Grigori walked swiftly down the stairs to the street, then paused on the sidewalk, all his senses alert.

"Alexi, show yourself." He whirled around as the sound of soft laughter was carried to him by a sudden gust of wind. "Alexi, damn you, show yourself!"

"I'm here."

Grigori spun around, his whole body tense, poised for attack.

A fine gray mist materialized out of the deep shadows of the night, then coalesced into the form of a man, a man Grigori recognized all too well.

"Alexi."

The count bowed from the waist. He looked like an old-world aristocrat in a full-sleeved white shirt open at the throat, tight black breeches, and soft black leather boots.

"Grigori, my old friend. We meet again."

Grigori nodded curtly. He had not felt fear in over a hundred years, not since the last time he had encountered Kristov.

Alexi's cold gray gaze ran over him, like ice running down his spine. "Will you never give up?"

"Never."

Mocking laughter rose in the count's throat. "I fear that foolish tenacity that you call honor will be the means of your destruction."

"Perhaps. How did you escape Silvano?"

A sound of derision rose in Kristov's throat. "An easy task, I assure you. I rested for a hundred years, closely guarded at all times so I had no worry of being destroyed." A cruel smile twisted his lips. "He was a fool to think he could hold me against my will. Stupid mortal. He paid dearly for his foolishness. Did you know Ramsey is in the city?"

Grigori nodded.

"I shall have you," Kristov said, his eyes glowing with confidence. "When I am ready, I shall have you both."

"No."

"Oh, yes," Alexi said with complete and utter assurance. He glanced up at Marisa's apartment and licked his lips. "And the woman, as well."

"No. Leave the woman alone. This is between you and me."

The count shook his head. "It was the scent of her sweet blood that roused me from my sleep. I will not rest again until I have had her, until her blood feeds my hunger and burns in my soul. She will serve me well, don't you think?"

"Let us end it now!"

"No, it is too soon. I feel the need for some amusement after my long rest, and you and Ramsey will provide it for me. And the woman  -  " Alexi licked his lips  -  "she will provide amusement of another kind."

"No!" A low growl rose in Grigori's throat as he lunged forward, his fangs bared, his hands like claws reaching for Alexi's throat. He felt a sharp pain as Kristov lashed out, his nails raking across Grigori's face, opening five deep lacerations that stretched from Grigori's hairline to his jaw.

Grigori shook his head, flinging the blood out of his eyes.

"Alexi!" He roared the vampyre's name, unleashing his pain and anger, but Kristov was gone as if he had never been there.

Swearing under his breath, he went back up the stairs to Marisa's apartment.

After asking who it was, she opened the door, her eyes widening in horror when she saw the blood dripping from his face. "Grigori, what happened?"

"Alexi happened."

"He was here?" She slammed the door and shot the bolt home.

"He's gone now."

"You're sure?"

Grigori nodded.

On legs that felt none too steady, Marisa made her way into the bathroom. Pulling a washcloth from the shelf, she soaked it in cold water, then went back into the living room. Grigori was sitting on the sofa, staring at the door.

Sitting beside him, she began to wipe the blood from Grigori's face. "You'll probably need stitches," she remarked, yet even as she watched, the deep gashes that scored his cheek began to close. It was like watching a film in fast forward, she thought, the way muscle and tissue knit together.

"This  -  " She stood up and backed away from him, the washcloth falling, unheeded, from her hand. "It isn't possible."

"I'm afraid it's very possible," Grigori replied.

"It's true, then," she murmured. "All true. Everything Ramsey told me. Everything he said."

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know." She stared at his face. "It's true, isn't it? You are one of them."

Grigori nodded. He would have preferred she not know the truth, but there was no help for it now. He considered erasing the memory from her mind, but as he considered it, he decided it might be better if she was fully aware of the danger that surrounded her.

"You look a trifle pale," Grigori remarked. "I think you'd better sit down."

"Yes," she replied, "I think you're right."

He caught her just before she hit the floor.

Grigori sat on the floor in Marisa's bedroom, his back against the dresser, watching her sleep. She had roused from her faint and he had insisted she go to bed. She hadn't argued. He knew it was the mortal way, to seek refuge in sleep.

The mortal way. He had been Vampyre so long, it was hard to remember a time when he had been anything else, a time when he had been a mortal man, with a home and a family....

