Insatiable (33 page)

8:00
P.M
. EST, Saturday, April 17
Shrine of St. Clare
154 Sullivan Street
New York, New York

W
hat?
” Meena cried. The single word ricocheted around the highly polished kitchen like a bullet.

“Hey.” Jon held up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I mean, I think we should be able to decide for ourselves if we want to risk—”

“You want to decide for yourselves? Fine.”

Alaric opened his jacket pocket and pulled out the photo of his partner, the one who was missing half his face, holding it out for all of them to see.

“Remember this?” he asked brutally. “
This
is what’s going to happen to you if you go back to that apartment. Because they’re going to be there waiting for you. And this is probably the
least
they’re going to do to you.”

“What?” Meena cried again, though more softly this time. “But…why?”

“War,” Abraham Holtzman explained. “Alaric thinks we’ve stumbled into the middle of a vampire war. And I’m sorry to say that, given the evidence, I have to agree with him.”

“A…vampire
war
?” Meena looked from one man to the other. She remembered Lucien’s strange reaction to those very words when she’d said them herself on the countess’s balcony a few nights earlier.

“That’s right,” Alaric said. He, unlike his boss, didn’t attempt to soften his tone. There was no sugarcoating anything where Alaric Wulf was concerned. He added matter-of-factly, “And you, Meena Harper, are the flag everybody wants to capture. That’s why you can never go back to your apartment.”

Meena, her knees suddenly turning to water, fumbled her way toward a nearby chair.

“But…,” she said. “War? With who? Between who?” Then she added, “And what about Jack? My dog is in that apartment. What’s going to happen to my dog?”

She knew it made no sense to be worrying about her dog. He was, after all, only a dog.

But he was all she had.

She thought she saw Alaric Wulf fling another glance at the kitchen window. Then he frowned.

What was going on with the windows? Why was everyone so obsessed with windows?

“Wait,” Jon was saying. “Vampire war? Excuse me? What is all this about, exactly? And what does it have to do with my sister?”

Abraham Holtzman explained patiently. “Alaric’s talking about a battle for the throne of the prince of darkness. When Dracula originally made his pact with the dark forces in order to attain life eternal in exchange for his immortal soul, he was anointed as the unholy one, the heir to the Dark Lord, the overseer of all of Satan’s dealings on earth, or the mortal plane. When we dispatched Dracula, that mantle passed to his eldest son, Prince Lucien, your sister’s lover.”

Meena winced at the words
your sister’s lover.

“There
is
reason to believe that Lucien Dracula is a bit of an anomaly in the vampire world,” Abraham went on, flipping to a well-thumbed page of the
Palatine Guard Human Resources Handbook
. “His mother, as you might know, was rumored to be an angelic creature, and some say that might possibly have—”

“Holtzman,” Alaric interrupted. When Abraham looked up, he pointed at the windows. “Speed it up.”

“Oh, right, right,” Abraham said, closing the book, to the relief of everyone. “Well, in any case, Lucien has a half brother—”

“Dimitri,” Meena said faintly. Noticing the curious glance Abraham threw her, she said, through numb lips, “Lucien told me. He doesn’t like his brother very much. Or trust him.”

“Yes, well, with good reason, I would say,” Abraham said, nodding. “Nasty piece of work, Dimitri Antonescu, as I suppose he’s calling himself now. Different mother entirely. Ambitious, grasping woman. And the son’s the same, from what I’ve gathered. Murdered his own wife. Never been happy that the throne went to his elder brother. Never agreed with the way Lucien has been running things since their father died. Wants to take over the whole operation himself….”

Jon blinked. “You think
Dimitri’s
the one who—”

“Sent Stefan Dominic to try to capture your sister to use her to convince Lucien to give up the throne, or at least do something stupid so Dimitri could trap and kill him and then take over the throne? Yes,” Alaric said succinctly. “That’s exactly what he’s saying.”

“He probably found out somehow that his brother was, er, seeing you, Miss Harper,” Abraham said. Meena appreciated the chivalrous delicacy with which he put it. “And that you had some connection with Yalena—”

“I gave her my business card,” Meena murmured, still feeling dazed by the discovery that sleeping with Lucien Antonescu had caused her to lose her beloved dog, her apartment, and probably, since the Dracul seemed to know everything else about her, her job….

