Insatiable (29 page)

She saw that red-eyed gaze flick past her and toward her bedroom door.

She shook her head and, reaching up to grab twin handfuls of his white shirtfront, pulled him down beside her onto the bed.

“You know I can’t go,” Lucien said, still looking toward the bedroom door.

“Yes, you can,” Meena said, shaking her head. She continued to cling to his shirtfront. “Why can’t you?”

His gaze turned back toward her, the red dying down a little, thankfully. “You know why, Meena.”

What was he
talking
about? He couldn’t possibly mean…there wasn’t any way he could—

“I can’t go because I’m in love with you, Meena,” he said in his deep voice. He reached up to curl his hands around hers. “I told you. You have slain the dragon.”

He was
in love
with her? Lucien Antonescu was
in love
with her?

Just a few hours earlier, this news would have made her the happiest girl in the world.

But now…

Now she knew he wasn’t just Lucien Antonescu, professor of Eastern European history.

He was the prince of darkness.

He went on in the same deep, ragged voice, still holding her hands. “But you’re hiding something from me, Meena. And it’s not just a Palatine guard in your living room. I’ve known since the moment I met you. Something that you hide from everyone—”

“
I’m
hiding something?” She knew exactly what he was talking about, of course. But she lied automatically. Because she always did.

“Yes, you,” he said. Now his hands moved to grip her shoulders. “I know. I should never have thought I could deceive you, of all people. But you know I was as honest with you as I could be without…terrifying you. But you…you weren’t honest with me, either. There’s something about you. Ever since we…were together—I…I…”

“You what?” Meena asked. Her heart was thumping. She knew she was taking an enormous risk letting him into her room—let alone into her heart. At any moment, Alaric might come bursting in, bringing Jon running after him. After that, if the worst happened, it would all be her fault….

By letting him into her room, she was essentially doing what he’d just confessed to doing, all those years with his father and brother…committing murder.

What was she
doing
?

“Ever since I left you this morning,” Lucien said, “I’ve had the oddest sensation that I know how almost every human I’ve come into contact with is…is going to die. And not, whatever you might think of me, by my own hands.”

Meena stared up at him. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I’m sure the man in your living room told you some very colorful things about me.” Lucien went on. “A good many of them might even be true. I’ve been what I am for a very long time.” He was obviously choosing his words with care. “But I’ve never, ever experienced anything like this. Not until…well, being with you. Would you care to tell me what, exactly, is going on? I think it has something to do with this secret of
yours. The thing that you’re hiding. What makes it impossible for me to read your mind fully. And what makes you identify so strongly with Joan of Arc, who heard voices. Because that’s what I feel like I’m doing. Hearing voices.”

In the next room, she heard a stereophonic car crash.
The Fast and the Furious
was pounding its way to a metal-crunching crescendo.

“It’s me,” she said. She heaved a tearful sigh.

His grip on her tightened.

Not very gently, either.

“What are you talking about?” he rasped.

“You drank my blood,” she reminded him.

“Not a lot, so it’ll probably go away after your next feeding. This should teach you to be more careful. You are what you eat, you know.”

2:00
A.M
. EST, Saturday, April 17
910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B
New York, New York

L
ucien stared down at her. Her face was a pale, resolute moon beneath his.

How must his own look to her? he wondered. A mask of shock.

“You can tell,” he murmured, trying to make sure he understood her correctly, “how everyone is going to die?”

“Well, not everyone,” Meena said. “Obviously not you. Since you’re already dead.”

He had hold of both her arms, and he didn’t let go or loosen his grip on her. He just kept staring down at her.

“That’s why you have to go,” Meena said in her husky voice. “I know you’re going to kill the guard. The one from the Vatican. And also Jon.”

On the word
Jon,
her voice broke.

Lucien felt as if the roll of thunder that sounded just then had come from somewhere deep within him. He shook his head, trying to shake the truth of her words from his mind, like the tiny rain droplets that were still clinging to the ends of his hair.

“No,” he said. “Meena, I wouldn’t. I haven’t killed a human in centuries, and you have to know, I would
never
kill your brother or anyone you loved.”

Despite the darkness in her bedroom, he saw the tears at the corners of her eyes, shining like diamonds. “Except that you’re going to,” she said simply.

“Meena,” he said. His heart, which for so many years he’d suspected had died within him, along with his soul, was finally coming back to life. “What you see…your visions…they don’t
always
come true. Do they?” He thought of the boy whose keys he’d taken away earlier in the evening.

