Alaric felt a twinge of disappointment. Meena Harper had done nothing but surprise him, from her resistance-no victim had ever put up as much of a physical fight as she had-to the discovery about her psychic ability.
It would have been nice if she’d proved to be unpredictable in this way as well. But he knew what she was about to say. He’d heard it hundreds of times before.
That was the problem with vampires…and why they needed to be universally eradicated. They worked their way under the skin of even the most sensible, intelligent people and turned them into junkies just as surely as black tar heroin did.
“I know,” Alaric said flatly. “You love him. You can’t live without him. But you see, I can cure that. If you just tell me where he is, I’ll kill him, and then-”
“No,” Meena said, interrupting him. “That wasn’t what I was talking about. Do you ever stop to listen to people? Or do you just go rushing in waving that big sword of yours and ask questions later? He’s going to kill you. And my brother, too. You know I can’t let that happen, Alaric.”
It was the first time she’d said his name. He didn’t know why, but the sound of his name on her lips did something strange to the hair on the back of his neck.
Or maybe that was just the lightning over the Hudson River.
“I can’t be responsible for what happens to your brother,” Alaric said, fighting for calm. And not just because he was starting to realize his attraction to her was more than just physical. “Anyway…from what I understand, he’s been collecting unemployment for some time. You should be happy he’s showing some initiative-”
“Because he wants kill vampires?” Meena’s voice rose above a far-off rumble of thunder. “All I wanted was for him to get a job and maybe install some drywall in the baby’s room in Leisha’s apartment. I never wanted him to get himself killed going after the undead!”
“Well, you should have thought about that before you had your little one-night stand with Lucien Dracula,” Alaric said, folding his arms. Down below, the owner of the car had finally turned off the alarm. They were low enough that traffic sounds could still be heard, but they were faint. He thought she must be chilled in her slip, but she showed no signs of it, even though she’d abandoned the blanket from the couch. Her temper was keeping her warm, he supposed.
And her blushing cheeks. She didn’t like him referring to her tryst with Antonescu as a one-night stand.
“But since you didn’t,” he went on brutally, “you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. One of which is me. And I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where the prince of darkness is. It’s your choice, really. Him. Or me.”
She just glared at him. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and strode, barefoot, from the balcony back into the bedroom.
Her decision was pretty obvious.
It was, Alaric realized, going to be a long night.
Chapter Forty
12:00 A.M. EST, Saturday, April 17
The Box
189 Chrystie Street
New York, New York
It was easy for Lucien to find his brother, Dimitri.
He was the prince of darkness, after all. He could find anyone he wanted.
Except, of course, whoever was killing girls and dumping their bodies in parks all around Manhattan. The person-or people-doing that seemed to want to keep it a secret from him, for an obvious reason…
They valued their lives.
His brother was said to be entertaining another group of financial analysts at a burlesque club downtown. Lucien did not frequent such places-frankly, if he wanted to see a woman disrobe in front of him, he didn’t have to pay for the privilege.
This particular club was more crowded than any he’d ever seen, and not just with men. There were women there, as well-all ages-waiting for the show to begin, most without seats. The club was standing-room only. Tables were said to be going for a “bottle fee” of a thousand dollars.
That meant patrons would be seated at a table only if they purchased a bottle of champagne or vodka…for a thousand dollars.
It was absurd.
But it was how the club made its money.
Lucien didn’t have time to stop to listen to the grousing of the crowd, though. He was making his way through it and up the stairs to the red plush velvet box seats where his brother was sitting with the investment bankers with whom he was palling around for whatever reason.
Still, it was hard to keep the buzzing out of his head. Not the buzzing of the conversations around him, either, but the buzzing he’d felt ever since he’d left Meena’s side that morning and that seemed to occur now whenever he was around humans.
It was the strangest sensation. He couldn’t really equate it with anything he’d ever felt before. It was like having a tiny bee inside his brain. The sensation faded whenever there wasn’t anyone living around.
But as soon as anyone with a heartbeat was nearby, the vibration started up again.
It wasn’t just buzzing, either. He knew things. Just by looking into the faces of the people he brushed past. Like the waitress holding the tray of empty glasses, wiggling by him in her black satin bustier and lace garter belt. She needed to be careful on this narrow staircase in her precariously high platform heels, or she was going to trip and fall and break her neck.
This wasn’t something he could tell by reading her mind. It was just something he knew, simply by looking into her heavily made-up eyes.
“Watch your step,” he said to her as she sidled past him on the stairs.
“Thanks,” she said, grinning up at him suggestively with her red lacquered lips. “I’d rather watch yours, though.”
And not just her. The boy shouting into his cell phone at the top of the stairs, too.
“You’re not going to believe this place,” he was telling a friend on the other end of the phone. “One of the women onstage smokes! Not with her mouth, either, with her-”
“Son,” Lucien said to him.
“Dude.” The boy turned to him. “I’m not your son. And I don’t know where the bathroom is…” His voice trailed off as he looked into Lucien’s eyes. He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” Lucien said, holding out his hand. “Give me your car keys.”
The boy, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen-he’d obviously used a fake ID to enter the club-reached a trembling hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a set of car keys. He placed them in Lucien’s outstretched palm.
Lucien placed the keys in his coat pocket.
“Take a cab home,” he said to the boy, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you’ve had a few too many drinks to drive home safely.”
“But…” The boy looked after him as Lucien moved away, toward the deep-red velvet curtains that closed off the box seats from the standing area on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the stage. “I came in from Long Island City.”
“Take the train,” Lucien said with a wink. “You’ll thank me one day.”
He found Dimitri in a dark private box with six or seven business-suited corporate types, all lounging on couches and sumptuously decorative pillows around a drink-laden table. There were no women to be seen. They, Lucien knew, would be appearing on the stage below, in various states of undress, doing things with miscellaneous props that would have surprised even his father, who was raised by fifteenth-century Turks.
“Lucien!” Dimitri cried upon spying him. “What a surprise! Gentlemen, meet my brother, Lucien. Lucien, these are some friends of mine from TransCarta.”
Lucien flicked a glance downward at the men beneath him, all of whom were middle-aged, running ever-so-slightly to fat due to sitting too long in front of a computer all day, and all of whom were going to die…
…within the week.