“Because he wants kill vampires?” Meena’s voice rose above a far-off rumble of thunder. “All I wanted was for him to get a job and maybe install some drywall in the baby’s room in Leisha’s apartment. I never wanted him to get himself killed going after the undead!”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you had your little one-night stand with Lucien Dracula,” Alaric said, folding his arms. Down below, the owner of the car had finally turned off the alarm. They were low enough that traffic sounds could still be heard, but they were faint. He thought she must be chilled in her slip, but she showed no signs of it, even though she’d abandoned the blanket from the couch. Her temper was keeping her warm, he supposed.

And her blushing cheeks. She didn’t like him referring to her tryst with Antonescu as a one-night stand.

“But since you didn’t,” he went on brutally, “you’re going to have to deal with the consequences. One of which is me. And I’m not going anywhere until you tell me where the prince of darkness is. It’s your choice, really. Him. Or me.”

She just glared at him. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and strode, barefoot, from the balcony back into the bedroom.

Her decision was pretty obvious.

It was, Alaric realized, going to be a long night.

12:00 A.M. EST, Saturday, April 17

The Box

189 Chrystie Street

New York, New York

It was easy for Lucien to find his brother, Dimitri.

He was the prince of darkness, after all. He could find anyone he wanted.

Except, of course, whoever was killing girls and dumping their bodies in parks all around Manhattan. The person-or people-doing that seemed to want to keep it a secret from him, for an obvious reason…

They valued their lives.

His brother was said to be entertaining another group of financial analysts at a burlesque club downtown. Lucien did not frequent such places-frankly, if he wanted to see a woman disrobe in front of him, he didn’t have to pay for the privilege.

This particular club was more crowded than any he’d ever seen, and not just with men. There were women there, as well-all ages-waiting for the show to begin, most without seats. The club was standing-room only. Tables were said to be going for a “bottle fee” of a thousand dollars.

That meant patrons would be seated at a table only if they purchased a bottle of champagne or vodka…for a thousand dollars.

It was absurd.

But it was how the club made its money.

Lucien didn’t have time to stop to listen to the grousing of the crowd, though. He was making his way through it and up the stairs to the red plush velvet box seats where his brother was sitting with the investment bankers with whom he was palling around for whatever reason.

Still, it was hard to keep the buzzing out of his head. Not the buzzing of the conversations around him, either, but the buzzing he’d felt ever since he’d left Meena’s side that morning and that seemed to occur now whenever he was around humans.

It was the strangest sensation. He couldn’t really equate it with anything he’d ever felt before. It was like having a tiny bee inside his brain. The sensation faded whenever there wasn’t anyone living around.

But as soon as anyone with a heartbeat was nearby, the vibration started up again.

It wasn’t just buzzing, either. He knew things. Just by looking into the faces of the people he brushed past. Like the waitress holding the tray of empty glasses, wiggling by him in her black satin bustier and lace garter belt. She needed to be careful on this narrow staircase in her precariously high platform heels, or she was going to trip and fall and break her neck.

This wasn’t something he could tell by reading her mind. It was just something he knew, simply by looking into her heavily made-up eyes.

“Watch your step,” he said to her as she sidled past him on the stairs.

“Thanks,” she said, grinning up at him suggestively with her red lacquered lips. “I’d rather watch yours, though.”

And not just her. The boy shouting into his cell phone at the top of the stairs, too.

“You’re not going to believe this place,” he was telling a friend on the other end of the phone. “One of the women onstage smokes! Not with her mouth, either, with her-”

“Son,” Lucien said to him.

“Dude.” The boy turned to him. “I’m not your son. And I don’t know where the bathroom is…” His voice trailed off as he looked into Lucien’s eyes. He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, holding out his hand. “Give me your car keys.”

The boy, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen-he’d obviously used a fake ID to enter the club-reached a trembling hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a set of car keys. He placed them in Lucien’s outstretched palm.

Lucien placed the keys in his coat pocket.

“Take a cab home,” he said to the boy, patting him on the shoulder. “I think you’ve had a few too many drinks to drive home safely.”

“But…” The boy looked after him as Lucien moved away, toward the deep-red velvet curtains that closed off the box seats from the standing area on the second-floor mezzanine overlooking the stage. “I came in from Long Island City.”

“Take the train,” Lucien said with a wink. “You’ll thank me one day.”

He found Dimitri in a dark private box with six or seven business-suited corporate types, all lounging on couches and sumptuously decorative pillows around a drink-laden table. There were no women to be seen. They, Lucien knew, would be appearing on the stage below, in various states of undress, doing things with miscellaneous props that would have surprised even his father, who was raised by fifteenth-century Turks.

“Lucien!” Dimitri cried upon spying him. “What a surprise! Gentlemen, meet my brother, Lucien. Lucien, these are some friends of mine from TransCarta.”

Lucien flicked a glance downward at the men beneath him, all of whom were middle-aged, running ever-so-slightly to fat due to sitting too long in front of a computer all day, and all of whom were going to die…

…within the week.

Wait. All of them?

How?

And why? Some kind of corporate plane crash?

But all Lucien could see in the fuzzy snapshot of his mind’s eye was a room…a very dark room. A basement, maybe.

And blood. Quite a lot of blood.

A car crash in an underground parking garage?

That was the only thing that made sense.

Poor bastards.

What was happening to him? How did he know how all these people were going to die?

And why did he know it?

“How do you do?” Lucien said politely to the soon-to-be-dead men. There was no use warning them, of course. What was there to warn them of? “I’m sorry to disturb your…evening out. But I was wondering if I might have a word with my brother alone.”

A look of annoyance passed over Dimitri’s face. Lucien saw it. He was certain he saw it.

But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Of course,” Dimitri said. “I’ll just be a moment, gentlemen.”

“Take your time,” one of the soon-to-be-dead men said jovially. “Next act’s not for ten more minutes. You should join us, Lucien. Girl apparently smokes out of her-”

“I’ve seen it,” Lucien said quickly. “In Turkey once. But thank you for the invitation.”

Dimitri rose and ducked through the curtain Lucien was holding open for him. “What is this?” he asked grouchily, following Lucien down the side of the balcony, toward a sign marked Exit. “I’m actually here on business, you know. I don’t have time to keep having these not-so-brotherly reunions of yours.”

A bald man with huge biceps, dressed in a black T-shirt and pants, who’d planted himself in front of the door marked Exit said, “Emergency exit only. Take the stairs.”