their smiles, heard the sound of their youthful voices calling, "Papa, Papa," and his heart, long dead within him, ached with renewed pain and grief.
"Chiavari, you okay?"
He swallowed the lump in his throat as he turned to face Ramsey. "Fine."
"So, where do we start?"
Grigori took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scents of home - garlic and olive oil and oregano, the smell of sheep and goats and manure, the fresh, clean scent of the earth itself.
"Let's go inside," he said. "Maybe we can tell if he's been here tonight."
The house was as he remembered it: four small rooms sparsely filled with furniture, most of which he had made with his own hands.
He walked into the bedroom he had once shared with Antoinette. There was no sign of Alexi.
Turning on his heel, he left the room and went outside. The wine cellar was located behind the house. Lifting the wooden door, he descended the stairs. The cellar reeked of dust and stale air, of cork and grapes and old wine.
Of Alexi.
The vampyre had been there. He could see the outline of Kristov's resting place in the dirt. Grigori grunted softly. Alexi was an old-world vampyre, one who took his rest within a coffin.
But the coffin was gone. And so was Kristov.
"Find anything?" Ramsey asked when Grigori returned to the house.
"He's been here, but he's gone. I doubt he'll be back."
"He must have known we were coming."
Grigori glanced at Antoinette, who was standing in the middle of the parlor, her expression blank. How pretty she was, dressed in a red blouse and white ruffled skirt. Red. It had always been her favorite color.
"So how do we find him?"
Grigori glanced at Ramsey. "He will find us."
"I don't think I like the sound of that."
"You didn't have to come."
"Yes, I did. I just wish I knew what he was up to."
"He's playing the same game as before."
"Hide-and-seek, you mean."
"Something like that."
"So what do we do now?"
"We wait," Grigori replied. "Wait for him to come to us."
Chapter Seventeen
Marisa blinked against the light. She felt disoriented, confused. And then she heard the sound of laughter. Soft laughter, tinged with evil. It was a voice she recognized.
"You'll get used to it," Alexi said. He moved into her field of vision, his arms crossed over his chest, his malevolent gray eyes regarding her with amusement.
"What happened?" She glanced around. "Where are we?"
"Italy."
"Italy! That's impossible."
"For me, my sweet Marisa, nothing is impossible."
She looked around the room again. There was a small four-drawer chest of drawers, a commode with a porcelain pitcher and bowl, the narrow bed she occupied. She could tell by the faded outline on the wallpaper that there had once been a crucifix above the door.
She sat up, hugging herself against the chill in the room. "Is this your house?"
"It is now."
Something in the tone of his voice told her that he had killed the former owner.
She cringed as he moved toward her, flinched as his hand stroked her cheek.
"Such a pretty creature," he murmured, "but then, Grigori always did have good taste in women. Good taste." He laughed as his fingers closed around her neck, tilting her head back to expose the pulse in her throat.
Terror rose up in Marisa as she stared into Alexi's eyes. "Don't," she said with a gasp. "Please don't."
"Just a taste," he promised.
"No! I don't want to be like Antoinette. Please!"
"Antoinette... I loved her, you know." He made a vague gesture with his free hand. "Loved her as much as I was able."
"Is that why you killed her children and turned her into a mindless zombie? Because you loved her?"
"I asked her to leave him, to come away with me, but she refused." His gaze grew hot. "I fear I have a rather bad temper." His hand tightened around her throat until she could hardly breathe. "You would be wise to remember that."
She tried to speak, but couldn't, could only stare at him as he lowered his head. His eyes were changing, the pupils growing larger, changing color, until his eyes were red and glowing. His lips parted, and she saw his fangs.
"No!" She screamed the word as she felt his breath sear her skin. This can't be happening! She clawed at the hand locked around her throat, raked her nails down his cheek, screamed in helpless terror as she felt his fangs pierce her flesh.
Darkness rose up in her mind, a writhing miasma of evil and death.
And then, abruptly, he let her go. Reeling backward, he glared