Insatiable

for the same reasons it was to Lucien…it allowed him in some small way to make up for the

sins of his past—such as when he’d taken away that boy’s car keys, saving his own life—or

even because it was just something, anything different after centuries of sameness.

But because it was something they might be able to use to their own advantage. Lucien

had no doubt that his brother Dimitri would find a way to use Meena’s gift of prophecy to prey

on the human race’s very real fear of mortality, and somehow profit financially from it.

Then there was the fact that Meena’s blood coursing through Lucien’s veins hadn’t just

afforded him the ability to predict how humans were going to die. It had heightened his other

senses as well, in a way no other human’s he’d tasted ever had, making him feel for the first

time in centuries as if he were alive again.

He knew this was something he could never share with anyone. Because if this got out,

Meena Harper would become demon meat…the most hunted mortal on earth.

The fact that Meena was his might have been protection enough under ordinary

circumstances. But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. The Palatine had their hands on

her…and had found him out. How could he protect her properly? He couldn’t even find her, let

alone get in touch with her. His frantic phone calls to her had all gone straight to voice mail.

Her apartment, according to Emil, whom Lucien had ordered to stay put until Meena’s

whereabouts could be traced, was empty, except for her little dog. It didn’t, Emil had reported,

look like anyone—anyone human, anyway—had been there all day. Had they abandoned the

place? Surely not. Lucien would know, would sense it if something had happened to her….

But he sensed nothing…nothing except dread and a tightness in his chest where his heart

had once been. He hadn’t felt anything in that spot in centuries. Not since Meena Harper had

come into his life.

Then he received the call from Emil that changed everything:

A weeping and repentant Mary Lou, intent on trying to rectify her wrong and give help

where she could, had seen a gossip piece while surfing the Internet that an altercation had

taken place at a midtown eatery involving a man with a sword…

…and a certain popular soap opera star’s best friend.

This, surely, could only have been Meena’s Palatine guard.

And Dimitri’s son, Stefan.

There was no other explanation.

Lucien had only had to hear the name Dimitri and he was in one of Emil’s black cars,

headed downtown for his brother’s club. If he discovered that his brother had anything,

anything at all, to do with Meena’s disappearance…if he or that idiot son of his had harmed so

much as a hair on her head—

There wasn’t a hole on earth deep enough into which Lucien could throw them.

But when Lucien got to Concubine, it was closed.

Not that this particularly bothered Lucien. Given his mood, he merely kicked the doors

in.

The club was quite a different place empty than when it was occupied. With all the lights

on, and no dry ice, it lost something of its mystique. The only shine to the large room,

surrounded by black velvet curtains, was the metallic top to the long bar. The place wasn’t as

clean as it could have been; the floor was a bit sticky.

Perhaps the cleaners hadn’t yet arrived. There was no one around.

And yet Lucien, his senses heightened because of Meena, felt that there were quite a few

souls around—human, and in the gravest of danger…

…and not just because of him.

“Hello?” he called. Where were all these people? Why couldn’t he see them?

His voice echoed hauntingly around the dance floor, the bar, the VIP room. No one.

Nothing.

Where was his brother? Why had he felt such a powerful pull to this distasteful place if

the certain source of all his problems—Dimitri—wasn’t even here?

Then Lucien heard it. Heavy footsteps, coming from the front of the building. He turned

expectantly.

“Can I help you?”

It was Reginald, Dimitri’s three-hundred-pound bodyguard/ bouncer, still wearing his

gold chain with his name emblazoned proudly across it. His dark head gleamed, newly shaved.

“Hello there, Reginald,” Lucien said, genuinely pleased to see him. This was going to be

easy. Some humans—like Meena, for instance—were impossible to control, their minds too

damaged or crowded with mental baggage. But Reginald’s was a vast, open plain.

“How did you get in here?” Reginald had a Hollywood-gangster-style grip on his gun,

raising it sideways to shoot at Lucien instead of straight on, using his other hand to steady it

for better aim.

Lucien felt even more cheered. Poor Reginald.

“Put the gun down, son,” he said. “You remember me. I was here the other night, to visit

my brother.”

Reginald lowered the gun obediently. “Oh, yeah,” he said, recognition dawning. “You

messed Mr. Dimitri up.”

“That’s right,” Lucien said, smiling fondly at the memory. “I’ve come back to do it

again. You wouldn’t happen to know where Mr. Dimitri is right now, would you?”

Reginald shook his head, putting the gun back into the waistband of his sweatpants…not

the most propitious place to keep a loaded firearm, in Lucien’s opinion. “Naw,” Reginald said.

“Everybody got all excited about something and took off a little while ago and just left me

here. They didn’t say when they’d be back or nothing. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to

open up tonight or what.”

“Interesting,” Lucien said. “And would you happen to know what it was they got ‘all

excited about,’ Reginald?”

“Hell, no,” Reginald said. “No one tells me nothing around here.” Lucien reached into

the man’s brain with his own mind and probed gently. Reginald was telling the truth. He knew

nothing…except…

“Reginald,” Lucien said. “Are we the only people here?”

“No,” Reginald admitted. Lucien could feel the man’s fear. It was as sharp and as

pointed as a knife. “There’s the folks in the basement.”

“The basement,” Lucien repeated. “Would you take me to the basement, Reginald?”

Reginald’s fear stabbed him. “Mr. Dimitri said none of us is supposed to go down there,”

Reginald protested. He did not want to go down to the basement.

“It’s all right, Reginald,” Lucien said calmly. “I’ll be with you. Nothing bad will happen

to you in the basement if I’m there with you.”

Reginald believed him…but only because Lucien was there in his brain to comfort him.

Reluctantly, he went to the bar to get the keys to the basement, then led Lucien to a door that

he unlocked with hands that still shook, despite Lucien’s presence.

Whatever was in the basement, the human employees of Concubine, who weren’t

supposed to know about it, not only knew about it but feared it.

Lucien followed Reginald down the narrow concrete staircase, sensing approaching

death more closely with every step. He couldn’t just smell it…he could feel it, oozing through

his pores the way moisture seeped from the basement walls. This had been what he’d noticed

when he’d entered the club: the thump of human heartbeats, quivering with life…and

impending doom.

Was this what Meena Harper felt every day of her life, walking down the street, getting

on the subway, going about her daily business?

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