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