After Sundown
Chapter Twenty-three

Kelly slept as late as she could, not wanting to let go of the dream, not wanting to leave the night behind. Never in all her life had she experienced such a night, or such a lover as Edward. His kisses had been sheer magic; his touch had aroused her to fever pitch. Most amazing of all, she had known what he was feeling, what he was thinking, as their bodies came together. Ecstasy. Bliss.
Knowing she couldn't put it off any longer, she slid out of bed. She showered, dressed in a T-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans, and went into the kitchen.
She grimaced when she opened the refrigerator. It was empty save for some butter, a couple of cans of root beer, and a loaf of white bread rapidly turning blue. She tossed the bread in the trash, then checked the cupboards and sighed her annoyance. There was butter and jam but no longer any bread. Cereal but no milk.
"Looks like it's time to go shopping again," she muttered, wondering how one person could go through so much food so fast.
She made a fresh pot of coffee, then found a scrap of paper and began writing a shopping list.
And all the while, her gaze moved to the door that led to the cellar. Edward was sleeping down there. The phrase "sleeping the sleep of the dead" ran unbidden through her mind.
He had thoughtfully left his car keys on the counter. Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she left the house. She picked up her things from the boardinghouse where she had been staying before moving in with Edward again. After collecting her belongings, she went to the market and stocked up on food and wine.
After thanking the box boy for loading her bags in the back seat, she slid behind the wheel of the Porsche and switched on the ignition. Pulling out of the parking lot, she flipped on the radio, grinned when the words to "Eddie, My Love" filled the air. Her heart swelled with happiness as she sang along.
When she stopped at a light, a sports car pulled up beside her. She glanced over at the driver, who gave her a wink and a smile, then revved his engine. She smiled back at him, and when the light turned green, she put the pedal to the metal and left him at the line.
She was grinning when she pulled into the driveway. "Home at last," she murmured. The thought sobered her. She hadn't had a real home since she lived with her parents, and now she was living with Dracula in the house of dark shadows.
After she put the groceries away, she dusted and vacuumed, wondering if he knew she was there. What was it like when he slept? Did he dream? Was he aware of what was going on around him? Would he hear her if she spoke to him? Marisa had said Grigori was aware of what went on around him, but he was far older in the vampire life than Edward.
Leaving the vacuum in the middle of the living room, she went to the door that led to the cellar, and carefully made her way down the stairs. She found the light switch and, turning it on, frowned as she glanced around the room. At first she didn't see anything that looked like a door, and then she saw it. It was about a third the size of a regular door, painted the same color as the walls. There was no handle, no knob.
She knelt in front of it, wondering why it was so small. Anyone trying to get inside would have to crawl through on hands and knees. But perhaps that was the idea, she thought. It would certainly slow down any unwanted intruders, unless they were midgets. Or creatures of the night.
"Edward? Eddie, are you in there? Can you hear me?"
When there was no answer, she went back upstairs, anxious for nightfall.
Her voice penetrated the thick blackness that trapped him. He struggled toward awareness, cursing his inability to move. At first, he had feared she was in danger, that she needed his help, but there was no tension in her voice, no threat of fear, merely curiosity. He had always believed that vampires were totally oblivious to what went on around them when trapped in the Dark Sleep, but now he knew differently. He might be oblivious to others, but not to Kelly.
Pleased by the realization, he let himself fall back into the darkness once more.
She was waiting for him in the living room when he woke. She had dressed with care in a blue-and-white sundress and white sandals. Her hair fell around her shoulders in shimmering ebony waves. She smiled when she saw him. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he crossed the room, bent down, and kissed her.
Her hands circled his neck. Drawing him closer, she deepened the kiss.
Ramsey drew back, his eyes glinting dangerously. "Careful, Kelly girl."
She smiled up at him as she tilted her head to one side. "Drink, Edward."
He needed no urging. He took what he needed, felt her sweetness move through him, filling him with a sense of peace, soothing the ravening hunger within.
