Insatiable

Alaric would have discharged himself if they hadn’t told him there was some kind of

infection raging through his veins, requiring him to receive IV antibiotics. Which he wasn’t

even sure he believed. He’d always been extremely healthy. How could he have gotten an

infection?

“Perhaps because you nearly bled to death from a severed artery in a building collapse

and Miss Harper had to use her bare hands and a tourniquet made from a scarf and a stick in

order to stop the bleeding and save your life?” Abraham Holtzman had suggested when Alaric

had posed this question to him.

But Holtzman was only cranky, Alaric knew, because he’d lost most of his eyebrows and

suffered burns on 10 percent of the rest of his body thanks to Lucien Antonescu’s parting

shot—which had killed most of the Dracul and singed Sister Gertrude’s habit straight off.

How Alaric wished he’d been there to see that.

Not that he got any particular kick out of seeing naked nuns.

But he’d have enjoyed witnessing all of them trying to flee down into the secret

catacombs that existed beneath all the Catholic churches in the city before the fire department

descended onto the place with their hoses.

“It’s your fault,” Holtzman had said, chiding him, the first time he’d come to visit Alaric

in his hospital room. “If you’d just followed through like you were supposed to and gone after

the beast instead of the girl, we’d have had him. But no. You had to go see if Meena Harper

was hurt. And so because of you, the prince of darkness got away. You’re never going to live

this one down, Wulf.”

There weren’t enough painkillers in the world to make a post-assignment berating from

Abraham Holtzman bearable. The fact that Alaric wasn’t on any because he didn’t like how

fuzzy they made his head feel made this even worse.

“So I was just supposed to let her lie there?” he’d demanded. “With a possible

concussion, or worse? She’d just gotten thrown across the room by a dragon!”

“Lucien Dracula was never going to hurt that girl.” Holtzman obviously wasn’t feeling

too swell himself. He’d lost the first layer of skin on his hands and face. He looked incredibly

comical without his eyebrows.

But of course, Alaric couldn’t say anything about that. Though he did plan on taking a

couple of cell phone photos of it, just as soon as he got the chance, and sending them to

Martin, for laughs.

“You knew that,” Holtzman said. “You ran after her instead of doing your job, because

you’re sweet on her. I have grave reservations about Miss Harper and this idea of yours of

hiring her to work for us. I think it will only lead to disaster. Especially since Lucien Dracula is

still at large and obviously in love with her himself.”

“I’m not sweet on her.” Alaric had never in his life heard anything so ridiculous. But a

part of him wondered, Is it that obvious? “But if you can’t see the advantages of having

someone who—”

“Oh, I see the advantages.” Holtzman took out his handkerchief and dabbed at a spot

where one of his burns was oozing. Alaric looked away. Although he didn’t suppose he looked

much better himself. How he hated hospitals! “And, unfortunately, so do our superiors, since

they’ve already put through the appropriate paperwork to start a special task unit here in

Manhattan, with myself in charge.” He added glumly, “They want you on it as well.”

Alaric, surprised, tried not to show how happy this information made him. Except for the

part about Holtzman being in charge, of course.

“I, of course, informed them that Miss Harper isn’t the only one about whom I have

grave reservations .” Holtzman folded his handkerchief and put it away, fixing Alaric with an

eagle-eyed stare. “I saw your behavior in the field last week, and I found it far from acceptable.

If you want to be part of this new unit, you’ll first have to take that mandatory two weeks’

psychological R and R you never took after Berlin.” Looking down at Alaric’s leg, Holtzman

grunted, then added, “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do that in any case. But you’re getting

counseling as well. Agreed?”

Alaric frowned. He could think of nothing worse than having to sit in the office of some

talking head, discussing his feelings.

But if it meant seeing more of Meena Harper….

“Fine,” Alaric said from between gritted teeth.

“Excellent. That’s what I like to hear. You really shouldn’t be so resistant to these

policies, Alaric, they’re in place for your benefit. Though this doesn’t mean, of course, that I’m

not going to be watching how you conduct yourself around Miss Harper closely. Although,”

Holtzman added, “she hasn’t said yet whether or not she’s going to take the job.”

Alaric nearly bolted from the bed in surprise, even though he was practically attached to

it by a complicated assortment of wires. “ What? ” he burst out. “Why the hell not? Didn’t you

offer her—”

“Oh, calm down,” Holtzman said sourly. “We offered her a completely adequate

package.”

“Adequate?” Alaric wanted to throw something. But the only thing near enough was the

television remote. He’d thrown that so many times already, the nurses had threatened not to

bring it back if he threw it once more. “She’s—”

“She’s a psychic, ” Abraham reminded him. “It’s not like she’d be out there risking her

life in the field. The package we offered was reflective of that. It includes full benefits and is

actually very generous, if you ask me. I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t take it, especially

in this job market. Who wouldn’t want to come work for the Palatine?”

“Someone,” Alaric said, a little bitterly, from his hospital bed, “who’s in love with the

prince of darkness.”

Now, just remembering the conversation with Holtzman, he wanted to throw something

all over again.

At least until Meena Harper herself surprised him by walking into his hospital room.

And him wearing a hospital gown. This was just perfect.

“Hello,” she said. Her left arm was in an air cast from elbow to wrist. In her right hand,

she carried a vase filled with daisies.

Alaric had never given much thought to flowers before. In fact, he’d always thought

flowers were stupid.

Until now. Now daisies were his favorite.

“Hello,” he said.

Except for the air cast, Meena Harper looked good. He would have gone so far as to say

that Meena Harper looked great. The bite mark on her neck was almost completely faded. She

had on some new clothes—well, of course. Because the last time he’d seen her, she’d been

covered in blood.

His blood.

She was wearing a dress. It was short and black, and a little tight in the chest.

He liked it very much.

She put the daisies on the windowsill. It was raining outside, and the flowers brightened

up the room a little.

Which was a miracle. He hadn’t thought anything could brighten up that hospital room.

But now he knew. Daisies could. Daisies, and Meena Harper.

“I was just here visiting my friend Leisha,” she said, sitting down in the pink vinyl chair

by his bed. Pink! Vinyl. The chair was a disaster. Except when Meena Harper sat down in it

while wearing the short black dress. Because then he could see a lot of her bare legs. So,