dead. Or undead.
She knew it was true, yet standing in her kitchen in the bright light of day, it seemed preposterous. Vampires roaming the streets of Los Angeles.
She wiped her hands, then went into the bedroom and changed her clothes. She had to get out of the house. She needed to be surrounded by people. Needed to be out in the sunshine.
Grabbing her handbag and her keys, she left her apartment. The late-afternoon sun felt delicious on her skin, and she stood on the landing for a moment, basking in its warmth.
"Afternoon, Miss Richards."
She peered over the balcony to see her landlord watering the lawn. "Hi, Mr. Abbott."
"Pretty day," he remarked, glancing at the sky. "Thought it might rain this morning."
Marisa walked down the stairs and went to stand beside him, careful not to get her shoes wet. "Hard to believe it's November already."
Abbott nodded. "Be Christmas soon. Where does the time go?"
"I don't know."
"So, where you headed this fine day?"
"Nowhere in particular. I think I might do a little shopping."
Abbott nodded again. "Christmas seems to come earlier every year."
"Ain't it the truth. Talk to you later."
"So long."
The mall was crowded. Marisa felt her spirits lift as she joined the holiday throng. Christmas music came over the speakers; the stores were decorated with the usual Santas and reindeer and snowmen. She bought a lavender pantsuit for her mother, a gray sweater and a couple of conservative ties for her father, a Cross pen and pencil set for her boss. It was dark when she left the mall.
She was singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" when she climbed the stairs to her apartment.
The words died in her throat when she saw Edward Ramsey waiting for her at her door.
"Good evening, Miss Richards."
"Hello, Mr. Ramsey. Is something wrong?" He lifted one brow as he regarded the gaily wrapped presents bulging from several shopping bags. She read the silent condemnation in his eyes. A murderer was stalking the city, and she had been out shopping as if it were a day like any other.
"Is it possible you haven't heard the latest news?" A shiver ran down Marisa's spine. "Not another one?"
He nodded, his expression somber. "They found another body less than an hour ago."
"Another woman?"
"A teenage girl."
"That's twelve in little more than a week."
Ramsey nodded. His eyes, usually so mild, blazed with impotent fury. "I can't believe it's all Alexi's doing."
"What do you mean?"
"Do I have to spell it out for you, Miss Richards?"
She stared at him, remembering her nightmare. Whether she liked it or not, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Grigori was a vampire. And like Alexi, he needed blood to survive.
"You don't think Alexi is the only one involved in the killings." She felt suddenly, utterly weary. "You think Grigori's responsible for some of them, don't you?" Unlocking the door, she entered her apartment. "Come on in." She dropped her shopping bags on the floor and went into the kitchen.
Ramsey closed and locked the door, then followed her into the room. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, watching while she filled the coffeemaker with water.
"Twelve deaths in a week is a lot," Ramsey remarked. "Even for a fiend like Kristov."
"Is it? I wouldn't know."
"I would."
Marisa went into the living room and sat down on the sofa. She had been alone in her apartment with Grigori for the last two nights. Alone with a man who was really a monster in spite of his handsome facade.
She practically jumped out of her skin when the doorbell rang.
"Are you expecting Chiavari?" Ramsey asked.
"No."
"Wait here. I'll get it."
"All right." She clasped her hands to still their trembling, her whole body tensing with trepidation as she heard Grigori's voice.
And then he was there, looming over her. As always, his presence seemed to fill the room. It took all the courage she possessed to meet his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice sharp. "Has Ramsey been filling your head with more nonsense?"
"I don't know. Has he?"
"Do you think I'm responsible for the killings in the city?"
"Are you?" She stared up at him. What was she doing, saying?
Ramsey sat in the chair across from her, but his nearness offered little comfort. She lifted a hand to her chest, felt the solid shape of the cross beneath her sweater. If Grigori attacked her, did she have enough faith to believe the cross would protect her?
"Would you believe me if I said I was innocent?"
"I don't know."
Grigori looked at Ramsey. "Do