"I'll be back soon," he promised. Kissing her again, he left the house in search of prey.
He felt Khira's presence almost immediately, spreading like a dark stain across the quiet summer night. Moments later, she was at his side, linking her arm through his.
"Edward, mi amour! How I have missed you!" She smiled up at him. "So tell me, my fair one, have you finally accepted what you are?"
"I guess so."
"Prove it to me, then. Come, hunt with me."
"I have other plans."
She pouted prettily, but he saw the predator behind the coquette. "Come with me." Her voice was as soft as velvet, but he heard the steel beneath.
He hesitated and then nodded. Kelly could wait. Khira would not.
They hunted in the heart of the city, preying on drunks and derelicts. She was not interested in killing on this night, but in the thrill of the hunt. She fed with wild abandon, toying with her victims, drinking greedily, then moving on. Ramsey watched, repulsed yet fascinated. She felt no guilt, no compassion. Once, she looked up at him, her fangs dripping blood, and he saw the exhilaration in her eyes.
It was near three in the morning when she grew tired of her sport. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she bade him good night and vanished into the darkness.
With a weary sigh, Ramsey willed himself home.
Kelly was asleep on the sofa, her head pillowed on her arm. Kneeling beside the sofa, he kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry, Kelly," he whispered. "Forgive me."
Her eyelids fluttered opened, and he saw she had been crying.
"Kelly!"
Distressed by her tears, he drew her down into his lap and cradled her against his chest. "I meant to come right back," he said, "but I ran into Khira."
Kelly's eyes widened. "What did she want?"
"The same thing she always wants: a hunting companion. I dared not refuse her."
"You're afraid of her."
"Damn right. She is a killer, totally without mercy. And she is very powerful. Probably the most powerful vampire alive."
Kelly shivered. "You said you went hunting with her. Did she... did you... kill anyone?"
"Not this time."
Her eyes filled with horror. "You've killed before?"
"Just once," he admitted, "but it was an accident. You must believe that."
"I believe you."
"I will never forgive myself," he said. "I didn't mean for it to happen, but it was all so new to me, and the craving... Kelly, you cannot imagine the pain." Agitated, he lifted her onto the sofa, then stood up and began to pace the floor. "I know, that's no excuse for what I did, but..." He clenched his fists, slammed one against the wall. "Damn Chiavari! This is all his fault."
Rising, Kelly went to stand behind him, her arms sliding around his waist. "Eddie, don't. Please don't. I hate to see you torturing yourself this way."
"How can you stand to be with me after what I've done? I'm no better than Khira, no better than any of the vampires I have hunted."
"That's not true! You're a good, decent man. If you weren't, you wouldn't feel so guilty. And you're not to blame, not really."
"I'm nothing but a monster."
"Stop that!" She pressed a kiss to his back. "You're nothing like them, do you hear me? If it will make you feel better, you can take my blood, as much as you need, whenever you need it."
He laughed, a hollow sound devoid of humor. "You don't have that much blood in you, Kelly."
"I don't know anything about being a vampire, Eddie. I can't imagine what it's like, what you're going through. I wish I could help."
He turned to face her, his arms sliding around her waist. "You do help, just by being here. I don't know what I would do without you."
His arms tightened around her as she rested her cheek on his chest. Contentment flowed through him. He could do this, he thought; with her help, he could control the beast within him, learn to live with what he was.
Kelly sighed. "I love you, Eddie."
Marisa's voice echoed in the back of his mind: "Grigori and I are happy together, Edward. There's no reason why you and Kelly can't have a good life together."
"Kelly." He brushed a kiss across the top of her head. "Heaven help us both, I love you, too."
On Thursday, Marisa called and invited Edward and Kelly over to play cards the following evening.
"Cards?" Kelly muttered after Edward hung up. "How can she want to play cards at a time like this? Doesn't she know what's going on?"
"I don't know. Maybe Chiavari hasn't told her."
"Just a nice normal night with a couple of friends, is that it?" she asked.