Rising, he went to the window and drew back the curtains.

The darkness waited outside, silently beckoning to him. Come, the night wind seemed to say, come and share the night with me.

It was tempting, but he had promised Marisa he would stay with her.

He stared into the distance, his thoughts traveling back through the centuries, back to the time when he had been a husband and a father. He closed his eyes, and Antoinette's image rose in his mind, as fresh and vivid as if he had seen her only hours ago  -  hair as black as a midnight sky, eyes that were blue-green, as changeable as the sea. And his children  -  Antonio and Martina  -  so young, so innocent.

His hands curled into tight fists, his nails digging into his flesh, as he recalled the last time he had seen them, their bodies sprawled like rag dolls across their beds, drained of blood, of life. Alexi Kristov had stood in the doorway, his mouth stained crimson, his eyes red and feverish from the kill.

"It's true, then," Grigori had said, horrified. He had heard all the stories, listened to the rumors and whispers that had been rife in the village, but he had not believed it was true. Alexi had been his friend, and Grigori had found a logical explanation for every accusation made against Alexi. "All true," he had said again. "You are a vampyre."

Kristov had nodded, his gray eyes cold and distant.

"Antoinette..."

Grigori reached toward her, but Alexi waved him off.

"She is mine now."

"No." Yet even as he denied it, he knew it was true. Antoinette looked at him through pale, soulless eyes while drops of blood oozed from two tiny wounds in her neck. Not human, not vampyre, she was no longer his wife, no longer the vivacious girl he had fallen in love with. She had become Alexi's creature. Had the vampyre commanded, Grigori knew she would have killed him.

"Why?" Just that one anguished word, torn from the depths of his heart and soul.

Alexi did not answer. Taking Antoinette by the hand, he turned as if to leave. With a cry, Grigori lunged forward, his only thought to destroy the creature who had killed all he loved.

With a hiss, Alexi whirled around, a wicked gleam in his eye, his hands pinning Grigori's arms to his sides. "Are you so eager to die, Chiavari?"

"I'll kill you for what you've done!"

Alexi laughed. "You? Kill me? I think not."

Grigori struggled to free himself, but Alexi held him effortlessly.

"You have no strength against me," Alexi taunted. With blinding speed, he wrapped his hands around Grigori's throat, lifting him off his feet as his fingers slowly squeezed the breath from his body. "Perhaps I should bring you over," he hissed. "Then you would understand."

Grigori glared at the vampyre. "I understand you're a monster."

Alexi's gray eyes changed then, smoldering, until they glowed a hideous red. His lips drew back, revealing his fangs.

He should have been afraid, but he was too filled with anger and despair to feel anything but hatred. "Go on, do it!" he screamed. "Make me what you are so I can kill you!"

"I think not," Alexi replied. "Were you Vampyre, I think you would pursue me through eternity. But killing you now would be too kind."

Grigori struggled to free himself as Alexi's hands tightened around his throat, choking the breath from his body, until he felt himself falling, falling, into darkness. As from a great distance, he heard Alexi's mocking voice.

"I shall let you live for now, Chiavari. Life will be far more painful for you than death."

When he had awakened, the vampyre was gone. He had never seen Antoinette again....

Grigori opened his eyes as he felt the dawn approaching. It was time to go.

He checked to make sure Marisa was still asleep. She looked beautiful, vulnerable, lying there, her lashes like dark crescents against her skin, her lips warm and pink. He took a deep breath, inhaling her scent  -  sleep-warmed skin, a faint trace of the flowery cologne she preferred. His gaze lingered on her throat, on the pulse beating there.

Hunger stirred within him. Bending low, he brushed a lock of hair from her neck, felt the anticipation grow as his fangs lengthened. Just one drink...

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she came awake, and he found himself gazing into her eyes.

"Go back to sleep, Marisa," he murmured, his voice low. "Go back to sleep."

With a soft sigh, her eyelids fluttered down once more.

Moments later, he was gone.

Marisa blinked, closed her eyes, and opened them again. It must have been a dream, she thought, or a nightmare. She sat up, her gaze darting around the room, but there was no one there. Yet she would have sworn that Grigori had been at her bedside, bending over her. Had it all been a dream? She had a hazy recollection of his voice telling her to sleep. She had felt the brush of his mouth against her neck, a warm intimacy, a sense of fulfillment....

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."