Her entire life, basically.

But what about Lucien? Where was he? Did he know about any of this? Was he safe? If only they’d let her call him!

“Yes, yes, of course,” Abraham was saying, excited. “They probably found her card in Yalena’s things and later made the connection. Goodness. They get smarter all the time, don’t they, Alaric?”

“They can read minds,” Meena said, feeling sick to her stomach. “When I saw Stefan at work yesterday…I didn’t recognize him from the picture Yalena showed me on her cell, but I knew…
something
. He must have sensed it…and my connection to Lucien….”

She groaned and dropped her face into her hands. All of this was her fault. Her own fault, for being so stupid.

“Oh, well, there you go,” Abraham said almost cheerfully. “That explains everything. So he must have gone to Dimitri—”

Jon interrupted. “I rode down in the elevator with that Stefan guy and his agent, or whatever he was. His name was Dimitri.”

There was stunned silence for a few seconds after this. Then Alaric said slowly, “You took an elevator ride with one of the most depraved vampires in the history of time. Dimitri Antonescu—or Dracula—is widely known to be second only to his father in cruelty, perversion, and all-around moral debauchery. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Now it was Jon’s turn to sink down into one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit,” he said, his face having gone as pale as his shirt.

Meena couldn’t blame him. She knew exactly how he felt.

Although not when he asked, “What about our stuff? Up in the apartment? What are we supposed to do about that, apply for FEMA aid? I doubt they’re going to believe us when we say we lost a whole apartment to a bunch of warring vampires.”

“Jon!” Meena cried, appalled.

“Well,” Jon said, blinking at her, “we’re about to lose everything we own, for Christ’s sake. Think about your new tote bag. That thing was worth a couple grand, at least.”

At Jon’s mention of the tote bag Lucien had given her, Meena felt something erupt within her.

“This is ridiculous,” she cried, leaping to her feet, though her knees were shaking. She found that she was mainly yelling at Alaric, who leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms folded across his broad chest, staring at her, his already small mouth shrunk to the size of a grape. “You
have
to let me go home!” This wasn’t about a tote bag, of course. She didn’t care anymore about the tote bag. This was about so much more. “Or at least let me call Lucien. He can stop this. He really can.”

“But we don’t want to stop it,” Alaric said simply.

“
What?
” This was the craziest thing Meena had heard all day. “Why not?”

“It’s Palatine policy,” Abraham Holtzman explained earnestly, “to let warring vampire clans wipe each other out. So long as civilians are protected.”

It took a moment for the full significance of this statement to sink in…but when it did, it was like a fist to the face.

So they expected her just to let Lucien be attacked by his brother and the Dracul? For her not to lift a finger to try to warn him or help?

Of course they did. They didn’t care about him. Or think of him as anything but what he was:

The prince of darkness.

“So if Lucien,” she said faintly, “goes to the apartment, looking for me…”

“That’s exactly what they’re hoping he’ll do,” Alaric said. “He’s who they’ll be there waiting for.”

Tears filled her eyes. Alaric didn’t lower his gaze from hers.

“Oh, that’s just great,” Meena said. Her voice was shaking as badly as her knees now. “Let the vampires wipe themselves out. But obviously no one cares what happens to my dog!”

It was as she said the word
dog
that a projectile burst through the kitchen windows, shattering glass everywhere.

Something heavy and hard hit Meena in the midsection, sending her flying to the floor. She realized belatedly that it was Alaric Wulf. He’d tackled her almost the same way only the night before.

But this time it wasn’t to keep her from running away from him. It was to shield her from the flames of the Molotov cocktail that had burst against the wall.

“Are you all right?” he lifted his head to ask her, his face just inches from hers.

The impact of his body weight slamming her into the floor had completely winded her. She knew she’d be sore tomorrow, but she was otherwise unharmed. She nodded, then gasped, “Jon?”

“I’m all right!”

Peeking around Alaric’s broad shoulder, she saw an arm waving out from beneath the kitchen table.

“I’m good,” Jon cried. “But there’s glass everywhere. And the wall is on fire.”

