Overbite

by Meg Cabot

  “I’m here,” Lucien said. “So you won’t need a necklace to protect you anymore.”

  His voice had assumed the thunderous tone it tended to take on whenever anyone disagreed with him.

  And the red warning glow she’d thought she’d seen in his pupils was very much in evidence now.

  “Lucien,” Meena said, struggling to escape his embrace. “What’s happening to you? Let go of me.”

  “He gave it to you, didn’t he?” Lucien’s grip only tightened on her. “Alaric Wulf.”

  He said the name like it was a curse. His pupils were twin flames.

  Meena’s heart lurched. But now it was with fear for Alaric.

  “No,” she lied, still squirming in his arms. “Why would he give me a present? We’re colleagues; we work together.”

  “Because he’s in love with you,” he said. “And you obviously have feelings for him, too, or you wouldn’t be lying about it.”

  “I don’t have feelings for him,” she said. “I mean, we’re friends, but—”

  “You feel more for him than friendship,” Lucien said. “You’re afraid for him right now. I can feel your heart pounding—”

  “Because you’re holding me too tight,” she said. “You’re actually cutting off my circulation. I would really appreciate it if you would just let me go so we could discuss this like rational human beings.”

  He did let go of her then. But only so he could cup her face in his hands in a grip that wasn’t any less restrictive than the one he’d had around her wrist.

  “Meena.” His voice was a rasp, completely unlike his own, it was so hoarse and uneven. “You still don’t understand. I can’t be rational. Not where you’re concerned. And I’m not a human being. Not anymore.”

  “Lucien.” She reached up to touch his cheek, struck with sudden pity for him. “Of course you are. At least a part of you still is. Don’t you see? I don’t really understand it, but I think that’s what the dream I keep having is about, what I’ve been trying to tell you, that you still have a choice—”

  “No.” His hands went to her shoulders. She could tell he was trying to restrain himself, but the effort was costing him. “I don’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. What I’ve become is better than human.”

  She dropped her hand from his face. “Lucien,” she said, horrified. “You can’t mean that.”

  “Why not?” he demanded. “What’s so great about human beings? You said it yourself. Your own employers—who, I’d like to point out, are human beings—tricked and used you. Not just tonight, but last night, too.”

  She blinked at him in confusion. “How? What are you—?”

  “You think it was a coincidence that it was someone like David, someone you’d never suspect, but not someone you saw every day, who was turned?” he demanded. “Of course not. But who would have access to that kind of information about you? Some random vampire clan? I don’t think so.”

  “What . . . ?” She was shocked. “Are you saying you think the Vatican—”

  “They didn’t know that book had anything to do with me until you asked for it, Meena. Then they put it—and you—on display to lure me here so they could kill me. First they sent David to attack you, to make sure I came out of hiding. Then they used the book to bring me out into the open. I’ve known them for five hundred years, and nothing’s changed in that time. Look what they were willing to do to their own employees, just to get at me. Look what they’ve done to you.” He pulled her closer . . . always careful, however, to leave a distance between himself and the cross. “Leave them. Come away with me. Mary Lou has the book, and she and Emil should be waiting for me. All that’s missing is you. We can go now. We’ll never come back. You’ll be safe with me.”

  “But . . .” She couldn’t think. She felt physically exhausted . . . and mentally confused. Everything he’d said made sense . . .

  Which only made it worse.

  “But don’t you see, Lucien?” she asked. “If what you say is true, then I can’t leave. I’ve got to stay.”

  “Why?” He shook her with the force of his hold.

  “Well, who else is going to try to stop them?” she asked him simply.

  Then she glanced behind him, at the painting she’d always loved.

  His grip on her shoulders tightened.

  “Learn something from her mistake,” Lucien said menacingly. “Her employer sold her out to the enemy for ten thousand francs. Then she was executed as a traitor and a heretic to the Church. By the Church.”

  She shook her head. She didn’t know what was happening to Lucien, or what he’d been going through since they’d been apart. Obviously it had to have been something horrible, since he certainly didn’t seem happy. She knew he didn’t mean what he was saying. He couldn’t. That wasn’t the person with whom she’d fallen in love . . .

  . . . or the little boy she’d seen in her dream every night, whose life had been so filled with love and light. How could that boy have become someone filled with so much darkness . . . ?

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t you see, Lucien? If what you’re saying about David is true, that’s exactly the reason I have to stay, to try to keep it from happening again to someone else.”

  She laid a hand upon his face.

  “And I don’t believe you,” she said, “when you say what you’ve become is better than human. I know you, and I know there’s still a part of you—the best, most important part—that is human . . . if by human you mean good. And that’s the part of you I love. Don’t try to deny that part of you, Lucien. Because I think that might be the message of my dream. Denying that part of you could be what was making you so . . .”

  “So what?” he demanded, his eyes glittering dangerously.

  She swallowed. She’d wanted to say that she thought it could be what had been making him so sick the night before.

  But he didn’t seem sick at all now. So she must be wrong.

