She could feel the tension in Lucien’s body, and saw the way he was scanning the crowds of weekend revelers around them.
She also saw, for the first time, the faint purple shadows beneath those dark eyes of his, now easily visible in the much brighter lights along this street.
Meena wasn’t quite sure what it meant for a vampire to have shadows beneath his eyes. At no time during her training with the Palatine had this subject ever come up.
But she was beginning to suspect that despite the impeccable suit and lustrous hair, Lucien had not spent the months since she’d last seen him in some kind of vampire resort, relaxing in a lounge chair in the shade. He had obviously been suffering in some way.
“Lucien, are you all right?” she asked him. “I mean … are you sick, or something?”
He looked down at her, clearly offended by the question. “I told you,” he said. “I’m fine.”
“Well,” she said, “it’s just that you don’t seem like your old self … not in a bad way,” she hastened to add.
“How unfortunate,” he said. “I try so hard to be bad.”
He smiled down at her then. She instantly wished he hadn’t.
Because Lucien Antonescu’s smile did things to her, things that the smile of a vampire had no business doing to a girl who had joined an organization dedicated to eradicating his kind.
But there was still a part of him that was human. Or maybe—as she’d recently begun trying to prove—even better than human.
“You shouldn’t joke about that,” she said, nervously pushing some of her hair from her eyes. “I was serious when I said before that I think—”
That’s when someone—a kid, walking shoulder to shoulder with a group of his college friends down the sidewalk—slammed right into Meena, as if he hadn’t seen her at all.
“Oof,” she said as Lucien pulled her protectively against him.
The kid spun, then landed on the sidewalk. “What the hell?” he complained good-naturedly as his friends laughed at him. He obviously wasn’t hurt, just a little buzzed on beer, and confused.
“I’m so sorry,” Meena said to him, even though technically, he’d been the one who’d walked into her.
The kid said nothing, just continued to laugh as his friends pulled him back to his feet, calling him rude names. Lucien, meanwhile, had already steered Meena away from the group, navigating her quickly back down the crowded sidewalk.
“That was weird,” Meena said. “It was like he didn’t even see me.”
“He couldn’t see you,” Lucien said.
“Couldn’t see me?” Meena looked up at him in shock. “What do you mean? How could he not see me?”
“No one can see us right now,” Lucien said, his face devoid of expression. “It’s called a glamour. I’m afraid I can’t keep it up for long. But it should last us until I can get you back to your apartment. You should be safe there, providing you’ve taken the usual precautions against unwanted demon entry.”
She stared up at him, feeling a sudden mix of emotions. Especially when she realized they were turning onto her street.
“Lucien,” she said, freezing suddenly in her tracks. “How do you know where I live?”
She had been so careful, leaving the rectory at the Shrine of St. Clare’s—where she’d moved after his minions had gutted her last apartment—as soon as she’d realized he knew she was there. She’d had all her mail forwarded to a post office box, canceled her old cell phone, her gym membership, even her library card. She’d sold her old apartment and now shared a sublet with her brother in which even the cable bill was under the original owner’s name.
How could he possibly have known?
Then again … how could he not have?
She wasn’t afraid, necessarily. Not as afraid as she’d been just minutes before. And she certainly wasn’t afraid for her life. All she had to do was press a button on her phone, and the entire Manhattan unit of the Palatine would be there within a few minutes.
Of course, by that time, she could easily be dead.
But dying wasn’t what she was most afraid of. Not anymore.
“Meena,” he said. The smile was long gone. “What you were saying, about my not seeming like my old self …”
The effort it was causing him to form the words was obvious. And now she recognized what it was she hadn’t been able to identify in his face before. It was pain. It was deeply etched in the hollows beneath his eyes.
“I suppose,” he said, “that’s part of my problem.”
She cocked her head, confused.
“What is?” she asked.
He took another step, but this time it was more of a stumble. Only not a drunken one, like the boy they’d seen down the block. His body weight began to sag against hers.
“That in spite of your choice last spring,” he said, his voice a ragged whisper, “my feelings for you are unchanged. I’m still as in love with you as ever.”
Everything was a disaster.
Now, in one night, Meena had not only slain one ex-boyfriend who’d turned out to be a vampire, but she had another one in her bed.
She couldn’t imagine how things could possibly get worse, unless her brother walked into the apartment, found Lucien Antonescu there, and called Alaric Wulf, who would undoubtedly launch an all-out military assault on the place that would include smoke grenades and possibly tear gas.
But she’d already phoned Jon and learned that he was working his normal Friday-night shift at the Beanery, where he’d found employment as a barista. He wasn’t planning to be home until after eleven.
This gave Meena exactly one hour to get Lucien out of the apartment.
The question was, how was she going to do this?
She had no idea what was wrong with Lucien. But his announcing that he was still in love with her certainly hadn’t made things any better. The admission had, in fact, only seemed to cause him to grow weaker. She’d had to half support him as she staggered the rest of the way to her building.
She hadn’t wanted to bring him inside. But he seemed so ill, she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t leave him outside, even though this was what he asked of her.
But that was ludicrous. He’d already admitted he was so weak, he couldn’t maintain his glamour, or whatever it was, much longer. She certainly wasn’t
