the evening other than to curl up on the sofa to watch an old Gary Grant flick. "That would be fine."
"What time would be convenient for you?"
Marisa shrugged. "Is seven too early?"
"No."
His gaze moved over her, wrapping around her like a fine, silken web. "Until tomorrow evening, cara mia."
"You speak Italian?"
"Si. And Russian and French. And even a little Greek."
"I've always wanted to learn to speak a foreign language."
"Perhaps I shall teach you."
"I think I'd like that."
"As would I. Buono notte, cara."
His voice moved over her, sending little shivers down her spine.
"Good night, Grigori."
He bowed, then turned and walked away, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and bereft.
Chapter Three
Alexi Kristov lifted his head and sniffed the wind. Chiavari was here, in the city.
He glanced up at the apartment where the woman lived. No one was home, but he knew Grigori had been here, in this very place, not long ago.
The other was in the city, too.
Kristov grinned wolfishly. All the players in one place, he mused.
And only one of them would leave the city alive.
Chapter Four
"You see," Grigori said, "there's nothing frightening about walking through the park in the evening."
Dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and black jeans, he looked like a part of the night he loved, Marisa thought, dark and mysterious and a little dangerous.
"Well, I must admit, it doesn't seem scary when you're with me."
Grigori smiled down at her, pleased that she felt safe in his presence, wondering what she would think if she knew she had never been in more danger in her life.
"I find walking in the evening soothing," he remarked.
"Maybe," Marisa replied, "but I still like the daytime better. Everything looks gray at night. I miss the colors of daytime."
Grigori shrugged. "Life is less harsh in the hours of the night. Flaws are less clearly defined. Ugliness can be hidden in the shadows."
"Well, I guess that's true. But things are also scarier at night, don't you think?"
"Perhaps." He paused, turning the full force of his gaze upon her. "What is it that frightens you, Marisa?"
His voice was as rich as chocolate, as dark and mysterious as the shadows that surrounded them.
"I don't know. The usual things, I guess. Spiders and snakes. Being alone in a strange place." She grinned. "Vampires."
She expected him to laugh, but he didn't.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like, to be a vampyre?"
"Well, not seriously. Why, have you?"
"Once, a long time ago."
"Well, vampires are only fiction. I'm more afraid of the unknown than the unreal."
The unknown... She looked up at Grigori. He was certainly unknown. She laughed selfconsciously, glad that the darkness hid the blush she could feel heating her cheeks.
"You have nothing to fear from me, Marisa. I will let nothing harm you while I am here."
"You say that like you're expecting someone to come along and try to murder me or something."
"Or something," he murmured softly.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He reached for her hand. His skin was smooth and surprisingly cool. She could feel the strength of his long fingers as they wrapped around her hand. It made her feel like a teenager again, walking hand in hand in the park with her latest boyfriend, her insides churning with excitement as she waited to see if he would kiss her.
They walked along a twisting concrete path. Stone benches were placed at intervals along the way. There was a bridle path along the outer edge of the park. A variety of trees grew at irregular intervals. Several narrow wooden bridges spanned the shallow stream that cut through the center of the park.
The moon was bright overhead, shining on the water so that it looked like a ribbon of silver stretching between the grassy banks. The stars winked down at her, as if they knew a secret.
"Come," he said, "let us walk down by the water."
They left the path and made their way across the damp grass. They stood at the edge of the stream, listening to the whisper of the water as it tumbled over the stones of the riverbed, always moving, always changing in its quest for the sea.
"It is pretty here at night," Marisa remarked.
"As are you."
Just three words, yet she felt her heart turn over in her chest. "Thank you."
"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen," he went on. "Your skin is smooth and unblemished, your hair like a waterfall of chestnut silk."
Marisa looked away, her cheeks growing warm with pleasure at his flattery. She could feel him standing close beside her, so close their thighs were