by Meg Cabot
She let out a small sound-whether of protest or desire, he couldn’t determine-and flung both hands up against his chest.
He reluctantly tore his mouth away from hers and asked, his eyes half lidded, “What is it?”
“No biting,” she whispered. “I really, really mean it this time.”
Chapter Forty-four
10:15 A.M. EST, Saturday, April 17
910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B
New York, New York
Jon looked down at the pancake sizzling away in the skillet in front of him. Perfection. Really.
He was on a roll this morning. A dozen flapjacks, each more golden than the next.
This was going to be a breakfast no one would ever forget.
When he was sure it had cooked all the way through, he added the pancake to the stack on the plate next to the stove, humming a little under his breath.
He knew he probably shouldn’t feel so cheerful, since his sister was going through such a hard time.
But could there be anything cooler about the fact that there was a vampire hunter from the Vatican staying in their apartment?
He looked out of the pass-through to check the dining room table. Oh, yeah. This was good. Table set. OJ poured into glasses. Napkins folded. Place looked like Sarabeth’s for brunch. Only no strollers or yuppies or screaming toddlers.
He wished he could call Weinberg and invite him over to have some of his excellent pancakes. Also tell him what was going on. Vampires, in Manhattan? He’d never believe it.
A secret society of vampire hunters?
He, like Jon, would want to join up. No doubt about it. Kick a little undead ass!
On the other hand, Weinberg had shown marked reluctance about joining the NYPD. Maybe he wouldn’t want to join. Maybe he’d just want to stay home and keep watching CNN and complaining about that serial killer that was-
Jon paused, the pitcher of pancake batter still raised in his hand. The serial killer. The serial killer Weinberg was always going on about these days.
Of course. It was the same vampire Alaric Wulf was hunting.
Well, not the same one who’d bitten his sister, if Jon understood what was going on-and Jon still wasn’t sure he understood exactly what was going on.
But a vampire, anyway.
Oh, now he had to tell Weinberg.
Jon put down the pancake batter and grabbed the nearest cell phone and started dialing.
“Is that my phone?” Meena asked, coming into the kitchen fully dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a little red scarf and matching flats, her short hair curling damply on the back of her neck from her morning shower.
Jon looked down in surprise at the cell phone in his hand.
“Oh,” he said, hitting End Call. “Yeah. Sorry. I, uh, put it back together last night after you went to bed. It works fine. I guess it was just a flesh wound.”
“Give it to me,” Meena said, holding out her hand.
“No way.” Jon cast another glance through the pass-through, into the living room. Wulf wasn’t there, though. He was still in the other bathroom, showering. He’d left Jon in charge, with firm instructions not to allow Meena near any telephones, computers, or exit doors out of the apartment. “You’re still all…infected and stuff.”
“Jon,” Meena said firmly. She looked better in the bright sunshine that streamed through the windows than she had the night before. She had makeup on, for one thing.
And she wasn’t crying anymore. She actually seemed…well, perky was the only word Jon could think of to describe her. Even though he knew she hated that word. As usual, Jack Bauer was hanging around at her side, panting.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Meena said. “I’m not going to call him.”
She didn’t have to say who he was. They both knew.
The vampire.
“I just want to check my messages,” she said.
Jon hesitated. She really did look a lot better. Maybe she was over the guy.
The truth was, if Jon found out some girl he’d been going out with was a vampire, he’d get over her pretty fast, too.
Unless she was Taylor Mackenzie, of course.
“Well,” he said. He glanced down at the cell phone. It had been vibrating like crazy all morning. Someone was being pretty persistent, trying to get hold of her.
It could have been the vampire, he knew. If it was, he could give Meena the phone, then listen in on their conversation, find out where the guy was, then let Alaric Wulf know and help kill him.
Then for sure he’d get hired by this Palatine group, or whatever they were. He’d have a whole new career! And an awesome one, too.
