Insatiable (32 page)

7:00
P.M
. EST, Saturday, April 17
Shrine of St. Clare
154 Sullivan Street
New York, New York

M
eena sat at the gleaming kitchen table across from Yalena, watching her as she lifted the mug of steaming cocoa to her lips with fingers that still shook hours after her rescue. Meena wasn’t sure Yalena would ever stop shaking after everything she had been through.

“More hot milk for your cocoa, dear?” Sister Gertrude asked her, hovering nearby with a pitcher.

Yalena didn’t respond. It wasn’t clear if she didn’t understand what the nun was saying or if she was deaf from all the blows she’d received at the hands of her captors.

Or maybe she was just in shock from everything that had happened.

Meena didn’t blame her.
She
was still in a little bit of shock from the way Alaric had leapt across all those tables, single-handedly subdued Stefan, then assured all the stunned lunch patrons at Shenanigans that Stefan was a meth head and that Alaric was an undercover cop who was putting him under arrest.

Meena was pretty sure if she’d been sitting there, eating Sticky Wings at Shenanigans, she’d never have believed it.

But everyone—even the waitstaff and manager, who’d offered all
the customers free Onion Bricks for their inconvenience—seemed fine with it.

It wasn’t until they’d started down Shenanigans’ back staircase to grab a cab to St. Clare’s—where, Alaric had insisted, they’d get help for Yalena and “the rest of this straightened out”—that they’d discovered two more “vamps” (as Alaric called them) waiting in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

They’d fled upon seeing Alaric holding Stefan at sword-point, tearing through the restaurant’s kitchens and out a back door to a Town Car waiting in a darkened alley. The car, its windows tinted almost black, took off with a squeal of brakes…or so Jon, who’d chased after the vampires, reported. Apparently they’d been expecting only Meena, Yalena, and of course Stefan…not Meena, Yalena, Stefan, Meena’s brother, and a hulking demon hunter from the Palatine Guard.

First Meena’s boyfriend. Then her next-door neighbors. Now one of the actors on the show on which she worked.

Was
everyone
she knew going to turn out to be a vampire?

Meena had known Stefan Dominic looked familiar. She just hadn’t been able to place him back at the studio. But why had Stefan—who’d turned out to be
Gerald,
of all people—tried to kidnap her?

Alaric was in another part of St. Clare’s, applying holy water to different parts of Stefan Dominic’s body, trying to discover the answer to that very question.

From where she sat, in the rectory kitchen, Meena could barely hear the vampire’s screams.

“There you go,” Sister Gertrude said soothingly, pouring more milk into Yalena’s mug, even though the girl hadn’t indicated she wanted more. Then the nun bent down to straighten the downy comforter she’d draped around Yalena’s shoulders. “Nice and hot. Good for the body. Good for the soul.”

Yalena didn’t know how lucky she was to still
have
a soul.

Or maybe she did. Meena wasn’t sure what the girl knew.

One thing
Meena
knew:

The way Alaric had saved Meena—and Yalena—at Shenanigans had softened her attitude toward him. There was something to be said for someone who would leap over several restaurant tables to wrap his
bare hand around the throat of a vampire who was trying to kidnap you.

“Does this happen often?” she asked Abraham Holtzman, pointing in the direction from which the faint sounds of Stefan Dominic’s screams could be heard. Abraham had introduced himself to Meena and Jon as Alaric Wulf’s boss. He was currently pacing nervously up and down the kitchen, occasionally bumping into Sister Gertrude and saying,
Oh, I beg your pardon, Sister
.

“Good heavens, no,” he said, coming to a halt in the middle of his path across the kitchen. He looked horrified. “We don’t condone this sort of thing under normal circumstances. Alaric has his own methods, of course, and, well, though I can’t say I actually
approve
of them, they have been shown over time to have surprising effectiveness—”

Meena held up a hand to stop him. “Say no more,” she said drily. “I get the picture.”

It did bother her a little, however, that her brother had volunteered so cavalierly to “help” Alaric, and several of the Franciscan friars who lived in the rectory, torture Stefan.

