own. Alexi's. The air was thick with the warm, sweet scent of it. Hunger rose up within Grigori like a bright crimson flame, blinding him to everything but the awful need that overshadowed everything else. He felt Alexi's fingernails tear at his throat again, slashing through his flesh, severing his jugular, and he fell back, his strength gushing out of him in a dark red torrent.
A shrill scream filled the air as Antoinette lunged toward Alexi. Grigori sat up in time to see her drive a fat wooden stake into Alexi's back. With a roar of pain and rage, Alexi whirled around to face her.
With a feral growl, Antoinette hurled herself at Alexi. All trace of humanity was gone from her eyes as she flung herself at the creature who had killed her children. Her arms and legs curled around him, holding on with iron tenacity.
Alexi reeled backward, his eyes blazing with pain, the wooden stake protruding from his back. He tried to shake her off, but somehow she managed to hold on. Her fangs sank deep into his neck. Her nails gouged his cheeks, his eyes....
Grigori watched, helpless, as Antoinette and Alexi struggled. Even though Alexi was bleeding, even though she had driven a stake into his body, her strength, that of a newly made vampyre, was as nothing compared to Kristov's. A low growl rumbled in Alexi's chest as he sank his teeth into her jugular.
"No!" Gathering what little strength he had left, Grigori gained his feet and grabbed Alexi's arm, but the vampyre shook him off. Grigori stumbled backward, his head striking the edge of the stairs. He felt the skin split, felt a rush of hot blood flow down his neck.
"It's not over, Chiavari," Alexi declared, and clutching Antoinette's limp body in one arm, he vanished into the night.
Grigori tried to stand up, but he had no strength left. Blood soaked his clothing, the ground beneath him. He glanced at the sky, judging the time, and knew he had to find a place to hide before the sun found him.
On his hands and knees, he dragged himself up the stairs and across the damp ground, searching for shelter.
Chapter Nineteen
"Edward, we've got to go back."
"Not now," he said firmly. "Not until the sun's up. Way up."
Marisa flinched as Edward washed the dried blood from the numerous scrapes on her arms and legs and face.
They had taken shelter in a small roadside chapel they had stumbled on in their flight. Edward dipped his handkerchief into the font of holy water again. She had objected at first, but he had waved away her protests, insisting that it would protect her from infection, and vampires.
Edward sat back on his heels. "Did Alexi... did he drink from you, or make you drink from him?"
"No." She rubbed her wrists, which were still sore from being bound. She looked down at her dress, which was torn and stained with blood. "I need a change of clothes."
"I don't know where you'll find any. Hell, I don't even know where we are."
"Edward, watch your language."
"What? Oh, sorry." He glanced around. The chapel was small. Built of dark wood and stone, it stood in the center of a small copse of trees. A statue of a sad-faced Madonna stood beside a rough-hewn altar. A single stained-glass window was set in the east wall. A large wooden crucifix hung below the window. It made him feel safe, protected.
"We can't just stay here," Marisa said.
"Oh, yes, we can," Edward said. He sat down with his back against the altar. "I've hunted vampires most of my life," he mused. "I've never met one as strong as Alexi. I wonder just how old he is."
"You don't think he's killed Grigori, do you?"
"I don't know. I hope not. I'd hate to have to spend the rest of my life in eighteenth-century Italy."
"Oh, Lord." She had forgotten, for the moment, that they were in the past.
"Yeah." He glanced at the stained-glass window, smiled when he saw the colors brighten and come to life as the sun rose behind the glass. Dust motes danced in reflected ribbons of red and gold and green light. "Let's go."
Marisa took off her heels, then peeled off her ruined nylons, glad that she wasn't wearing panty hose. Edward took her shoes and placed them in the pockets of his jacket.
Outside, the morning was bright and clear, the air fresh and clean. A faint breeze stirred the leaves.
Marisa's trepidation increased with every step she took. What would they