“Everyone take cover!” Abraham had rushed to fill a pitcher at the kitchen sink to douse the flames. “Stay away from the windows. It’s starting.”

The swinging door burst open, and a man in a clerical collar called, “Is everyone all right? We thought we heard—oh, dear.”

“Yes, yes,” Abraham said. “They seem to have followed Alaric from uptown, as we feared. We need to go make sure Father Joseph has closed the chapel for the night. Evening prayer’s going to have to be canceled. We can’t have any civilians on the property. I suggested they put signs up saying there’s been a small flood from a broken water pipe. Jon, go see how Father Bernard is doing making stakes out of last year’s manger—”

“On it.” Jon wiggled out from beneath the table just as Alaric lifted himself off Meena and offered a hand to help pull her up from the floor.

She took it, casting a quick glance over her shoulder at the smoldering kitchen wall as she followed Alaric out into the hallway. Nuns and friars—St. Clare’s was staffed by Franciscan friars and Poor Clare sisters, the rectory behind the church with the convent just next door to it—were scrambling to get to their battle stations. Meena had never seen so many crucifixes in her life.

“Alaric,” she said breathlessly, trotting after him. “
Please
just let me call Lucien. I have to talk to him right now. He’ll stop them. He’s their prince. They’ll listen to him.”

Alaric let out a grim chuckle, apparently at Meena’s naïveté. “Haven’t you been listening? No, they won’t. Not if they’ve launched an all-out rebellion against him. Which, trust me, they have. In fact, now that I think about it, that’s what the bodies of those dead girls were probably all about in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“Bait,” Alaric said enigmatically.

Meena shook her head. Really, he was so frustrating sometimes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Yalena said something about bankers—”

“Bankers?” Alaric kept striding through the rectory, dodging nuns with crossbows.

“Alaric,” Meena said, shaking her head. “Where are you
going
?” This question was seconded by an all-too-familiar voice behind them.

“Wulf!” Abraham Holtzman yelled. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Alaric froze, causing Meena to ram into him.

Slowly, he turned in the hallway to face his boss, who was leaning out of a doorway.

“I’m going,” Alaric said with deliberation, “to get the dog.”

“Dog?” Meena turned her head sharply to look up at him. “But—”

Abraham Holtzman cut her off, annoyed. “You can’t be serious, Wulf. We’re in the middle of a battle zone here. We need you! Besides, it’s a fool’s mission. You’ll be walking into a trap.”

“I’m used to that,” Alaric said. “And you have more trained fighters here than you need. Sister Gertrude could kill a Dracul with her eyes closed. Father Bernard took out a half dozen after last year’s Christmas pageant with the angel off the top of the tree.”

“That’s not the point, Wulf,” Abraham hissed, lowering his voice when one of the novices tittered upon overhearing this. “Don’t go playing the hero just to impress the girl.”

Meena, realizing she was the girl he was referring to, wanted to point out how badly Abraham was misjudging the situation. Alaric Wulf hated her.

“You’ll only end up getting yourself killed.” Abraham went on. “And we actually need you
here,
in case you didn’t notice.”

“I’ll be back with the dog in less than an hour,” was all Alaric said, and then he disappeared through yet another swinging door.

“Stubborn fool.” Abraham rolled his eyes and disappeared through his own doorway.

Meena, looking from one doorway to the other, realized belatedly that she’d made an even bigger mess than the gasoline bomb had. How did she keep doing this?

She was after Alaric like a shot.

“Wait,” she called.

He was in the rectory’s foyer, buckling on his scabbard. He didn’t appear, from the look he threw out at her from underneath the hunk of blond hair that had once again fallen over those blue eyes of his, excited to see her. She didn’t blame him.

“What do you want?” he asked.

She suddenly felt aware of his size, which was enormous. His hands, his feet…all of him was big, just huge. When he came into a room, he didn’t just come into it, he lumbered, he banged, he
swaggered
into it.

She couldn’t count how many times she’d wished over the past twenty-four hours that he had never showed up at her door.

And yet now that he’d saved her life—twice—she couldn’t find the words to express how glad she was that he had. And she was supposed to be a dialogue writer.