“Miss Harper,” Abraham Holtzman said, looking slightly disturbed, “I can tell by your tone that you may not be particularly fond of Guardsman Wulf—and, by extension, the Palatine—which, for a woman in your current circumstances, is perfectly understandable.”

Meena felt herself blushing. She was aware that Alaric had told his boss what her “current circumstances” were—that she was sleeping with the prince of darkness—and she was thoroughly mortified. That this total stranger (who was old enough to be her father) knew the most intimate details of her life was
not
okay.

Did Sister Gertrude know, too? Meena darted a nervous look in the older woman’s direction, but she was serenely trying to get Yalena to eat a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie from the batch she’d just pulled from the oven. (Meena had been shoveling Sister Gertrude’s cookies into her mouth nonstop since the nun had led them back into the rectory’s kitchen from the cab they’d all come tumbling out of—Alaric had kept Stefan Dominic smothered under his own black leather trench coat in order to protect him from the sun, and at sword-point, the entire ride downtown…much to the bemusement of their cabbie.)

Abraham Holtzman went on. “Whatever impression Guardsman Wulf might have given you, and I don’t doubt it’s been a colorful one, you should know that he’s one of our most highly skilled officers. He garners more kills every year than the average guard accumulates in an entire career. That he manages to do so with zero loss of civilian life is a truly unheard-of accomplishment in our line of work.” Abraham looked thoughtful. “He has a grating personal manner. I’ll give you that. But considering his background, it’s only to be expected.”

Meena raised her eyebrows. “His background?” she asked.

“Well, the fact that he’s…” Abraham looked uncomfortably at Sister Gertrude and Yalena and whispered, “A
bastard
.”

Meena had to suppress a smile.

“In America we call that being raised by a single mom,” she whispered back. “And it’s actually not that big a deal. It happens to a lot of people.”

“Oh, but he wasn’t,” Abraham said. “His mother was a drug addict who abandoned him. He grew up on the streets until he was put into a youth home, which is where the Palatine found him. Now what is this about you being some kind of psychic?” Abraham asked, before Meena had time to get over her surprise at hearing this about a man who seemed to go about life with such a chip on his shoulder. “This is very unlikely, isn’t it? Perhaps Alaric misunderstood. He often does. His people skills leave much to be desired…understandably.”

Meena bristled. What was up with men who worked for the Palatine Guard? Were they
all
completely arrogant?

“Yes,” she said. “That’s right. He misunderstood.”

“I thought so.” Abraham looked out the rectory windows and then at his watch. “The sun is starting to set. Sister, I think we’d better move Miss Yalena to a room without windows.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sister Gertrude said. She laid gentle hands on Yalena’s shoulders. “Come along, dear.”

“Wait,” Meena said as Yalena rose—like an obedient child—and allowed the nun to begin steering her from the room. “I don’t understand. A room without windows? What do you think is going to happen when the sun sets?”

“Well,” Abraham said, looking a bit uncomfortable, “I think it’s
very likely that after darkness falls, the Dracul will come here looking for you, Miss Harper.”

“
Me?
” Meena blurted. She stared at him. “What would the Dracul want with
me
?”

“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” Abraham said with the same sort of eagerness any other type of academic might show. He just happened to be an expert on demonology. “But there’s a reason that vampire downstairs went to such elaborate lengths to stage an abduction of you during daylight hours. Very risky. He could easily have been fried alive. Someone wants you, Miss Harper, very much. Whether it’s the dark lord or someone else…”

Meena opened her mouth to say that it was ridiculous to suggest that
Lucien
was behind the kidnapping attempt on her. True, she did remember exacting a promise from him, right before falling asleep in his arms at dawn, that he would go away and never come back…otherwise he was going to kill her brother and Alaric.

But kidnap her against her will so that they could be together? Never. Lucien loved her, and she him. He would
never
have sent anyone to do such a thing to her. He’d have kidnapped her himself.

Wait. No, he wouldn’t.

Would he?

Abraham Holtzman, however, didn’t give her the chance to say a word.