On the other hand, there was the whole thing where Meena was pretty sure her new boyfriend was going to kill him.
So, that was a bit of a downer.
The phone buzzed in his hand as he was standing there, debating whether or not to give it to her.
“That could be Leisha,” Meena said. “She could be in labor.”
“She’s not due for two months,” he said.
“That’s just the doctor’s opinion,” Meena said. “Not mine.”
“And your medical expertise is widely known,” Jon said.
“Actually,” Meena said, “it is.”
Jon looked down at the phone in his hand. “It says ‘Unknown Number,’” he said.
“Leisha’s probably calling from work,” Meena said.
“On a Saturday,” Jon said.
“She’s a hairstylist,” Meena reminded him.
Jon rolled his eyes and handed her the phone. She obviously wasn’t that worried about the prince of darkness killing him. So why should he be?
Meena pressed Accept Call. “Hello?”
“What is going on out here?” a deep voice thundered from the dining room.
Jon threw Meena a desperate look. Now she’d gotten him in trouble. This definitely wasn’t going to look good on his Palatine Guard job application.
“Uh, nothing,” Jon said, coming out of the kitchen with the plate of flapjacks. “It’s just her best friend calling. She’s having a baby. Seriously, dude, I checked. Pancakes?”
Alaric Wulf looked pissed off. His blond hair was still wet from the shower, and he’d left his shirt behind somewhere, showing off a truly impressive set of deltoids and pecs, not to mention some rock-hard abs that redefined the term six-pack. In fact, if Jon could have gotten some muscle definition like that, he had no doubt that Taylor Mackenzie would have been eating out of his hand months ago.
On the other hand, the dude had some wicked-looking scars that were making Jon think he might want to reconsider joining him in the vampire slayer thing. Was that a bite wound? It looked…well, gnarly was the only word Jon could think of to describe it.
Meena, in an act of bravery for which Jon decided he would admire her forever more, held up one finger in Wulf’s direction in the international gesture for I’ll be with you in just a moment while she nodded at whoever was calling her.
Apoplectic with anger, veins standing out on his neck and forehead, Alaric Wulf stood there glaring at Meena, completely ignoring Jon. He didn’t even notice the nicely set table or the fact that Jon had made bacon. Real bacon! Not even turkey. He’d had to open the windows to let out some of the stink of the grease.
“Hang…up…the…phone,” Wulf said.
Jon glanced over at Meena, who didn’t even seem to notice Alaric. Her eyebrows were knit, and she was saying into the phone, “Wait, slow down…where exactly are you?”
Alaric Wulf crossed the room in three long strides. Jon thought he was going to rip his sister’s head off.
But all he did was reach for the phone.
Meena, however, darted behind the armchair-moving as fast as Wulf had-and demanded tartly, “Do you mind? I’m on the phone. It’s important.”
Alaric Wulf finally glanced in Jon’s direction, obviously looking for an explanation.
“Uh,” Jon said, “yeah. Her best friend’s pregnant, and
she thinks…it’s a long story. I swear it has nothing to do with vampires. Look, I made breakfast. Why don’t we sit down and have some before it gets cold? Can I make you a coffee? It’s easy with Meena’s coffeemaker.”
Alaric growled something. Jon couldn’t tell what. He didn’t look happy. He stood where he was, waiting for Meena to finish her call, his arms folded across his broad, scar-strewn chest.
“I understand,” Meena was saying into the phone. “No, you did the right thing. Just stay where you are. We’ll be right there to get you.”
A look of complete disbelief spread over Alaric Wulf’s face. Meena met his gaze and narrowed her eyes at him.
“Yes, I know exactly where you are,” Meena said into the phone. “We’ll find you. I promise. Give us half an hour. Good-bye.”
She hung up.
“We have to go,” she said. “We-”
Before she could get out another word, Wulf exploded. “You were with him last night,” he erupted, pointing an accusing finger in Meena’s direction. “He was here!”
