land. Tall trees shaded the front and back, providing added privacy.
Starting at the basement, he walked through the house again, memorizing the location of every door and window between the cellar and the attic. As old as the place was, it was sound from top to bottom, save for the roof. It suited him perfectly.
Thirty days, the realtor had said. Grigori smiled faintly. As far as he was concerned, it was already his. The fact that there was no phone, no lights, and no running water mattered not at all. He had no need of those things.
He would take possession of the house that night.
Marisa glanced at the clock as she went to answer the door, wondering who would come calling so late. It was almost eleven.
"Who is it?"
"Grigori."
She rested her forehead against the door and closed her eyes. She hadn't seen him in over a week, and though she had missed him, she was relieved that he was out of her life. No matter how attractive she had found him, he was a vampire. Relationships with normal men were hard enough; she didn't need the added baggage of dating the undead.
With a sigh, she opened the door. "It's late."
"I know." He held out a bouquet of roses. "May I come in?"
"It's late," she said again. "I was just going to bed."
"Marisa..."
She looked up at him, not wanting to hear the loneliness in his voice, not wanting to remember the kisses they had shared, or the night she had held him in her arms.
"Please, Grigori - "
He thrust the flowers at her. A dozen perfect white roses, and in their center, like a drop of blood, a single red bloom.
"They're lovely," she said.
"As are you."
She recalled that he had said those very same words to her that night they had walked in the park together. She ran her fingertip over one of the rose petals. "What do you want?"
"To see you, nothing more."
"No." She shook her head. "I told you, I don't want to see you again."
She felt the anger that stirred within him. She remembered a line from a Star Wars movie, something about it not being wise to upset a Wookie. Obviously, the same warning applied to vampires.
"I told you once," Grigori said, his voice as hard as tempered steel, "I would never take you against your will."
"And I told you to stop reading my mind!"
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm afraid I've become accustomed to having my own way."
She looked into his eyes, those deep, dark eyes, and in the back of her mind she heard Edward's voice warning her that Grigori could read her mind, that he could make her do whatever he wished. They have no morals, Edward had said, no qualms about taking whatever they want. Grigori could hypnotize her with a look, she thought. Perhaps he was doing it now.
She drew her gaze from him. "I think you'd better go."
"As you wish." His gaze caressed her, warming her skin. "Good night, Marisa."
"Good night."
She closed the door, and then leaned back against it, her nostrils filling with the scent of roses.
In the distance, she heard the melancholy wail of a wolf.
The dreams started that night - sultry, erotic dreams that made her toss and turn so that she woke drenched in perspiration; dreams that lingered in her mind long after she awoke; dreams that left her feeling as though she had done something wicked in her sleep. Dreams that made her angry because she knew he was sending them to her, knew it was his way of telling her that if she would not see him during her waking hours, she would see him when she was at her most vulnerable.
Even if she could forget the dreams - and there was no chance of that - he found another way to keep in touch. The day after the dreams began, he started sending her flowers at work. Always roses. White ones, red ones, pink ones, until her office looked like a florist shop.
He sent flowers to her house. Dozens and dozens of long-stemmed bloodred roses.
He sent her heart-shaped boxes of chocolates.
And more flowers.
Linda and the other girls at the office began to tease her about her new boyfriend, demanding to know his name and when they were going to meet him.
She was glad when Thanksgiving came. The office closed Thursday and Friday, giving her a long weekend. She intended to spend it finishing up her Christmas