“The best thing we can do right now is batten down the hatches, as they say, and prepare for a long night. You and I can defend ourselves, of course, but this young lady here…” He sent a compassionate glance in Yalena’s direction; she still stood in the doorway, Sister Gertrude’s arm around her. “Well, she’s best off safely tucked in bed, I think.”

Sister Gertrude nodded, not seeming at all ruffled at the suggestion that her church might come under vampire attack now that it was getting dark out.

“I’ll put some garlic on her door, for good measure,” the nun said with a hearty nod.

“Excellent idea,” Abraham Holtzman said. “The oldies are still the goodies.”

“And I’ve got my Beretta semiautomatic,” Sister Gertrude added
cheerfully, patting her habit, “right here with the silver bullets. That ought to take out a few of those dirtbags.”

Meena’s eyes widened. No wonder she had such a bad feeling about all this.

These people were completely nuts.

Yalena surprised everyone by opening her mouth and trying to speak. “I—” Her blue-eyed gaze was fixed on Meena. Yalena stood in the doorway, wrapped in the absurdly huge comforter, with the stout little nun’s arm around her.

“I—sorry,” Yalena finally managed to say, a tear escaping from one swollen eyelid and trickling slowly down her bruised cheek. “I not want to call you, Meena. I not want to g-get you in trouble like I in trouble. But he find the card you give me. Right away, he find it. And today, for some reason, they make me call you. They say they do to me what they do to…the other girls if I don’t. I so sorry!”

She flung both her trembling hands over her face and burst into sobs. Sister Gertrude tsk-tsked with her tongue and hugged Yalena’s slight form fiercely to her bosom.

“There, there, dear,” Sister Gertrude said. “They’re nasty, nasty creatures. You mustn’t blame yourself. You didn’t know.”

“I not know,” Yalena sobbed into Sister Gertrude’s habit. “I not know!”

Meena got up from the kitchen table and went to lay a hand on Yalena’s slender back, her heart twisting for the girl.

“It’s all right, Yalena,” she said. “It was good that you called me. I told you to, remember? I said I’d help you, and I did.” Well, technically, Alaric had. But she was the one who’d brought Alaric and his sword arm along. “But,” Meena added, “I need to know…what other girls?”

Yalena lifted her bruised, tear-stained face from Sister Gertrude’s shoulder and said, sniffling, “For the bankers. Gerald, he not a manager for actresses.” Yalena looked infinitely sad. “He only wants girls to feed to the bankers.”

“To
feed
to the bankers?” Meena shook her head, completely confused…and horrified. “Yalena, what are you talking about?”

“The bankers,” Yalena said. Her eyes were wide with terror. “That they make into the vampires.”

7:30
P.M
. EST, Saturday, April 17
Shrine of St. Clare
154 Sullivan Street
New York, New York

O
h, my God,” Meena said after Sister Gertrude had taken Yalena—sobbing too incoherently to get any more sense out of her—off to bed.

“What?” Abraham Holtzman looked down at her distractedly. “Oh, right. Sister Gertrude. Yes, she’s quite an amazing woman. St. Clare, who was a contemporary of St. Francis of Assisi, founded her own order just for women, the Poor Clares. Oh—and this might be of particular interest to you, Miss Harper—St. Clare is also the patron saint of television, due to the fact that she—”

“Please,” Meena said, trying not to sound impolite. “I didn’t mean Sister Gertrude. I meant….”

Before Meena had a chance to go on, heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside the kitchen. Then the swinging door burst open to reveal Alaric Wulf, a swathe of his blond hair falling over one eye.

“Is…is he dead?” Meena asked hesitantly. She was torn between hoping they’d killed Stefan, who’d done such terrible things to Yalena, and being horrified at herself for wishing anyone dead, even a vampire.

“Just taking a break,” Alaric said. He stalked straight to the rectory’s industrial-sized fridge. “I’m thirsty.”

Meena stared at him as he reached for the milk, then straightened and began chugging the contents directly from the bottle, without bothering to pour it into a glass first.

Well, she supposed killing vampires
was
his job, after all. It wasn’t any wonder he treated it somewhat…cavalierly.

And now that his boss had explained about his childhood, Meena thought she understood Alaric Wulf’s lack of interpersonal skills and manners as well.

