by Meg Cabot
“I get that a lot.” she asked, still coughing. “Shorter?”
“Younger,” he said. His gaze on her face was every bit as intense as his brother’s had ever been. But unlike Lucien’s, Dimitri’s brown eyes weren’t sad. No, they didn’t have that kind of depth. They were as shallow as Insatiable’s plotlines. “But pretty!” he added gallantly. “Well, I expected that, to be honest. My brother never could resist a pretty face.”
“Thanks,” Meena said sarcastically as she picked her way across the debris.
She noticed that they weren’t alone. Glowing, red-eyed gazes peered out at them from the shadows…gazes belonging, she knew, to the Dracul, Dimitri’s father’s faithful followers. She caught glimpses of them, expecting to see lean, leather-jacketed men who all resembled Gregory Bane and girls who looked like Taylor Mackenzie, in low-rise jeans and halter tops.
And she did spy Gregory Bane, leering at her by Dimitri’s side.
But the majority of the creatures she saw peering at her looked like ordinary people, no different than anyone she would see riding the subway or standing in line at Abdullah’s coffee cart in the morning, neither particularly thin or fat, young or old, fashionable or unfashionable.
And maybe that, Meena thought, her heart pounding harder than ever, was what scared her most of all.
The one thing they did have in common was that they all looked…hungry.
But hungry, Meena wondered, for what, exactly?
Dimitri was leading her into the church. Meena had never been inside St. George’s before. She knew it was fairly large and had always heard it was pretty. She had seen from the outside that it had a lot of stained glass windows. The largest of them hung above the front doors to the church and was supposed to depict St. George mounted on his steed, slaying a serpentlike dragon.
But she had never even been able to tell the glass was stained because it was so badly in need of cleaning. It just looked black. Hardly any light whatsoever got into the church, even from the safety lamps attached to the spires. The only light to see by was thrown by hundreds of candles that had been lit by the Dracul…and these weren’t votive candles, either. They were thick black candles that had been placed, wax dripping, over every available flat surface in the church, including the pews, which looked like they’d been kicked over.
The walls of the church hadn’t fared any better. They’d met with the wrong end of a few dozen cans of spray paint. There were dragon symbols sprayed everywhere, including across the stained glass windows. Meena, looking up at the church’s thirty-foot ceiling, saw that the choir loft had been equally decimated and was also strewn with graffiti. “Wow,” she said. “You’ve really done wonders with the place. Who’s your decorator?”
She heard a tinkly laugh and then an all-too-familiar female voice behind her said, “Me. I am.”
Meena whirled around, her heart exploding in her chest.
“Hey,” Shoshona said with a great big smile. “Surprise!”
Meena felt as if she’d been run over by a steamroller.
Then again, she thought, why was she so surprised? She’d always known something was going to kill Shoshona at the gym.
Why shouldn’t it have been a vampire? Specifically, Dimitri Antonescu’s son, Stefan, who’d only this morning been ramming a gun into Meena’s ribs.
Still, Meena couldn’t stop herself from staring. Shoshona looked fantastic. Her hair had never been shinier…or straighter.
I guess you don’t need a flat-iron when you’re dead, Meena thought.
“Yeah,” Shoshona said, strolling up to her. “It’s me. Hey…thanks for the bag.”
Meena lowered her gaze and saw that Shoshona was holding a Marc Jacobs jewel-encrusted dragon tote.
In ruby.
Meena’s ruby red Marc Jacobs jewel-encrusted dragon tote, to be exact. The one Lucien had given her.
Meena didn’t know what to say. A thousand different retorts popped into her head.
But she was too stunned to say any of them out loud.
“By the way,” Shoshona said, leaning in close to lay a long, manicured fingernail in the opening of Meena’s white-collared shirt, just where her pulse was leaping in her throat. “Guess who’s just been appointed the new cochairs of entertainment at Affiliated Broadcast Network?”