“No.” Meena lifted a wrist and scrubbed at her streaming eyes. “Not if I warn people. And they do something about it. But you’re a
vampire,
Lucien. You’re not just any vampire. Apparently, you’re the ruler of all vampires, the
prince of darkness
. I’m really supposed to just…trust that you’re not going to do anything to this guy? Or to my brother? Not even in self-defense? Because they both really want to kill you. Alaric Wulf’s got a really big sword, and—”

Lucien released his hold on her shoulders then. But only to pull her close and rest his cheek against her hair.

“Shhh…,” he said. “Then what you saw is just one possible future.”

“Unless something changes,” Meena said, pushing him away.

“And what needs to change is your being here. And you should probably tell Mary Lou and Emil to go, as well. Because the Palatine is onto them, too. And I’m really not trying to be prejudiced against…well, what you are. Because God knows I have my own problems with people thinking I’m this awful person just because I have this sort of…obsession with death. But they do call you the prince of darkness. And that tends to suggest that you’re evil and so not very trustwor—”

“I’m
not
evil,” he ground out. Then he reconsidered. “Well, not anymore.”

“I believe the words
anointer of all that is unholy
were used in reference to you,” Meena said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but to me, that doesn’t suggest anything good.”

“The Palatine are hardly unbiased where I’m concerned,” Lucien said wryly. “But I’ve worked hard since rising to my position to bring
about a new, enlightened age to my people, to protect both their interests and those of humanity.”

“I saw a photo,” Meena said, “of a Palatine guard with half his face eaten off. Alaric”—she nodded her head toward the bedroom wall—

“said it was from a vampire attack.”

Lucien nodded, his shoulders drooping. Alaric. Alaric Wulf.

“Yes. I know of this man. And,” he added, unable to keep his shock that all of this was happening from showing, “his partner. That was the Dracul who attacked them.”

“Was it the…Dracul”—she said the word like it was distasteful to her—“who attacked us outside St. George’s the other night?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Not us, though. Me. They were after me. You were never in any danger.”

Meena let out a small, mirthless laugh. “Well, you weren’t in any danger while I was there,” Lucien said, amending his statement.

“And is it the Dracul who are murdering those girls?” Meena asked.

He looked down at her. How could such a forceful personality be wrapped into such an impossibly small body? “Yes,” he admitted. “I’m fairly certain so.”

“So…the new enlightened age isn’t really working out, is it?” Meena asked.

He had never felt such despair. Why was all of this happening now, when he had finally come so close to grasping a little happiness?

The bargain his father had sealed had achieved immortality for himself and his family.

But what was the point of eternal life if one was destined to spend it alone?

“It’s complicated,” he said. “Blood-lust is strong, especially in the newly turned, so they long to feed…but I won’t allow them to kill. They know there will be repercussions if they disobey. But there are so many more of them now than there used to be. I can’t manage them all. I’ve tried delegating, but…I think my brother is the one behind the rise against me. He’s done it before. He always wanted the throne.”

Meena reached for the towel he’d abandoned, lifting it to wipe his hair and the back of his neck. “Like dialogue writers,” she murmured, gently kissing the places where she’d pressed the towel just seconds before, “always wanting to be head writer.”

He glanced at her in surprise. The touch of her warm mouth against his skin had sent an electric shock through him. He didn’t know how to react. He wasn’t sure if the kiss had meant anything….

Or everything.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, stunned.

Her eyes were wide. She looked as surprised by what she’d just done as he was.

“The fact remains, you’re still going to kill my brother,” she said.

“I’m not,” he insisted, taking her hand and pulling her toward him, then dropping his face into the warm curve where her neck met her collarbone. He was careful not to kiss her there, though. He’d seen the copy of
Dracula
on the floor in one corner of her room, as if flung there with some violence. “Meena, I told you, I love you. I would never—”

“I know you wouldn’t want to,” she whispered into his crisply damp hair. Her voice was unsteady with unshed tears. “But I also know my brother doesn’t know you like I do. And he’s going to try to kill you. He wants to join them.”

“Join who?” Lucien’s mind felt woolly. Was this the result of her nearness or the remnants of her blood still fizzing through his veins?

“The Palatine,” she said.

Lucien barely heard her. Somehow his shirt had come open, and she was kissing his shoulders as if she couldn’t stop herself, her lips soft as flower petals. All he could think about was the smoothness of her skin—like a newly poured Montrachet—and the fact that he could hear her pulse racing in her veins, in
his
veins, an echo of the heartbeat he once used to have.