“What did he say?” Abraham Holtzman asked his fellow guardsman eagerly. “Did he talk, Wulf?”

Alaric’s small mouth twisted with bitter humor. “That’s a good one, Holtzman. You’re filled with jocularity tonight, I see.”

“Listen,” Meena said, glancing back and forth between the two men. “I, uh, really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Honestly, I do. But if it’s all the same to you, I’m tired after a really exhausting day, and I’d really like to go now. Plus”—her eyes flashed with defiance, even though Alaric was only regarding her mildly over the milk bottle, not challenging her in any way—“and I know what you’re going to say to this, so I don’t even know why I’m bothering, but here goes: I really think if I could just
talk
to Lucien, on the phone, we could clear a lot of this up. Just let me call him. Some of the stuff Yalena said…I don’t think he knows about it. And…well…” She added the last part in a rush: “Jack Bauer needs to be walked.”

Still holding the milk in one hand, Alaric’s glance shifted toward the windows and the growing darkness beyond them. Meena could think of only one way to describe his expression as she mentioned her dog:

He looked as if someone had kicked him in the gut.

To her surprise, he didn’t mention anything about what she’d said concerning Lucien. He only murmured, as if speaking to himself, his gaze shifting away from the darkening windows, “The dog. I forgot about the dog.”

“What?” Meena looked from Alaric to the windows to Abraham Holtzman, who’d also gone pale. She didn’t need to be psychic to know that the tension in the room had gone up about ten notches.

“What do you mean, you forgot about the dog?” she asked. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

Before either man could respond, the swinging door to the kitchen burst open again, and her brother came in. He, however, didn’t possess anything like Alaric Wulf’s swagger. He was shuffling like an old man, his shoulders slumped, his expression dazed. He seemed to look straight through Meena. In fact, she wasn’t sure he was even aware of her presence until he mumbled, when he came alongside her, “Meen…you should have been there. It…it was unreal.”

That’s when she realized he meant what had been going on in the rectory basement…from which she hadn’t heard any screaming in a while, which was why she’d asked if Stefan was dead.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” she said firmly. She didn’t approve of torture—not even of a vampire who’d mercilessly beaten a young girl, then forced her to call Meena to set up a fake meeting so he could attempt to kidnap her.

Killing that vampire outright? That, Meena wasn’t sure she had a problem with…especially since the entire cab ride down to St. Clare’s, Stefan Dominic had done nothing but hiss invective at her from beneath Alaric’s leather trench, calling her the devil’s whore and any number of other equally vile names, even though Alaric Wulf had threatened to lift the coat and let him fry to death in the sunlight streaming through the cab’s windows.

But then…there was always a chance that, with rehabilitation—and maybe even Shoshona’s love—Stefan Dominic might be able to change his evil ways. Why not?

Lucien had.

And
he
was the prince of darkness, supposedly the most evil of all the demons against whom the Palatine Guard was sworn to do battle.

So if they killed him, they’d be killing any chance at helping Stefan Dominic to become a better, kinder vampire…like Lucien.

“Are you going to kill him?” she asked nervously.

“I wish I could,” Alaric said, looking wistful.

“Of course not, Miss Harper.” Abraham Holtzman pulled a manual from the pocket of his corduroy jacket and began to thumb through
it. “According to the
Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook,
” he said when he came to the page he wanted, “it is unethical to kill any demonic entity while he is our prisoner and helpless under our power. He will, of course, be tried by a Palatine officer for his crimes and properly executed if found guilty.”

Meena looked over at Alaric. “Then I don’t get exactly what you people do all day. I thought you hunted down demons and killed them. You never mentioned anything about a trial.”

“Oh, there’s always a trial,” Alaric assured her, pausing with the milk bottle halfway to his lips. “I find demons very trying. That’s why I always kill them whenever I find them.”

Meena glanced at Abraham Holtzman, who explained quickly, “In the heat of battle, if a demon tries to kill one of our hunters, of course it’s permissible for them to defend themselves.”

“Well, did either of you find out what’s going on?” she asked Alaric and Jon impatiently. She didn’t want a lecture from the
Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook
. And she could tell from Alaric’s pained expression that he wasn’t enjoying it much, either.

