the back of the building. His sense of the other vampyre was stronger here. Rage rose up within him, bringing with it the fear that he might be too late.
The sense of evil grew stronger still as he neared the back of the building. He saw a shadow separate itself from the darkness, heard the faint sound of mocking laughter, and then the specter vanished from his sight.
With a wordless cry of frustration, Grigori gave chase. He followed the vampyre down dark alleys and over rooftops, never able to catch more than a glimpse of his quarry. He chased him for hours, never able to get close enough to catch him, though he often heard the mocking sound of his laughter. Anger and frustration burned within him as he realized Alexi was toying with him.
Refusing to give up, he continued to chase Kristov until the dawn threatened to steal the darkness from the sky.
Cursing softly, he turned back, heading for his resting place lest the sun find him.
Marisa felt foolish in the morning, and more than a little irritated that the blouse she had planned to wear to work that day was still in the washing machine.
Muttering about being a foolish, over-imaginative idiot, she ran down to the laundry room and tossed her clothes in the dryer.
Returning to her apartment, she ate breakfast, combed her hair, and brushed her teeth, then went down to the laundry room to take her clothes from the dryer. She folded what was necessary, leaving the rest in a heap on the bed. Dressing quickly, she grabbed her keys and drove to work.
In spite of herself, she found herself thinking of Grigori, wondering whether he would have called if she had thought to give him her number, or if she had read more into their brief encounter than was there.
The day passed quickly. Mr. Salazar was handling a high-profile case, and that always meant a ton of paperwork. Today, she had been glad of it, glad she had been too busy to give much thought to a man with dark hair and sinfully black eyes.
It was late when she finally left work. She had just unlocked her car door when she saw Grigori striding toward her. She frowned, wondering what he was doing downtown and, more specifically, what he was doing in the parking structure of her building. He wore a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, snug black jeans, black boots.
He looked tall and dark and dangerous, and she felt ridiculously happy to see him.
"Good evening," he murmured.
"Hi. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
"Oh."
"I wondered if I might impose upon you for a ride in exchange for dinner."
"I suppose that could be arranged," Marisa replied. Slipping behind the wheel, she reached over and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."
He settled into the seat, arms folded across his chest. His presence seemed to fill her small car. Once again, she was aware of the power that radiated from him like heat off a stove.
She started the car and drove toward the exit. "What were you doing downtown?"
"Taking care of some business." The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. He was here because she was here. "It is a remarkable city. So many big buildings, so much concrete and glass. So many people wandering around with no purpose in life..."
"I know," Marisa said. She glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. "There are an awful lot of homeless people living on the streets. It's so sad."
"Yes. It makes me yearn for my old home," Grigori murmured.
"Where's that?"
"Italy."
"Were you born there?"
"Yes. It is a beautiful country." Sadness flickered in the depths of his eyes. "I've not been there for many years."
"Where do you live now? I mean, when you're not working. I guess you must do a lot of traveling."
"Yes. I have a small villa in Naples, and an apartment in Paris. When I'm... on the road, I stay in hotels."
"That can't be much fun. I think I'd like the traveling part, but living out of a suitcase must get old fast."
"It does, indeed. Where would you like to eat?"
"You don't have to take me out," Marisa said.
"It would be my pleasure."
"Well..." She considered for a moment. She knew a wonderful little restaurant uptown, but somehow the thought of sitting beside Grigori at a small table in a dark, intimate cafe was too unsettling. "How about the North Woods Inn?"
"Whatever you wish."
"Have you ever eaten there?"
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "No."
"It's one