She knew he could be injured. She had seen the scratches inflicted by Alexi. But she'd also seen how rapidly he healed....
She turned off her computer, called for a cab, then gathered her things together and went to tell Mr. Salazar that there was an emergency at home and she had to leave. She had told Grigori, in jest, that her boss was an ogre, but it wasn't entirely true. Salazar might be a tyrant where work was concerned, but he was extremely lenient with his employees.
"Sure, Marisa," he said, "take tomorrow off, too, if you need to. Donna can fill in for you."
"Thank you, Mr. Salazar."
"Sure, sure, no problem. Did you get the Wendall deposition typed up?"
"Yes, it's on my desk, ready to go."
"Good, good. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
"I will, thank you."
The cab was waiting when she left the building. She gave the driver her address, and then climbed into the backseat, fidgeting nervously as the taxi threaded its way through the heavy traffic on the freeway. She watched the sky turn from blue to gray and wished for summer and daylight saving time.
She felt like screaming by the time they reached her apartment. She paid the driver, then ran up the stairs, her eyes widening when she saw the plywood that covered the front window.
Her heart was pounding as she opened the door. "Edward?"
"Yeah?" He stepped out of the kitchen. "I thought I'd make dinner. Hope you don't mind."
"No, I don't mind," Marisa replied. "You'll make some woman a wonderful wife." She dropped her handbag on the sofa, muttering, "What the hell?" when she saw the faint brown stains on the carpet. "Where's Grigori?"
"In the closet in your bedroom."
"What's he doing in the closet?" she asked, the answer occurring to her before she had finished asking the question.
"I don't know if you want to see him."
"Why not?"
"He's pretty badly cut up." Edward shook his head. "He looks like somebody chewed him up and spit him out."
"That's how I feel, too."
Marisa looked up to see Grigori leaning against the doorjamb. She had often heard people say someone looked like death warmed over. In this case, it was the truth. His face was beyond pale, the skin dry and brittle-looking, like scorched paper. His shirt was in shreds, the cloth stained with so much blood she couldn't tell what color the material was supposed to be. The skin on his left cheek had been badly burned.
Nausea roiled in her stomach, making her feel faint. Her first instinct was to turn and run away as fast and as far as her legs could carry her. And he knew it. She read the knowledge in his eyes, dark black eyes filled with anguish, burning with rage and agony that was far deeper than physical pain.
"Come and sit down," Marisa said. She started toward him, one hand outstretched to help him.
"Stay away from me."
His voice slammed into her, halting her in mid-stride. She glanced over at Edward, who was standing near the front door, his crucifix clutched in both hands.
"Ramsey, take Marisa and get out of here."
"You said it wasn't safe for us to be out at night," she reminded him.
"You're not safe here, either."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at him, Marisa," Edward said, coming to stand beside her. "Come on, let's go."
"Are you crazy? He needs help."
"Ramsey, get her out of here! Take her someplace crowded and well lit. The mall. Buy me a change of clothes." He didn't need a new shirt or pants, he had an extensive wardrobe at home, but he needed to get them out of the house. He hoped that the errand would give them something else to think about.
With a nod, Edward reached for Marisa's hand. "Come on, let's go."
"No." She shook off his hand. "He needs help."
"He doesn't need our help," Ramsey said. "He needs blood."
She didn't want to believe it, but the truth was staring her in the face.
"He's right," Grigori said tersely. He clenched his hands; the scent of their blood, her blood, fanning the hunger that was roaring through him, demanding to be fed, demanding that he replace what had been lost so his body could heal itself.
Marisa stared at him, seeing past the wounds that crisscrossed his body, past the pain in his eyes to the hunger growing within him. From somewhere deep inside came the urge to go to him, to offer him the sustenance he needed. The thought appalled her even as it beckoned.
"No." Grigori