Insatiable

said the word interference .

A second later, a layer of the trash, dirt, gravel, and broken glass lining the alley floor

just in front of Lucien began to rise into the air, then swirl more and more rapidly together

until it was a towering, violently destructive tornado headed straight at him.

Lucien threw an arm up to guard his face from the debris.

That was when Dimitri found himself thrown back against the side of a Dumpster, as if

an unseen wind had lifted him and blown him there. His fall was broken by some empty liquor

boxes someone had flattened and stacked before the Dumpster for recycling. Otherwise, he

would have slammed against the steel receptacle with as much force as if he’d been shot from

a nail gun.

As he lay there, stunned, the vortex Dimitri had created died as abruptly as he’d

crumbled, all the pieces of glass and trash falling back to the alley floor.

Lucien strolled up to where his brother lay, pausing on his way to carefully stamp out the

cigar Dimitri had dropped, then lift it and deposit it in the Dumpster behind him.

Lucien was furious…but even when furious, he was still conscientious about litter.

“I have no idea what kind of game you’re playing here, Dimitri,” Lucien said, leaning an

elbow on the side of the Dumpster and speaking down to his brother in a voice that was almost

eerie in its calmness after the violence that had erupted just seconds before. “Nightclubs filled

with investment bankers and drug-addicted young women. That’s your business, and I agreed

long ago I’d stay out of Dracul business, so long as there weren’t any human deaths from loss

of blood. But now…it’s not the Palatine you need to fear…it’s me.”

Dimitri, slumped against the side of the Dumpster like a piece of garbage waiting to be

picked up, winced up at his brother.

“I know that,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve always known that. You

didn’t have to hit me so hard, you know.”

“These dead girls,” Lucien said, ignoring his brother. “What do you know about them?”

“I told you,” Dimitri said. “I don’t know anything about them.”

A stainless steel countertop that lay abandoned to one side of the Dumpster suddenly

rose several feet into the air and dangled threateningly above Dimitri’s head.

“Wait,” Dimitri cried, throwing an arm over his face to protect his handsome features

from destruction. “All right, all right. Yes, I’ve heard talk—”

Lucien let the countertop fall harmlessly to one side. The clatter it made was deafeningly

loud, and the two men could hear rats squeak and scurry away. Dimitri, still seated in the muck

on the alley floor, made a face.

“But you can’t think I know who’s doing it, Lucien,” he said. “Obviously if I did, I’d put

a stop to it. I don’t even know why you’d think it’s one of us. It’s clearly some sick pervert.”

“Who drinks human blood,” Lucien said calmly.

“Well, lots of people do,” Dimitri said. “It’s quite stylish to be a vampire these days. Or

act like one, anyway.”

Lucien studied his younger brother. He would have liked to have believed Dimitri was as

innocent as he claimed.

But Lucien had made the mistake of believing in his brother’s innocence in times past.

And it had nearly cost him his life.

He wouldn’t make that same mistake again, especially when it might now involve

human lives.

“If I find out you know anything about these murders,” Lucien said, “and you didn’t tell

me or do anything to stop the killer—or happen to be behind the killings yourself—I will

destroy you, and everything and everyone you care about, Dimitri. Do you understand?”

Dimitri, trying to struggle to his feet and out of the garbage and slime, said, “Brother!

We’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot again. I’m sorry about that little

misunderstanding back there. Can’t we—”

But Lucien wasn’t done. He placed a hand on his half brother’s shoulder and shoved him

back down into the muck from which he’d just been attempting to climb.

Then Lucien leaned over him and whispered into his ear, “No. We can’t. You know the

agreement. Everyone can drink. But no one can—”

“For the love of God, Lucien!” Dimitri cried. “Do you think I don’t know, after all these

years? No one may kill a human, no matter how much he might thirst. To do so will bring

swift and absolute retribution from the prince. The Dracul have lived under your orders for

more than a century. Do you think we might have somehow forgotten them?”

“Yes,” Lucien said grimly. “Because you have before. And you will again.”

It was right then that the back door to the club opened and Reginald and his partner

appeared.

“Mr. Dimitri?” Reginald asked in some alarm, seeing his boss lying on the alley floor.

Lucien straightened.

“Give him a hand, will you, Reginald?” Lucien asked over his shoulder as he turned to

stride swiftly past him and into the dark night. “Mr. Dimitri is going to need all the help he can

get.”

Chapter Twenty-one

7:00 P.M . EST, Thursday, April 15

St. George’s Cathedral

180 East Seventy-eighth Street

New York, New York

M eena stared at the cathedral. In the fading daylight, it looked beautiful, with its twin

spires straining toward the spring sky and elegant stained glass, even if some of the windows

were broken in places. Who would throw rocks at a church window, anyway?

Sure, it was surrounded with the familiar blue plywood that always went up around a

building in Manhattan when construction was taking place.

But the plywood was nowhere near high enough to hide the large and lovely cathedral

behind it.

A cathedral that, just two nights before, had been the scene of an inexplicable, brutal

attack.

Or had it?

Meena stood with Jack Bauer on his leash at the bottom of the cathedral steps, exactly

where they had been the night before last when the bats had come swooping down out of

nowhere.

At first she’d been worried that Jack wouldn’t want to go anywhere near the church

because of what had happened last time they’d been there.

But he showed no sign of any reluctance, trotting right up and lifting a leg on a parked

car in front of it.

He obviously didn’t harbor any ill memories of the incident.

But though at first her own had been a bit fuzzy, she remembered it all now, as clearly as

if it had just happened a few minutes, and not nearly forty-eight hours, ago. There was the

place on the sidewalk where she’d crouched, her heart in her throat, for so long while the bats

had flung themselves over and over at Lucien’s face and body, trying—she’d been certain at

the time—to rip him apart.

Except that he’d been fine, his face without a mark on it.

And true, there were no actual drops of blood or anything like that on the ground to

show that there’d been any attack at all.

But she recognized the crack in the pavement; how could she forget it? Her face had

been almost right up against it as Lucien had lain across her, keeping her safe.

It was strange, Meena thought as she stood gazing up at the church spires, wondering if

the bats were in there now and when they might awaken—and attack—again. She didn’t get a

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