  “Nothing. I really think you need to go now, Lucien. Protect yourself. Not me. I’m not the one they want. You are. Your staying here is what’s putting me in danger. If you really loved me, and really wanted to protect me, you’d go. I’m not just saying that because I love you and want to keep you safe. I’m saying it because I know it’s true. I know if you stay, it’s not going to end well for anyone. I know it.”

  Because she did. She knew it the way she’d known she and Alaric should never have left Abraham in Freewell. The way she’d known from the day she’d met him that David was going to die young. The way she’d known every time she’d ever looked at that painting of Joan of Arc that, much as she admired it, something equally bad was probably going to happen to her.

  And now it was.

  Because instead of releasing her, Lucien’s arms tightened around her. His eyes flared a bright, deep vermilion.

  Then he bent and scooped her into his arms.

  “Lucien,” she said, panicking. “Wait . . . What are you doing? No. Don’t—”

  She felt his feet begin to leave the floor, and she screamed, flinging her arms around his neck in terror as he headed directly for the skylight above their heads.

  That’s when the elevator doors opened with a ding, and Alaric Wulf came striding out into the gallery.

  “Meena,” he said, “I thought I told you not to move.”

  Then he pulled out the sword he kept strapped in a scabbard beneath the back of his tuxedo jacket.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Lucien could simply have ignored the fact that Alaric Wulf was rushing at him with a sword. A few more feet, and he would have reached the skylight, which he intended to crash through—protecting Meena with his body, so she would not be harmed—to the roof.

  But the sword was a taunt he could not resist, especially after the cross.

  Meena had not admitted
that Wulf had given the necklace to her. But Lucien didn’t see who else could have. She certainly hadn’t bought it for herself.

  And the thick modern solidity of the gleaming metal cross fairly screamed that it had been chosen by a vampire hunter of Gaulish descent.

  “Come down here,” Wulf called to him, “and fight like a man. Or have you been depending on those demonic tricks of yours for so long, you’ve forgotten what the word man means?”

  Lucien dropped back to the floor. It had been months since he’d last felt this strong. He wasn’t sure whether it was due to Meena’s proximity or to the Mannette. Maybe its waters were finally starting to have the kind of effect he’d been hoping for.

  In any case, he felt invincible, like there wasn’t anything—or anyone—on earth that could keep him from getting what he wanted. Not this time. Certainly not Alaric Wulf.

  “I already spared your life once, Wulf,” he said, in a warning tone. “Don’t try me again.”

  Wulf raised his eyebrows. “Are you referring to the time you collapsed a building on top of me, then set it on fire? Because actually, it didn’t seem like you were sparing me much of anything, considering the fact that I only survived because the tourniquet your girlfriend applied kept me from bleeding to death.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Meena said as she attempted to free herself from Lucien’s embrace by pounding on his chest. But she might as well have been pounding on a wall.

  “What?” Wulf asked. “Girlfriend? But you two seem to be getting along so well.”

  Lucien shrugged. “You’re right,” he said. “I should have killed you. I’m ready to rectify that now, though.”

  “Good. So why don’t you release her so we can get busy?”

  “I’m afraid that . . .” Lucien winced as Meena burned him with the necklace, although he didn’t think she’d done it on purpose, or even realized it had happened. If she had, he was sure she’d have burned him more. He kept one arm anchored around her waist, regardless. “Much as I’d like to, I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment.”

  Wulf lowered the sword. “Seriously? Meena, are you listening? This is the man you’ve chosen to be with. He’s using you as a human shield.”

  “No, he’s not,” Meena grunted. She elbowed Lucien in the throat, to no avail. “He knows if he lets me go, I’ll run.”

  Lucien didn’t comment on this remark, just looked at Wulf. “You understand that there’s someone working from inside your organization who was willing to allow her to be killed, just to get at me,” he said.

  “What is he talking about?” Wulf asked Meena.

  “It’s true,” Meena said. “The book that Mary Lou stole is the one from my dream. It belonged to Lucien’s mother. Someone planted it in the show to try to lure Lucien here so he could be caught.”

  “Oh, well, good thing that didn’t work,” Wulf said sarcastically.

  Lucien looked at him with distaste. Not having killed Alaric Wulf when he’d had the chance was quickly turning into his biggest regret. “Meena says there have been murders. I have not committed any. Someone else is doing this, and trying to make it look like it was me so that idiots like you would believe it.”

  “Oh yes,” Wulf said, the sarcasm in his voice deepening. “You’re a very innocent man. You certainly look like one right now. Most innocent men take hostages.”

  “They’ve already used her once to try to get to me,” Lucien said, his rage quickening. “Has it ever occurred to you that now you’re the one being used?”

  Wulf raised his sword again. “I don’t care,” he said. “I only care about seeing you dead.”

  Lucien smiled to himself. Wulf had just made things very, very easy for him.

  It was possible that Meena was right. Maybe there was a little bit of humanity remaining in him. And maybe it was that humanity that had made him spare Wulf’s life the last time they’d met.

  But it didn’t matter. That little bit of humanity would soon be gone, if the Mannette did its work.