Shoshona pointed over her shoulder at a middle-aged couple in business attire, who waved enthusiastically in Meena’s direction.
Shoshona’s aunt and uncle.
Meena’s heart sank. Not Fran and Stan, too.
Everyone Meena knew really was turning out to be a vampire.
But cochairs of entertainment at ABN? How was that even possible? All they’d ever done was create a soap opera.
“Oh,” Shoshona said, tossing her long black silky hair. “And guess who they made president of programming at the network?” She pointed proudly at herself. “And as my first official duty in that capacity, I’m firing you, Meena. Sorry about that.”
“What?” Meena cried. She knew she had a few more important things in her life to worry about than her job.
But her job was, in a way, her life. “What can I say?” Shoshona asked with a shrug. “We don’t really appreciate people who are prejudiced against our species. Nor do we need them making disparaging remarks about our so-called misogynistic tendencies.”
“Your species?” Meena felt a spurt of white-hot anger dart through her. “Your species? Let me tell you something about your species and what I’ve seen you do to women-”
“That’s enough, Shoshona,” Dimitri said in the tone of a disapproving father as he reached out to lay a hand on Meena’s shoulder and steer her away from the other girl. “I have better uses for Miss Harper’s time now, I think. For instance…”
That’s when Meena finally saw the apse at the front of the church. The sanctuary, debased with graffiti. The altar, up on the dais, broken into pieces. A statue of St. George, pushed to the floor and missing its head.
And Leisha, sitting in the only pew that had been left upright, with her hands tied in front of her and resting in her lap.
“Leish,” Meena cried, relief rushing over her. She jerked her shoulder out from beneath Dimitri’s grip and raced to her friend’s side. “Are you all right?” Meena asked, kneeling down beside her. “Did they hurt you?”
Leisha shook her head. Her cheeks were tear-stained, her eye makeup smudged. But otherwise, she looked fine.
“I just want,” she whispered to Meena, “to get the hell out of here. I hate these people. They’re freaks. That girl, Shoshona, from your office? You always told me she was a total bitch, but I never knew how much of a bitch until tonight. And I still really have to pee.”
Meena choked back a sob. Leisha. Oh, Leisha.
“Okay,” Meena said. She reached for the cords that held Leisha’s wrists and began untying them. “We’ll get you out of here.”
“What are they?” Leisha asked, eyeing Dimitri suspiciously over the top of Meena’s head. “Like meth heads or something? You know that Gregory Bane guy from Lust bit Adam, don’t you? He bit him.”
Leisha, with her usual common sense, had apparently chosen to ignore the explanation Meena had given her over the phone about what was going on and come up with her own, one that she could process and understand.
“Yes,” Meena said. “Yes, they’re meth heads.” She dropped her head to the knot that was holding her friend’s hands tied together, trying to bite it apart with her teeth. She couldn’t get it undone otherwise.
“Hey,” she said finally, raising her head, realizing the futility of what she was doing. “Could someone give me a hand here and help me untie her? I fulfilled my part of the bargain. I’m here. You said you’d let her go if I showed up. So could someone help me?”
She glanced up at Dimitri, only to find him grinning down at her with an expression on his face that she didn’t like at all.
“Oh,” he said, “I can see why my brother likes you. You’re so…trust
ing.”
On the word trusting, he reached down, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her back up to her feet, almost in a single motion. The gesture was so violent and jarring, Meena saw stars for a second or two.
“But I think we’re going to keep your little friend here for a while longer,” he said to her. “Because having her around will make you more accommodating to my needs. And I still need a few things from you, some of which I’d like to hurry up and get to before my brother comes along and tries to spoil things, which he’s always had an unfortunate tendency to do.”
Dimitri hauled her, none too gently, into the sanctuary and up onto the dais, beside the altar. Meena did not like the way the Dracul-including Shoshona and her aunt and uncle-had gathered around, as if eager for a show that was about to start.
Nor did she like what she suddenly recognized sitting on the still upright part of the altar.