So he said only, “I don’t think we need to worry about that happening. Any more than we need to worry about my killing Jon.”

While he spoke, he lifted her snowy white nightgown over her head, not entirely certain whether she was even aware of what he was doing.

Now she knelt beside him, fully unclothed, her dark-eyed gaze
searching his face. Even shadowy as the room was, he could see one tip-tilted breast trembling with every throb of her heart.

The wave of desire that slammed into him was stronger than anything he could ever remember feeling in his lifetime. Which had been half a millennium long.

“Meena,” he said. His voice was an open wound, his need was so great. He stretched out a callused hand to capture that quivering breast.

Then, his final reserves of control broken by the feel of her satiny skin under his fingers, he found himself dragging her toward him, marveling at the quick hot litheness of her body, and lowering his mouth over hers, overwhelmed with an urge to consume her…devour her…engulf her.

She let out a small sound—whether of protest or desire, he couldn’t determine—and flung both hands up against his chest.

He reluctantly tore his mouth away from hers and asked, his eyes half lidded, “What is it?”

“No biting,” she whispered. “I really, really mean it this time.”

10:15
A.M
. EST, Saturday, April 17
910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B
New York, New York

J
on looked down at the pancake sizzling away in the skillet in front of him. Perfection. Really.

He was on a roll this morning. A dozen flapjacks, each more golden than the next.

This was going to be a breakfast no one would ever forget.

When he was sure it had cooked all the way through, he added the pancake to the stack on the plate next to the stove, humming a little under his breath.

He knew he probably shouldn’t feel so cheerful, since his sister was going through such a hard time.

But could there be anything cooler about the fact that there was a vampire hunter from the Vatican staying in their apartment?

He looked out of the pass-through to check the dining room table. Oh, yeah. This was good. Table set. OJ poured into glasses. Napkins folded. Place looked like Sarabeth’s for brunch. Only no strollers or yuppies or screaming toddlers.

He wished he could call Weinberg and invite him over to have some of his excellent pancakes. Also tell him what was going on. Vampires, in Manhattan? He’d never believe it.

A secret society of vampire
hunters
?

He, like Jon, would want to join up. No doubt about it. Kick a little undead ass!

On the other hand, Weinberg had shown marked reluctance about joining the NYPD. Maybe he wouldn’t want to join. Maybe he’d just want to stay home and keep watching CNN and complaining about that serial killer that was—

Jon paused, the pitcher of pancake batter still raised in his hand. The serial killer. The serial killer Weinberg was always going on about these days.

Of
course.
It was the same vampire Alaric Wulf was hunting.

Well, not the same one who’d bitten his sister, if Jon understood what was going on—and Jon still wasn’t sure he understood
exactly
what was going on.

But
a
vampire, anyway.

Oh, now he
had
to tell Weinberg.

Jon put down the pancake batter and grabbed the nearest cell phone and started dialing.

“Is that
my
phone?” Meena asked, coming into the kitchen fully dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a little red scarf and matching flats, her short hair curling damply on the back of her neck from her morning shower.

Jon looked down in surprise at the cell phone in his hand.

“Oh,” he said, hitting End Call. “Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, put it back together last night after you went to bed. It works fine. I guess it was just a flesh wound.”

“Give it to me,” Meena said, holding out her hand.

“No way.” Jon cast another glance through the pass-through, into the living room. Wulf wasn’t there, though. He was still in the other bathroom, showering. He’d left Jon in charge, with firm instructions not to allow Meena near any telephones, computers, or exit doors out of the apartment. “You’re still all…infected and stuff.”

“Jon,” Meena said firmly. She looked better in the bright sunshine that streamed through the windows than she had the night before. She had makeup on, for one thing.

And she wasn’t crying anymore. She actually seemed…well,
perky
was the only word Jon could think of to describe her. Even though he knew she hated that word. As usual, Jack Bauer was hanging around at her side, panting.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Meena said. “I’m not going to call him.”

She didn’t have to say who
he
was. They both knew.

The vampire.

“I just want to check my messages,” she said.

Jon hesitated. She really did look a lot better. Maybe she was over the guy.

The truth was, if Jon found out some girl he’d been going out with was a vampire, he’d get over her pretty fast, too.

Unless she was Taylor Mackenzie, of course.

“Well,” he said. He glanced down at the cell phone. It had been vibrating like crazy all morning. Someone was being pretty persistent, trying to get hold of her.