"Normal," Ramsey muttered. "My life's never been normal."
They arrived at Chiavari's home a little after eight on Friday night. It was raining again, unusual for Los Angeles. "But perfect for a meeting of vampires," Kelly remarked, laughing.
Marisa had set up a card table in the living room. A fire blazed in the fireplace. "What shall we play?" she asked when they were all seated at the table. "Canasta? Pinochle? Hearts? Rummy?" She looked at Grigori and wiggled her eyebrows. "Strip poker?"
"Very funny," Grigori muttered.
"I like hearts," Kelly said.
"Hearts, it is," Marisa said. She slid the deck in front of Grigori. "You deal."
At first, they made small talk about the weather, about the movie Marisa and Grigori had seen the previous night, but eventually Kelly's curiosity got the best of her and the talk turned to vampires.
She looked at Grigori. "How long have you been a vampire?"
"Over two hundred years."
Two hundred years, and he looked no more than thirty.
"It's so hard to believe."
"Vampires are as old as mankind," Grigori remarked. "Every culture has recorded their existence, mostly as myths and fables. Some few have been recorded, like Elizabeth Bathory, who was known as the 'Bloody Countess.' She murdered hundreds of young women. Not only did she drink their blood, she bathed in it, as well."
"Oh, that's disgusting," Kelly exclaimed, wrinkling her nose.
"There were others. John Haigh, who was known as the Vampire of London. Fritz Haarmann, known as the Hanover Vampire, Peter Kurten, the Vampire of Dusseldorf."
"Did you know any of them?" Kelly asked.
"No. In any case, they were not true vampires."
"Well, it's easy to believe there were vampires in the old days, but today..." She shook her head. "Who would believe it?"
"Tell her about the ranchers in Ojai," Marisa said. She looked over at Kelly. "It always gives me the shivers.''
"What ranchers?" Kelly asked, her eyes bright with interest.
"About twenty years ago, some ranchers in California began finding cattle with their throats cut and drained of blood," Grigori said. "They decided a vampire was to blame. When they searched the area, they found a large stone box at a crossroads. As they neared the box, a large black dog attacked them. One of the men threw holy water on the dog and it ran away. When the men reached the box, they pried off the lid..."
Kelly shuddered. "You're kidding!"
"No. They found a body inside."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Indeed. They staked the creature and left the area, and, if the story is to be believed, no more dead cattle were ever found."
"You made that up."
"Sadly, I did not."
Kelly pondered that for a moment, then asked, "Can you do all the things vampires do in the movies? You know, turn into a bat, change into a mist, influence the weather - that kind of thing."
Grigori smiled indulgently. "I don't know about other vampires, but I've never turned into a bat. We do, however, have many powers that mortals lack."
"Like the ability to read minds," Marisa said with a wry grin.
Grigori smiled at her. "Yes. For that reason, vampires make good magicians and psychics."
"Like Madame Rosa," Kelly remarked.
Sadness flickered in Grigori's eyes. "Yes."
"Do you like being what you are?"
"As I said, it's a good life in many ways."
Kelly leaned forward. "But?"
Grigori looked at Marisa. Not long ago, she had been certain she wanted to be what he was, but he knew she was having doubts, knew she had been having second thoughts ever since Khira had mentioned her regret at not being able to bear a child.
"I had lived a full life as a mortal," Grigori went on, his gaze on Marisa's face. "I had been married, had children. They were killed by a vampyre, and I chose this life to avenge their deaths. I was not aware of all the ramifications, of course. It is not easy, to be a vampyre. To watch those you love grow old and die. It is not easy to say good-bye to the sun. Not everyone can survive in a world of darkness."
"Do you still miss the daylight?" Kelly asked. "Even after so many years?"
He nodded. "But the loss of the sun was a small price to pay to avenge the deaths of my children."
"Would you be mortal again, if you could?"
"I don't know."
"So, you do like being a vampire?"
"I am used to it," Grigori replied. "After two hundred years, I doubt if I could go back, even if it were possible."