“He didn’t say
anything,
” Jon said. “And we poured that holy water on his—”

“I said don’t want to know,” Meena said, giving him her outstretched palm.
Stop
.

Jon didn’t pay any attention, however. “They have these super healing powers, you know? It’s really amazing, Meen. As soon as you do anything to them, they heal right back up, as long as you don’t stake them in the heart or cut off their heads. They barely even feel it. Except for maybe a few seconds. So you don’t need to worry about it. Stefan Dominic’s face will be fine in time for filming. Right, Alaric?”

Alaric shrugged his heavy shoulders, clearly not wanting to be a part of this conversation, and turned his attention back to his milk bottle and a Pious League calendar on the rectory kitchen wall.

Jon continued. “Although you might want to warn Fran and Stan that they’ve hired a
real
vampire.” He seemed to have recovered enough from whatever had gone on downstairs to give a sarcastic laugh. “Taylor might have a problem getting all up-close-and-personal with a walk
ing corpse. But what do I know? I’m just an unemployed systems analyst—”

“What,” Meena interrupted, “did you mean when you said you forgot about my dog, Alaric?”

Alaric took his time turning away from the wall calendar and opening the refrigerator to put the half-drunk milk bottle back where he’d found it. She noticed that he was careful not to glance in Meena’s direction.

“Tell her, Holtzman,” he said after he’d straightened.

Meena felt something cold trickle down her back. She didn’t like Alaric Wulf’s tone. She couldn’t describe it, but she didn’t like it.

“Now, Alaric,” Abraham said. “Let’s not jump to rash conclusions.”

Alaric’s voice lashed like a whip. “When the facts are staring us in the face?”

“It’s too soon,” Abraham said, “to be sure of anything without proper—”

“Why,” Alaric demanded, “would vampires attack Meena Harper?”

Only then did his gaze shift toward her—and when it did, she was struck, once again, by how piercing and bright blue his pupils were…the color of the sky. The color of the ocean.

The color of a blue flame.

The cold trickle of fear Meena had felt down her spine turned to a gush.

“She should be the safest woman in all of this city,” Alaric said. “She’s the chosen one. The lover of the prince of darkness. No one should dare to lay a finger on her, to touch her, for fear of his wrath. What happened today should never have happened in a million years. And yet…it did happen. I’ve gone over and over it in my head. Why? And I think there is only one answer.”

Abraham Holtzman made a sound. It was a whimper of protest.

Both Meena and Jon whipped their heads around to look at him.

He’d lowered the
Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook
to stare at Alaric.

“No, Wulf,” Abraham said. “It isn’t possible.”

“Isn’t it?” Alaric asked. “What other explanation is there, then?”

“The obvious one,” Abraham said. “If it wasn’t the prince himself, then a few of the Dracul have gone rogue. It happens, you know, from time to time. Like when you and Martin were attacked in that warehouse—”

“Then why is he so afraid to tell us?” Alaric demanded sharply.

Meena jumped at the curtness of his tone.

Whatever it was they were talking about, Alaric believed in what he was saying.

And he believed in it passionately enough that he wanted to disabuse his boss of any other notion he might be harboring.

“If he isn’t answering to a higher authority, why was he so afraid to open his mouth and give us the name of whoever told him to put that gun in Meena’s back?” Alaric thundered, his voice so loud, Meena almost imagined the pots hanging above the stove had tinkled slightly. “Tell me that, Holtzman. I used everything I had on that boy down there, and I got nothing. Nothing! It’s happening, Holtzman. You might as well admit it.”

Meena glanced quickly at Abraham to see how he took this news. He looked ashen faced.

The chill of fear along her spine went glacial.

“Oh, dear,” the older man said. “I suppose…I suppose in that case, I’d better call the office.”

“What are you both
talking
about?” Meena demanded. The glacier creeping up her spine had turned into a polar ice cap. “And what does any of this have to do with my going back to my apartment to walk my dog?”

Alaric blinked at her as if only just realizing she was still standing there.

“You?” he said. “You’re never going back to that apartment again.”