  And so, in a minute, would Wulf.

  And Meena couldn’t even be angry with him for it, because Lucien could say he was only defending himself. Wulf had just threatened him.

  “Fine,” Lucien said. “If allowing you the chance to kill me will satisfy you, I’m happy to oblige.” More than happy. Nothing would give him greater pleasure.

  “What?”

  Meena looked terrified. Lucien had loosened his hold so that he could defend himself against Wulf . . . so suddenly that she had stumbled, and fallen to her knees.

  Now she’d climbed back to her feet and stood between the two men, two bright spots of color on her cheeks, her dark eyes seeming to blaze.

  “No,” she said. Her voice was shaking. “No. No one is killing anyone. Not anymore. We’re going to figure this thing out together, without killing, like normal rational people.”

  Lucien almost smiled. She still didn’t understand who he was now . . . what he’d become.

  Neither did Wulf, or he would not have been so foolhardy as to ask for this fight.

  “Meena,” Alaric said, impatient. “Get out of the way.”

  “No,” she said again. “The killing has got to stop. Do you hear me? It’s wrong. The killing has got to stop.”

  At that exact moment, the skylight burst above their heads.

  Lucien realized right away what was happening, and was angry with himself for once again allowing a human weakness—jealousy of Wulf—to distract him. If he had simply ignored him, all of this might have been avoided.

  Now men—all dressed in black—came soaring down from the gaping opening in the ceiling on rappelling wires. Shards of glass and metal crashed down, the fragments weaving in and around what looked like a great metallic spiderweb.

  Lucien dove to protect Meena from the debris, but he wasn’t quick enough. Other men, also dressed in black, some carrying crossbows, had appeared from the sides of the room, and pulled her quickly away. They had done the same thing to Alaric Wulf, who was nevertheless fighting them, and trying to cut through the bits of spiderweb that he could reach with his sword.

  Alaric Wulf, clearly, had known nothing of the trap. If Lucien hadn’t been so furious himself, he’d have laughed at the idea of Wulf cutting the massive metal web with his sword.

  But he had more pressing concerns. The web had been shot directly at him, and covered him completely. And it was made of heavy links of silver, a substance that not only felt uncomfortable to his skin, but burned it with more than usual intensity, as well. It took him a moment to realize why.

  Holy water. They had soaked the silver chain in holy water.

  “Hold him,” he could hear someone shouting. He thought the voice sounded familiar. “Hold him down!”

  Before he had a chance to see if he could recognize the face belonging to the voice, something sharp struck his skin. He looked down and saw that it was a dart. A tranquilizer dart.

  If it weren’t for the searing pain from the silver and the holy water, he would have smiled a little. It was amusing that they thought they could sedate him with a tranquilizer dart.

  He knew without a doubt that Alaric Wulf was not in charge of this operation. He would never have employed such a stupid weapon against a vampire. Especially the son of Dracula.

  He thought about letting them take him, just so that he could see who was behind this ham-handed and amateurish attempt to capture him.

  But then he heard a sound that made him forget everything else: Meena Harper’s scream.

  And he knew that he was needed elsewhere.

  So he turned himself into mist and drifted up through the openings between the silver links, then toward the skylight and off into the night sky.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The sight of Lucien floating away through the skylight threw the people holding Meena captive into
a frenzy.

  But it was a great relief to her, even angry as she was at Lucien for what he’d tried to do to her. It served the Palatine right that he’d gotten away. How could they have done something so stupid as try to throw a net over him, even one made of silver? This never would have happened if Abraham had still been in charge.

  But when she whirled around to tell this to whoever it was who had cuffed her—whom she’d already kicked several times. Why was she being handcuffed?—she was shocked—more than shocked—to see that it was Father Henrique.

  “So sorry,” he said, apparently referring to the handcuffs. “I’ll be happy to take these off just as soon as you tell us where he’s gone.”

  He’d removed his white surplice. Beneath it he wore one of the sleek black uniforms all the rest of the unit were wearing, complete with a small gold emblem above the right breast of a knight on a horse, slaying a dragon—Saint George, the patron saint of the Palatine.

  Meena was so overcome with rage, she replied by attempting to give Father Henrique another kick. But a female Palatine officer she’d never met before stopped her.

  Father Henrique shook his head ruefully.

  “You are hardly behaving like the professional I understood you to be, Miss Harper,” he said. “But if that’s how you choose to conduct yourself, so be it.” He shrugged and waved his hand. The female officer began to shove Meena toward the elevator.

  “Oh,” Meena said, with a sneer to Father Henrique as she went past him, “and you’re such a professional, I suppose. I thought you were transferred here to lead the parish of St. George’s, but apparently it was because you’re such an expert on the Lamir. Which Lucien isn’t. Didn’t you know he can turn into mist? Because everyone else here knew that.”

  To her surprise, just as the elevator doors were about to close, Father Henrique stepped into the car with her, gesturing for the female guard to step out. She did so. When the doors slid shut again, it was only Meena and Father Henrique in the elevator. She eyed him uneasily, wondering what she’d just gotten herself into.