"Kelly, let's talk about something else," Ramsey suggested.
"But I want to know all I can, Eddie."
"Leave her alone, Ramsey," Grigori said. "I don't mind answering her questions."
But later that night, after Ramsey and Kelly had gone home, Grigori found himself thinking of his wife and children again. The memory of losing Antoinette a second time stirred his anger, and his hunger.
He went to Marisa and drew her up into his arms. He hugged her tightly for a moment. "I'm going out," he said curtly. "I won't be long."
He prowled the dark streets, becoming a part of the night and the darkness, his thoughts chaotic. He wondered if Marisa was regretting her decision to marry him. She wanted children, and he could not fault her for that. He remembered his son and his daughter, the exquisite joy they had brought into his life, the laughter and the good times. He had loved being a father, wrestling with his son, taking walks with his daughter, telling them stories at night. What right did he have to deny Marisa the chance to have children, to experience the love and happiness he had known? He had loved her and wanted her and swept her into his world, selfishly thinking his love would be enough.
His hunger stirred, growling within him. When you are out of control, people die. Those were the words he had spoken to Ramsey. He repeated them now, to himself.
He found a young woman sitting on her front porch. Wrapped in a heavy jacket, she was watching it rain, her expression somewhat wistful. Effortlessly he cocooned her in his power, then bade her come to him. Like a sleepwalker, she rose and walked toward him. Taking her by the hand, he led her into the shadows, the beast within him clawing at his insides as the scent of her blood filled his nostrils.
He took her quickly, at that moment hating what he was doing, because it seemed to emphasize the distance, the difference, between himself and the rest of the world. Between himself and Marisa...
Marisa. Pain twisted his heart. He loved her desperately, needed her as he had never needed anyone, even Antoinette.
He closed his eyes, and only then did he become aware of the heavy, irregular beating of the woman's heart. With an oath, he drew back, his gaze frantically searching her face. She was pale. Too pale? He swore again. It had been decades since he had taken a human life, but he was perilously close now. Why? Why, after so many years, did he have this sudden urge to glut himself with blood?
Sweeping the woman into his arms, he carried her into the house and placed her on the sofa. He found a bottle of apple juice in the refrigerator and poured a glass, then carried it to her and commanded her to drink it.
When she was finished, he covered her with the afghan neatly folded at the end of the sofa. He stood there, watching her for several minutes, listening as her heartbeat grew stronger, steadier.
His mind gained a link with hers. You will remember nothing of this night. He searched for her name. Sally Anne. Nothing beyond the time I called you to me. You will remember only that you sat outside and watched the rain, then came inside to get something to drink and fell asleep on the sofa.
He was about to go out the front door when a battered pickup pulled into the driveway and a man got out, his shoulders hunched against the rain. Father, husband, boyfriend - he didn't know. Nor did he care.
A thought took him home.
Marisa had gone to bed. He stood there, watching her sleep, his heart aching with love. He should let her go. She would object. She would swear she loved him, that children weren't important, that she would never love anyone else, but, in time, she would find love again with a man who could share her whole life.
As though sensing his presence, her eyelids fluttered open. "Grigori?" She sat up, sleepy-eyed and beautiful.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight. He inhaled the scent of her, felt her arms slip around his waist, the silk of her hair against his cheek, the warmth of her body chasing away the coldness in his own. Guilt rose up within him. What right did he have to love this woman?
"Is something wrong?" she asked.
"No, cara, nothing's wrong." He kissed her cheek, her neck, shuddered with the need to taste her sweetness. Even though he had just fed, he felt empty inside.
She snuggled against him, one hand brushing the hair away from her neck. "Drink, Grigori," she urged softly.
He shook his head, denying himself the pleasure he sought.
"Grigori? What is it? What's wrong?"
"Marisa..."
Her hand cupped his cheek, soft and warm and tender. "It's all right, Grigori. Take what you need. I give it to you freely, willingly, as always."
And he closed his eyes and surrendered to the need burning within him.