He could hear the soft, even sound of Marisa's breathing, the soft rustle of sheets as she turned over. Marisa. She had rescued him from centuries of loneliness, filled his heart with love, given him a reason to rise in the evening.
A thought took him back to her side. He would not go out hunting this night.
Sliding under the sheet, he drew her into his arms and held her close, his mind touching hers ever so gently. She was dreaming, dreaming that he was making love to her on the floor in front of a blazing fire.
Whispering her name, he turned her dream into reality.