Insatiable

arrival in New York, that, of course, was a moot point. The damage was done. Clearly, his

enemies already knew where he was: an attempt had been made on his life. The information

had simply traveled.

Much in the way Lucien expected that news of how he’d treated his own brother would

get around. He didn’t regret this. He counted on it. If everyone heard Dimitri had picked a

battle with him and Lucien had won, they’d be even less inclined to stage a second attack of

the sort that had occurred the other night, which he’d clearly survived.

The prince of darkness was in town and indomitable as ever.

But a dinner party? With humans?

The idea made Lucien smile.

“Your wife,” he said to Emil, “is a bold woman.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Emil said with a queasy smile. “But, honestly, my lord, if

you wish to go back to the penthouse—”

“It’s all right, Emil,” Lucien said soothingly. Sometimes he thought Emil would selfimplode, he was wound so tightly. “I’m assuming you have some decent wines to serve.”

Emil brightened considerably. “Of course, my lord,” he said. “Some lovely amarones I

purchased just for you. Come, let me open them.”

Emil followed Lucien to his library, where he opened a fine Italian red. After a while,

from the darkened, comfortable room, they could hear the first guests arriving and Mary Lou’s

vivacious voice as she greeted them.

“I suppose,” Emil said reluctantly, “we should go out there.”

“It will be fine,” Lucien reassured his cousin. “I quite enjoy humans. I used to be one,

remember? And I teach them.”

The two men emerged into the living room, where Mary Lou shrieked with delight.

“Well, there they are!” she screamed. She had on a long turquoise dress with quite a lot

of gold jewelry and matching gold shoes. Her eye shadow was the same color as the dress. Her

long blond hair had been perfectly curled and coifed. “Where have you two been hiding?

Prince Lucien, I want you to meet our friends Linda and Tom Bradford, and this is Faith and

Frank Herrera, and Carol Priestley and Becca Evans and Ashley Menendez from Emil’s office.

Everyone, this is Prince Lucien Antonescu….”

The women were attractive, the men jovial. Lucien shook hands with all of them, then

joined in the small talk about New York City and the shows and restaurants he was to be sure

not to miss while he was there.

It was a beautiful spring evening, and the Antonescus had opened all the French doors to

their large wraparound terrace. The sun had already sunk into the west, and the sky was a

lovely shade of pink and lavender. Lucien strolled out onto the terrace, joined by several of the

women, all holding glasses of champagne and talking excitedly about an art opening they’d

been to the week before.

Mary Lou had not chosen poorly. Her guests were beautiful, intelligent women.

When Lucien heard the doorbell to the apartment ring, he didn’t look to see who was

arriving next because he didn’t want to seem rude. (And he could tell it wasn’t a member of

the Dracul or the Palatine Guard there to assassinate him. They would never bother using the

bell.)

But then he did look, because something told him he needed to.

And the sound of the women’s conversation around him died away. Not because they’d

ceased speaking.

But because he was no longer listening.

It was the woman who’d been walking her dog the night of his attack, the one who’d

nearly been killed herself. Meena Harper, her name had been.

He saw that Mary Lou was kissing her hello and taking a cheap bottle of wine from her

tall, male companion.

Of course she was there at Emil’s. Of course she was. What had he been expecting?

Deep down, he must have known. Otherwise he’d have left, walked out an hour ago. He wasn’t

in New York to socialize with Emil’s wife’s human friends. He’d never wanted for female

companionship when he needed it and was perfectly capable of finding it without Mary Lou’s

help.

And now the last woman in the world with whom he should have been consorting—

because he could feel for himself the magnetic pull she had on him—had walked into the

room. And he was just standing there, staring at her, in her inexpensive black dress and

boyishly short hair.

And it was clear from the single glance she threw him that the memory wipe had not

worked. No, she recognized him instantly. The way her large brown eyes widened and her jaw

dropped, it was obvious she remembered their encounter with perfect clarity.

What’s more, just the tiniest touch of her mind—which he threw across the room only to

see if she was pleased to see him or repulsed; it was pure vanity, and he supposed he deserved

the shock he got in response to it—revealed something startling, something almost horrifying

that Lucien couldn’t, for the life of him, understand:

Vampire.

It was on the very tip of her brain. It was all she was thinking about. Vampires.

Also, almost as upsettingly, death .

He recoiled from her mind immediately…but not before he caught his own name.

Lucien.

She knew. She knew .

How, though? What had happened? What had gone wrong? Why hadn’t the memory

wipe succeeded? How could she possibly have put it all together?

Who was she? What was she? What was going on with this girl and her electrically

charged, hyperactive brain?

He needed to figure it out before the evening—and his entire mission to New York—

went swiftly and disastrously awry.

“Meena Harper,” Mary Lou was crowing as he approached. He realized he’d left the

women with whom he’d been chatting so amiably without a word. But the situation had turned

dire. It had nothing, he told himself, to do with the darkness of Meena Harper’s eyes and hair,

or the slenderness of her waist in that cheap black cotton dress. Nothing at all. This was a

matter of life and death, for all of vampire kind. “I want you to meet Emil’s cousin Prince

Lucien Antonescu.”

“Oh,” Meena said, smiling. Her two front teeth were slightly crooked. How had he

missed this the other night? “I know. We’ve—”

“How charming to make your acquaintance,” Lucien said, interrupting. He took Meena’s

hand even as her astonished expression was turning to one of confusion. The prince! her brain

was crying. It’s him!

What in God’s name did this mean? Who was she?

“Right,” was all she said out loud, though, in a voice that was considerably less excited

than the circus-like atmosphere of her mind. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Her hand was slim and warm. His, he knew, was anything but.

“And this is her brother, Jonathan Harper,” Mary Lou said, her tone one of barely

disguised disapproval.

“Jon.” The dark-haired man standing beside Meena corrected Mary Lou, holding out his

hand. “I’m Jon.”

“Of course,” Lucien said. He gave the brother’s hand a quick shake, careful not to

squeeze it too hard. Still, he saw the younger man wince.

He turned his attention back to the girl, who hadn’t taken her gaze off him once since

coming into the apartment. He tried reaching tentatively into her mind once again—

vampire death prince priest dragon

—then just as quickly withdrew.

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