Meena’s jaw dropped. Hers wasn’t the only one. Jon stared at the vampire hunter in astonishment.
“What are you talking about?” Jon asked. “We were here all night. And she never-”
“I’m talking about this.”
Wulf strode forward and pulled at the little red scarf Meena had tied around her neck, the one that matched her red flats.
“Ow,” Meena said, looking annoyed. “Choke people much? Really, your boss is okay with your treating people like this?”
Alaric, looking way more annoyed than she did, threw a bearlike arm around her waist to keep her from darting away again. Then, with his free hand, he plucked apart the knot holding the scarf in place.
When the scarf fell away and fluttered to the ground, Jon gaped at the now familiar circular mark he saw on his sister’s long, slender throat.
He would have been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt-considering it was his sister, Meena, who hated vampires-if her cheeks hadn’t been the same color as the scarf at her feet.
“Holy shit, Meena,” Jon heard himself blurting. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You don’t understand,” she said, giving Wulf a kick in the shin with her heel that caused him to release her with an oof.
But despite the outward appearance of rebelliousness, there were tears in her enormous brown eyes.
“He’s not evil. He’s as worried about the killings as you guys are,” she insisted to Alaric. “I know what you think he is, but he’s not. He’s not like his father. I think you have the wrong man.”
“How did he even get in here?” Jon asked Wulf, ignoring his sister, because it was obvious she was crazy. “We were watching the door the whole time.”
“The front door,” Alaric Wulf said grimly. He hadn’t taken his gaze off Meena once. “We should have been watching the balcony door, too.”
“The balcony door?” Jon’s voice cracked. “We’re eleven stories up. What’d the guy do, fly up?”
Both Meena and Wulf looked at him, Meena sadly, Wulf with sarcasm. Jon, realizing who he was talking about, swallowed.
“Oh,” he said. Then he turned back toward his sister. “I thought you were so worried about him killing us,” he cried. “And you just let him in?”
“She can’t help it,” Wulf said. He turned abruptly, heading back toward the bathroom, apparently in search of his shirt. “She’s his minion. Whether we live or die means nothing to her. As long as he stays with her.”
Jon shot his sister an accusing look. “Jesus Christ, Meena,” he said. “You meet one vampire and your deep abiding loathing for monster misogyny goes right out the window, and you turn into one of those girls? I thought you hated that kind of girl.”
Stung, Meena sucked in her breath. “I’m not,” she cried. “I’m not one of those girls. I’m not a minion. I still hate vampires. Just not Lucien. Because he isn’t like the others. And I care about both of you! Well,” she added with a withering glance at Alaric’s departing back, “one of you.”
Wulf waved a hand dismissively behind his back as he strode down the hall toward Jon’s bedroom.
“It’s true.” Meena turned her tear-filled eyes toward Jon. “You have to believe me. I’m not a minion. If you’d just leave Lucien alone, there’d be nothing to worry about.”
Jon shook his head. “I don’t know, Meen. Letting the prince of darkness into the apartment, when you said he was going to kill me? And then letting him bite you? Again? It’s very minion-like behavior, if you ask me.” He lowered his voice so Alaric couldn’t overhear. “And it doesn’t look very good for me, you know, with this job thing.”
“Job thing?” Meena looked bewildered.
“You know,” Jon said. “If I’m going to get a job with the Palatine. I can’t have a sister who’s sleeping with the enemy. You have to cut it out.”
Comprehension dawned. Meena’s expression became sarcastic. “Oh, sorry,” she said. “I forgot this whole thing was all about employment opportunities for you, Mr. Can’t Keep It in His Pants.”
Jon’s jaw dropped. “One time,” he whispered, holding up an index finger. “And I told you, it was the middle of the night! I really had to pee! How was I supposed to know a cop was going to pull up right at that exact second, in front of that exact Subway shop?”
Wulf came back, buttoning his shirt. “How much did you tell him?” he asked.
“Who?” Meena asked, blinking up at him.