It could have been the vampire, he knew. If it was, he could give Meena the phone, then listen in on their conversation, find out where the guy was, then let Alaric Wulf know and help kill him.

Then for sure he’d get hired by this Palatine group, or whatever they were. He’d have a whole new career! And an awesome one, too.

On the other hand, there was the whole thing where Meena was pretty sure her new boyfriend was going to kill him.

So, that was a bit of a downer.

The phone buzzed in his hand as he was standing there, debating whether or not to give it to her.

“That could be Leisha,” Meena said. “She could be in labor.”

“She’s not due for two months,” he said.

“That’s just the doctor’s opinion,” Meena said. “Not mine.”

“And your medical expertise is widely known,” Jon said.

“Actually,” Meena said, “it is.”

Jon looked down at the phone in his hand. “It says ‘Unknown Number,’” he said.

“Leisha’s probably calling from work,” Meena said.

“On a Saturday,” Jon said.

“She’s a
hairstylist,
” Meena reminded him.

Jon rolled his eyes and handed her the phone. She obviously wasn’t that worried about the prince of darkness killing him. So why should he be?

Meena pressed Accept Call. “Hello?”

“What is going on out here?” a deep voice thundered from the dining room.

Jon threw Meena a desperate look. Now she’d gotten him in trouble. This definitely wasn’t going to look good on his Palatine Guard job application.

“Uh, nothing,” Jon said, coming out of the kitchen with the plate of flapjacks. “It’s just her best friend calling. She’s having a baby. Seriously, dude, I checked. Pancakes?”

Alaric Wulf looked pissed off. His blond hair was still wet from the shower, and he’d left his shirt behind somewhere, showing off a truly impressive set of deltoids and pecs, not to mention some rock-hard abs that redefined the term
six-pack
. In fact, if Jon could have gotten some muscle definition like that, he had no doubt that Taylor Mackenzie would have been eating out of his hand months ago.

On the other hand, the dude had some wicked-looking scars that were making Jon think he might want to reconsider joining him in the vampire slayer thing. Was that a
bite
wound? It looked…well,
gnarly
was the only word Jon could think of to describe it.

Meena, in an act of bravery for which Jon decided he would admire her forever more, held up one finger in Wulf’s direction in the international gesture for
I’ll be with you in just a moment
while she nodded at whoever was calling her.

Apoplectic with anger, veins standing out on his neck and forehead, Alaric Wulf stood there glaring at Meena, completely ignoring Jon. He didn’t even notice the nicely set table or the fact that Jon had made bacon. Real bacon! Not even turkey. He’d had to open the windows to let out some of the stink of the grease.

“Hang…up…the…phone,” Wulf said.

Jon glanced over at Meena, who didn’t even seem to notice Alaric. Her eyebrows were knit, and she was saying into the phone, “Wait, slow down…where exactly are you?”

Alaric Wulf crossed the room in three long strides. Jon thought he was going to rip his sister’s head off.

But all he did was reach for the phone.

Meena, however, darted behind the armchair—moving as fast as Wulf had—and demanded tartly, “Do you mind? I’m on the phone. It’s
important
.”

Alaric Wulf finally glanced in Jon’s direction, obviously looking for an explanation.

“Uh,” Jon said, “yeah. Her best friend’s pregnant, and she thinks …it’s a long story. I swear it has nothing to do with vampires. Look, I made breakfast. Why don’t we sit down and have some before it gets cold? Can I make you a coffee? It’s easy with Meena’s coffeemaker.”

Alaric growled something. Jon couldn’t tell what. He didn’t look happy. He stood where he was, waiting for Meena to finish her call, his arms folded across his broad, scar-strewn chest.

“I understand,” Meena was saying into the phone. “No, you did the right thing. Just stay where you are. We’ll be right there to get you.”

A look of complete disbelief spread over Alaric Wulf’s face. Meena met his gaze and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, I know exactly where you are,” Meena said into the phone. “We’ll find you. I promise. Give us half an hour. Good-bye.”

She hung up.

“We have to go,” she said. “We—”

Before she could get out another word, Wulf exploded. “You were with him last night,” he erupted, pointing an accusing finger in Meena’s direction. “He was here!”

Meena’s jaw dropped. Hers wasn’t the only one. Jon stared at the vampire hunter in astonishment.

“What are you talking about?” Jon asked. “We were here all night. And she never—”

“I’m talking about
this
.”

Wulf strode forward and pulled at the little red scarf Meena had tied around her neck, the one that matched her red flats.

