the side. She saw Grigori take a deep breath, and then he bent down, his long black hair falling over Edward's face, blocking her view. Several long minutes passed. The ticking of the bedside clock seemed very loud in the stillness.
Once, she glanced at Alexi's body, half expecting it to vanish into thin air. She wished Grigori had thought to cover it.
A movement drew her eye back to Grigori. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth as Grigori bit his own wrist, and then placed the bleeding wound to Edward's lips.
"Drink, Ramsey." His voice was soft yet compelling, as soothing as a mother's lullaby. "That's right, drink your fill."
And Edward was drinking, his mouth fastened to Grigori's wrist, his hands clutching Grigori's arm as if he feared it would be suddenly snatched away. His eyes were open, his expression one of near-rapture.
Grigori turned his head, his gaze meeting Marisa's.
This is what I am, what I have always been.
And Marisa met his gaze, unflinching, accepting him, loving him, for who and what he was.
"Enough." Grigori jerked his arm from Edward's grasp, ran his tongue over the wound in his wrist.
Edward sat back, looking confused. "What happened?"
Marisa leaned forward in the chair. Color suffused Edward's cheeks; the horrible wound in his throat closed, healed, in a matter of minutes.
Edward glanced from Chiavari to Marisa. "What the hell happened?"
"How do you feel, Edward?" Marisa asked.
"I feel fine," he retorted. "I want to know what the..." His words trailed off when he caught sight of Alexi's body. "Is he dead?"
Marisa shrugged. "I hope so."
"He's dead," Grigori remarked. He regarded Ramsey through narrowed eyes. "How do you feel?"
"Why do you two keep asking me that? I feel" - he frowned - "I feel funny." He looked at Alexi again. "I stabbed him, and then he - "
Edward lifted one hand to his throat. "He bit me. Ripped my jugular. I remember... what happened?"
"You were dying," Marisa said.
Ramsey stared at Grigori, a look of horror spreading over his face. "You didn't? For the love of all that's holy, tell me you didn't!"
"It was my idea," Marisa said. "He didn't want to."
"You told him to turn me into one of them? How could you?"
Marisa stood up, clutching the bedspread to her chest. "Would you rather be dead, Edward?"
He scrambled to his feet and backed away from them both. "Of course I would," he began, and then, shoulders slumping, he buried his face in his hands.
"Edward, I'm sorry."
Rising to his feet, Grigori went to stand beside Marisa. "Don't be sorry, cara. If he'd rather be dead, I'll be only too happy to accommodate him."
Edward's head snapped up. "Yeah, I'll just bet you would."
"It's your choice, vampyre hunter."
Edward snorted. "Not anymore. I guess you just put me out of business."
"Yes, I guess I did."
Edward lifted his hands, turned them this way and that. Crossing the floor, he stared into the mirror above the dresser. "I look the same," he murmured. "How can I look the same and feel so different?"
"You'll get used to it."
"I don't know what to say."
"You might thank Grigori," Marisa suggested, "for saving your life."
Edward turned around. "I was going to kill you, you know."
Grigori nodded. "I know you were going to try."
Edward gestured at Alexi's body. "What are we going to do with him?"
"I'll drag his body out onto the balcony. The sun will take care of the rest."
Edward shuddered, and then squared his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'll be going." He took a step toward Marisa, but then stopped, as if uncertain how she would receive him now.
Marisa held out a hand and smiled. "Keep in touch, Edward."
He took her hand in both of his and squeezed it. "I will. Good night, Marisa."
"Good night, Edward."
"Be careful, Ramsey."
Edward met Grigori's eyes, surprised by the genuine concern in the other man's voice. "You too. And... thanks."
Grigori nodded.
"Will he be okay?" Marisa asked when they were alone.
"That's up to him." He gave her shoulders a squeeze; then he dragged Kristov's body out onto the balcony, careful not to touch the chain coiled on his chest.
Marisa was sitting on the bed when he returned.
Grigori smiled at her. "Some honeymoon."
"Well, you can't say it hasn't been exciting."
"And are you still happy being Mrs. Chiavari?"
"I'd be happier if you were holding me." She slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around him. "Can we sleep in another room?"
With a nod, he pulled the blankets off the bed, swung her into his arms, and carried her down the hall into one of the other bedrooms.
Dumping the blankets on the bed, he sat down and cradled her in his arms.
"You are a most remarkable woman," he said.
"And you, husband, are a most remarkable man."
"I'm glad you still think so."
"I love you." She caressed his cheek. "Nothing will change that."
"Cara..."
"Do you think Edward will be happy being a vampire?"
"That's up to him. Life is what you make it, cara, whether you're a man or a vampyre."
"Are you happy?"
He nodded. Before Marisa, he had merely been content. He had accepted what he was, learned to live with it. He had made the most of the good things, and wasted little energy worrying over the drawbacks.
She cocked her head to one side, her eyes shining with love. "So, do you think I'd be happy as a vampire?"
"Marisa!"
"Do you?"
He stared at her, hardly daring to believe his ears. "You're not serious?"
She nodded. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how seriously she had been considering it, how desperately she wanted to share his life, all of it, how desperately she wanted him to share hers. There was only one way that could ever be possible. "Would you change me if I asked you to?"
"Only if you were certain it was what you wanted." He looked deep into her eyes. How many times had he dreamed of bestowing the Dark Gift on her? A hundred? A thousand? Yet he had never suggested it, certain she would refuse. "Is it what you want?"
"Yes, but not right away. I'd like to spend Easter with my family up at the cabin one more time, maybe go on vacation with Mom and Dad next summer, and spend one more Christmas with Mike and Barbara and the kids."
Grigori nodded. "There's no hurry, cara. We have all the time in the world."
"All the time in the world," she repeated softly. "I like the sound of that."
"Ah, Marisa, you'll never know how much you mean to me. I wish I had words enough to tell you."
She gazed up at him, her lips parting in a sensual smile as she slid her arms around his neck. "You could show me."
And it was his pleasure to do so, not only that night, but every night for centuries to come.