Wulf rolled his eyes. “The enemy of the light.”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Meena said. “And stop calling him that. He’s not like that.”
“She told him everything,” Wulf said knowingly to Jon.
Jon raised his eyebrows. “She just said she didn’t-”
“Your neighbors will be moving out.” Wulf finished the last of his buttons. “I hope they didn’t borrow your sugar bowl, because you’re never going to see it again.”
“I don’t know why you won’t listen to me,” Meena said, glaring at him. “Lucien isn’t like other, er, vampires you might know. He’s kind and warmhearted and generous and was horribly abused by his father, who made him what he is. He didn’t have any choice. It’s his brother, Dimitri, you should be going after. Did you know he tried to kill us the other night? Or he sent a colony of bats to do it for him. He wants to destroy Lucien so he can be the prince of darkness, or whatever it’s called. And if that happens, the world is really going to be in trouble.”
Wulf looked over at Jon, his expression bored. “I’ll take that coffee now.”
“Oh, sure, coming right up,” Jon said, hurrying to get him a cup.
“Suck-up,” Meena said to her brother accusatorily. Then, following Alaric to the mirror by her dining room table, where he’d gone to make sure he hadn’t missed any spots shaving, she said, “Lucien is the one who’s making sure none of the Dracul and the rest of the vampires out there kill anymore. I mean, yes, they drink human blood…but only from willing donors.”
“Try telling that to Caitlyn,” Wulf said.
“Who’s Caitlyn?” Meena asked blankly.
“My name for our killer’s latest victim,” Wulf said, sipping the coffee Jon had rushed over to deliver to him.
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Meena asked impatiently. “Lucien’s trying to figure out who’s killing those girls and stop him, just like you are. Why can’t you judge him for what he does, not what he is?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wulf had pulled out a chair to sit down at the dining room table, reaching for a piece of Jon’s bacon.
“I mean, you’re judging Lucien just because of what he is, which, I’ll admit, is a vampire,” Meena said. “But he doesn’t act like one.”
“Doesn’t he?” Wulf inquired, his gaze going pointedly to her neck. Meena’s face flushed red as her scarf.
“That’s just…just-” she stammered. “We were just messing around.”
“You might have been messing around,” he said, picking up a knife and fork and beginning to eat the pancakes Jon had made. “But I can assure you, it wasn’t ‘messing around’ to him. The fact is, if you let a vampire in one time, he’ll never go away. They’re like an unemployed, homeless relative.”
“Hey,” Jon protested.
“No offense,” Wulf said, taking a bite of toast.
Meena looked down at his plate.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Wulf asked. “I have a long day ahead of me, guarding you to make sure you don’t do anything else stupid. I’m obviously going to need my strength. Because I have a feeling you’re going to try to do many other very stupid things.”
“We don’t have time for that now,” Meena said, sounding exasperated. “We have to go. Unless you’re up for letting me out of the apartment on my own.”
Wulf lifted a single blond eyebrow. “That’s hardly likely. And just where do you need to go so urgently?” he asked.
“That was Yalena on the phone just now,” Meena said, looking at Jon. “She finally got away from her boyfriend. I promised I’d go and get her.”
Chapter Forty-five
12:00 P.M. EST, Saturday, April 17
Shenanigans
241 West Forty-second Street
New York, New York
Alaric didn’t quite understand how he’d come to be sitting in a chain restaurant called Shenanigans in Times Square at noon on a Saturday.
But if he was ever asked to offer his idea of hell on earth, it would be Shenanigans.
“I’ll have a large Diet Coke,” Meena was telling the waitress from behind her nine-page-long-literally, it was nine pages long-menu.
The waitress, in her green polyester pants and visor, looked disapproving. This clearly was not a big enough order to satisfy her.
Or justify their taking up a booth in one of the window seats looking out over Times Square, so Meena could watch for the arrival of this Yalena person she kept insisting they had to save.