It was a bowl from Meena’s own apartment. The large antique one made of pewter her great-aunt Wilhelmina had left her and that Meena never used because she was worried about lead poisoning.
First the bag Lucien had given her. Then her job. Now her great-aunt’s bowl. What else were the Dracul going to take from her?
“I understand you possess quite the power to predict the future, Meena Harper,” Dimitri said in his deep voice.
Suddenly, Meena had a very bad feeling about what was about to happen.
Especially because of the way all of the Dracul were eyeing the holes Lucien had already put in her neck-which were obvious to everyone because Meena had given Alaric the scarf she’d been wearing to cover them-and then glancing down expectantly toward the large silver-colored bowl. The hungry look in their eyes seemed to increase by a hundredfold.
Dimitri was right about one thing: Meena had always been good at predicting the future. Other people’s futures.
Never her own.
Until now.
Meena looked up at Dimitri. He was staring down at her with those flat brown eyes, in which she saw more than just a hint of blood red.
Then she glanced up at the enormous dragon symbol someone had spray-painted behind the altar.
Ever since I left you this morning, Lucien had said to her last night in her bedroom, I’ve had the oddest sensation that I know how almost every human I’ve come into contact with is…is going to die… I’ve never, ever experienced anything like this. Not until…well, being with you.
Now, Meena knew exactly what the bowl was for…and why Dimitri had been so intent on getting her to come up to St. George’s. It wasn’t just because he wanted to lure his brother there, to trap and kill him.
Although certainly that would be an added bonus.
No, Dimitri wanted her for something else.
He wanted her blood, for a little precoronation precognition cocktail.
Meena flung a hand to her mouth to avoid letting out a semi-hysterical scream.
And then, before she had a chance to think twice about what she was doing, she reached into her back pocket for Alaric’s stake with one hand, then used the other hand to stabilize herself on the altar while she launched her right foot, as hard as she could, into Dimitri’s face.
Too bad she was only wearing flats and not her platform boots. Still, she seemed to manage to catch him off guard, since he bent at the waist while crying out in pain, clutching his face.
There was a collective gasp from the Dracul.
Yes! She’d done it! She’d caught a vampire off guard!
She came at him with the stake while she had the advantage, determined to plunge it into his heart and end this, all of it, once and for all, forever. Save herself and her brother and her friends.
This was for Yalena and for Leisha and for what they’d done to her apartment and for whatever they intended to do to Cheryl and Taylor and everyone else at Insatiable…
Except that Dimitri, still bent over in pain, shot out a lightning-fast hand and seized her wrist-the one holding the stake-in a grip that was like iron.
And then he began squeezing her wrist so hard that Meena, tightly as she tried to hold on, eventually had to let go. Alaric’s stake fell with a clatter to the marble floor of the altar and rolled off and away, until it was out of sight.
But still, he didn’t stop squeezing, even when Meena cried out in pain, collapsing to her knees in front of him and the Dracul and the altar and everyone, convinced he was going to shatter every last bone in her wrist…
“Do you think because you can see death before it comes that you can outwit me, Meena Harper?” he asked her, looking down at her with eyes that glowed red as hot barbecue coals. His teeth had turned into pointed fangs, and they were suddenly entirely too near Meena’s throat for comfort. “Or are the rumors true and you can read the thoughts of the dead, as well? Is that how you’ve managed to captivate my brother so?”
Read the thoughts of the dead? No wonder they were so desperate for her blood.
“No,” she said with a gasp. “I can’t read anyone’s thoughts, living or dead. I can only how tell how someone is going to die-”
Dimitri smiled, his fangs gleaming menacingly in the candlelight. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “I think you overestimate yourself. Because if that were true, why on earth would you have come here tonight?”
Her eyes filled with tears from the pain he was inflicting on her wrist and the fact that those fangs were looming closer and closer to her throat.