“Ow,” Meena said, looking annoyed. “Choke people much? Really, your boss is okay with your treating people like this?”

Alaric, looking way more annoyed than she did, threw a bearlike arm around her waist to keep her from darting away again. Then, with his free hand, he plucked apart the knot holding the scarf in place.

When the scarf fell away and fluttered to the ground, Jon gaped at the now familiar circular mark he saw on his sister’s long, slender throat.

He would have been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt—considering it was his sister, Meena, who hated vampires—if her cheeks hadn’t been the same color as the scarf at her feet.

“Holy shit, Meena,” Jon heard himself blurting. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You don’t understand,” she said, giving Wulf a kick in the shin with her heel that caused him to release her with an
oof
.

But despite the outward appearance of rebelliousness, there were tears in her enormous brown eyes.

“He’s not evil. He’s as worried about the killings as you guys are,” she insisted to Alaric. “I know what you think he is, but he’s not. He’s not like his father. I think you have the wrong man.”

“How did he even get in here?” Jon asked Wulf, ignoring his sister, because it was obvious she was crazy. “We were watching the door the whole time.”

“The
front
door,” Alaric Wulf said grimly. He hadn’t taken his gaze off Meena once. “We should have been watching the balcony door, too.”

“The balcony door?” Jon’s voice cracked. “We’re eleven stories up. What’d the guy do, fly up?”

Both Meena and Wulf looked at him, Meena sadly, Wulf with sarcasm. Jon, realizing who he was talking about, swallowed.

“Oh,” he said. Then he turned back toward his sister. “I thought you were so worried about him killing us,” he cried. “And you just let him in?”

“She can’t help it,” Wulf said. He turned abruptly, heading back toward the bathroom, apparently in search of his shirt. “She’s his minion. Whether we live or die means nothing to her. As long as
he
stays with her.”

Jon shot his sister an accusing look. “Jesus Christ, Meena,” he said. “You meet one vampire and your deep abiding loathing for monster misogyny goes right out the window, and you turn into one of
those
girls? I thought you hated that kind of girl.”

Stung, Meena sucked in her breath. “I’m not,” she cried. “I’m not one of those girls. I’m not a minion. I still hate vampires. Just not Lucien. Because he isn’t like the others. And I care about both of you! Well,” she added with a withering glance at Alaric’s departing back, “one of you.”

Wulf waved a hand dismissively behind his back as he strode down the hall toward Jon’s bedroom.

“It’s true.” Meena turned her tear-filled eyes toward Jon. “You have to believe me. I’m not a minion. If you’d just leave Lucien alone, there’d be nothing to worry about.”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t know, Meen. Letting the prince of darkness into the apartment, when you said he was going to kill me? And then letting him bite you?
Again?
It’s very minion-like behavior, if you ask me.” He lowered his voice so Alaric couldn’t overhear. “And it doesn’t look very good for me, you know, with this job thing.”

“
Job
thing?” Meena looked bewildered.

“You know,” Jon said. “If I’m going to get a job with the Palatine. I can’t have a sister who’s sleeping with the enemy. You have to cut it out.”

Comprehension dawned. Meena’s expression became sarcastic. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I forgot this whole thing was all about employment opportunities for
you,
Mr. Can’t Keep It in His Pants.”

Jon’s jaw dropped. “
One
time,” he whispered, holding up an index finger. “And I told you, it was the middle of the night! I really had to pee! How was I supposed to know a cop was going to pull up right at that exact second, in front of that exact Subway shop?”

Wulf came back, buttoning his shirt. “How much did you tell him?” he asked.

“Who?” Meena asked, blinking up at him.

Wulf rolled his eyes. “The enemy of the light.”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Meena said. “And stop calling him that. He’s not like that.”

“She told him everything,” Wulf said knowingly to Jon.

Jon raised his eyebrows. “She just said she didn’t—”

“Your neighbors will be moving out.” Wulf finished the last of his buttons. “I hope they didn’t borrow your sugar bowl, because you’re never going to see it again.”

“I don’t know why you won’t listen to me,” Meena said, glaring at him. “Lucien isn’t like other, er, vampires you might know. He’s kind and warmhearted and generous and was horribly abused by his father, who made him what he is. He didn’t have any choice. It’s his brother, Dimitri, you should be going after. Did you know he tried to kill us the other night? Or he sent a colony of bats to do it for him. He wants to destroy Lucien so
he
can be the prince of darkness, or whatever it’s called. And if that happens, the world is
really
going to be in trouble.”