Insatiable

weights besides swimming laps. He cut quite an intimidating figure. Even the dental implant

salesmen couldn’t help looking.

Then he noticed Holtzman’s gaze seemed particularly riveted to a rather ugly, raised scar

just beneath Alaric’s rib cage, where one of the vamps in Berlin had managed to worry open a

section of his flesh—using just its razor-sharp fangs—while Alaric had been trying to pry

Martin from the jaws of some of its brethren.

Alaric sighed. He knew why Holtzman was staring.

The Vatican doctors had advised plastic surgery.

But Alaric had refused. He didn’t like hospitals, let alone unnecessary medical

procedures.

Holtzman, Alaric supposed, was assuming Alaric had refused to rid himself of the scar

for the same reason he’d refused counseling after the Berlin incident.

But the scar served an important purpose: it reminded him every time he saw it just how

very much he hated the undead.

And how important it was that he rid the world of them all.

“If you want to find a vampire,” Alaric said, ignoring Holtzman’s stare and the fact that

the older man was obviously trying to think of something to say about the scar, “you ask his

latest meal. In the prince’s case, that’s Meena Harper, 910 Park Avenue, apartment 11B.”

This seemed to distract Holtzman from the scar. “Quite right,” he said. “That’s why I’m

going to her apartment this evening, pretending I’m a—”

“Abraham,” Alaric said, interrupting him. “The bit with the inheritance check from the

long-lost relative isn’t going to work. She isn’t going to believe you. Who’d leave an

inheritance check for a prince ? The guy is richer than Midas.”

“Oh.” Holtzman looked crestfallen. “Right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“That’s why I’m going to her apartment tonight,” Alaric said. “And I’m going to do the

interview my way.”

“I don’t think that’s at all wise,” Holtzman said. “In fact, I forbid you to go. I will not

allow it.”

Surprised, Alaric stared at him. “Why not?”

“Because you’re only going to do that thing where you go bursting in with your sword

drawn. You know we’ve had quite a few complaints about that, Alaric. People really don’t

seem to like it.”

“She just spent the night with the prince of darkness,” Alaric said indignantly. “You

really think I’m so scary in comparison?”

Alaric found it disappointing that Holtzman only glanced at his scar again and said

nothing. His scar wasn’t so scary. What was really scary, in Alaric’s opinion, was Holtzman’s

suit.

Chapter Thirty-one

10:30 A.M . EST, Friday, April 16

BAO

155 Avenue of the Americas

New York, New York

W ell, look at this,” Leisha said when Meena appeared before her styling station that

morning at BAO (By Appointment Only). “Someone’s been a bad, bad girl.”

Leisha was stretched with her long, bare legs crossed at the ankles like a Nubian queen

in her own styling chair, balancing a large grilled-chicken salad in a plastic carry-out container

over her bulging stomach, even though the salon’s owner, Jimmy, had a strict no-eating-atyour-station rule.

But Jimmy’s rules didn’t apply to Leisha since she was his most popular hairstylist and

seven months pregnant, besides. It would be a disaster for Jimmy—and BAO—if Leisha quit.

Meena pointed wordlessly to the empty chair at the station next to Leisha’s.

“Take it,” Leisha said, waving a hand, her many bracelets jangling, her nails, Meena

noticed, recently French tipped. Someone in the salon had been using her fingers for practice.

“Ramone took a personal day because he found out his boyfriend hasn’t deleted himself from

Grindr. So.” Leisha shot her an aggravated look. “I’m totally pissed at you. Jon said you went

on a walk with some guy after the countess’s party, and then you never came back. And then

this morning on the news, they said they found another dead girl. Obviously, I’ve been sitting

here all morning thinking it was you. At least until you finally texted me back. I was worried

sick. You can ask anyone here. Sick .”

Meena looked pointedly at the chicken salad. “Not so sick that you couldn’t order an

early lunch without me.”

“This isn’t me,” Leisha said, pointing at her belly. “It’s him! He doesn’t care what

happens to you. He’s starving. And kicking me. Oh, my God. You wouldn’t believe how he’s

been kicking me all morning. And it’s all your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” Meena asked, leaning down and picking up Jack Bauer and putting

him on her lap. He snuggled against her, needing a little TLC. Now that Lucien wasn’t around,

he was back to his normal, nongrowling self.

“For putting me through all that!” Leisha declared. “You think Thomas can’t feel how

scared I was for you? What were you thinking? You never hook up with strange men. What

was going through your head, Harper?”

Meena gave Jack Bauer a good scratching beneath his neck, and he threw back his throat

in ecstasy.

“He wasn’t a strange guy, Leish,” she said instead of pointing out that Leisha’s doctor

had gotten her baby’s sex wrong, which didn’t seem like it would be helpful. “He was the guy

from the other night. With the bats.”

Leisha stared at her. “But that’s impossible.”

Meena was scratching the dog so hard that his hind leg began to thump. She toned it

down.

“No,” she said. “Not impossible. Fact. Lucien Antonescu—the guy the countess was

trying to fix me up with?—is the same guy who saved me from the bats outside of the

cathedral. I know it sounds crazy. But it’s true. And, Leish, I like him. More than like him.”

Leisha shook her head. “No wonder you came straight here instead of going home before

work. You’re having a mental breakdown.”

Meena frowned. “How am I having a mental breakdown? Do you think I’m making this

up?”

“No. Because that’s so messed up!”

“Because I slept with him?”

“Because it’s so weird that it should be the same guy!” Leisha declared. “Of course you

slept with him. And I should hope you like him. Seeing as how you scared us all half to death

disappearing into the night with him.” She set her chicken salad down on the rolling hair dryer

stand between their two chairs and tried to get as comfortable as a seven-months-pregnant

woman could. “So. How was it?”

“It was—” Meena looked up toward the ceiling, which Jimmy had left open, though he’d

had all the ductwork painted silver and black and the ceiling behind it painted a deep purple.

“Amazing,” she said, sighing. “Really. I don’t know any other way to describe it.”

“Adjectives, please,” Leisha said. “I’ve been having sex with the same man for almost

seven years now, and I’m over it. I want details. Did he sink your battleship?”

“Leish!” Meena cried, laughing.

“Seriously,” Leisha said. “I don’t care about anything else. Oh, wait, I do. What’s his

expiration date?”

Meena regarded her friend with a face wreathed in smiles. “That’s the best part. He

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