This is it., Meena thought, closing her eyes. It’s finally my turn to find out if there’s anything beyond that nothingness…
That’s when she heard someone shout Dimitri’s name in warning. And she opened her eyes to see something huge and heavy and black come swooping down on a rope from the choir loft, striking Dimitri Antonescu squarely in the chest and sending him crashing into the dragon symbol spray-painted behind the altar.
Dimitri was so surprised, he let go of Meena’s wrist…but only just in time to keep from dragging her across the altar with him.
Alaric Wulf, releasing the rope and landing on his feet a few yards away from where Meena lay panting on the cool white marble, surveyed his sword blade.
“Damn,” he said. “I missed.”
Meena, more relieved than she could say to see him, sat up.
“What do you mean, you missed?” she asked. “You almost chopped my head off.”
Alaric pointed at where Dimitri was rising from the crumbling rubble and had just let out a furious, wordless scream.
“I mean I missed him,” Alaric said. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “And they don’t look too happy to see me either.”
The Dracul, outraged at the assault on their leader, were swarming at Alaric, hissing in protest. He lifted his blade in defensive. Meena crawled across the sanctuary floor toward him, favoring her tender wrist.
She knew it was hopeless, of course. They were both dead. There were probably a hundred Dracul against the two of them.
Still, she wasn’t going to let him go down alone. There had to be something she could do.
Only what? She’d lost the stake he’d given her, her single weapon.
Alaric seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Did you have any kind of plan when you came sneaking in here?” he asked her as he swung his blade at the encroaching vampires.
“No,” Meena said when she reached his feet. “Did you?”
“No time,” he said. “Reach into my pocket. There might be some holy water or stakes left in there.”
She rose to her knees, searching the pockets of his leather trench coat as he waved his sword around.
“No,” she said, disappointment surging through her. “There’s nothing there.”
“I told you not to follow me,” Alaric said. “Didn’t I?”
“You did,” Meena admitted. “But I couldn’t sit back and let everyone die.”
“So.”
They both looked over at Dimitri, who was standing a few feet away from them, a very discontented look on hi
s face. He had obviously not enjoyed being kicked into a wall by a Palatine guard.
“As I think you can see, you’re outnumbered.” Dimitri raised a dark eyebrow. “A bit like when you and your partner were in that warehouse outside of Berlin, eh, Mr. Wulf?”
“That was you?” Alaric looked furious. “I swear, I’ll rip you limb from limb for that, you-”
“Don’t be so childish,” Dimitri said with a laugh. “You Palatine are all the same. Arrogant. Always thinking you’re one step ahead of us. But even with all your fancy modern computer equipment to track our movements and our money, we’ll still find ways to slip through your fingers and prevail…because of your arrogance. And your stupidity. It’s because of your stupidity that we’re going to kill the pregnant woman now.”
Meena’s heart flew into her throat. The hordes of Dracul crowding around her and Alaric at the bottom of the dais parted a little, and she saw that Leisha had been pulled onto her feet. She stood with her arms being clutched on either side by Gregory Bane and Shoshona. They were both grinning a little maniacally, but Leisha didn’t look too happy.
Maybe that was because Gregory Bane was hissing at her, showing off his fangs.
“Stop it,” Meena said, climbing shakily back to her feet. Her wrist was throbbing, and her head wasn’t feeling too good, either. “I’ll give you what you want.”
She limped to the altar and lifted the pewter bowl, which shone in the candlelight.
“Meena,” Alaric said. His bright blue eyes shot her a warning. He shook his head at her.
No. Don’t do it.
But Meena knew it wasn’t any use. She had failed. Alaric had failed. Lucien obviously wasn’t coming, for whatever reason, or he’d have been there by then.
It was over. It was useless.
It was done.
Her toes were on the precipice.
“Take it,” she said, holding out the bowl to Dimitri. “Take it all. I don’t care anymore. Just let Leisha go.”
“Well, thank you.” Dimitri lifted the bowl from her hands and gave her a courtly bow. “Aren’t you an accommodating creature?”