It took my brain a moment to realize what he was talking about and remember the events of last night. The shock of it almost woke me up, but Lex kissed me again and kept me anchored in the dream. “Where, Cat?” he repeated.

“The tower,” I finally managed to answer. “Downtown. Ask Portia, she probably followed me.”

“She tried, but Faust was blocking her. Is it Harrison’s tower?” he asked, and I nodded. Lex stepped back and ran his fingers over my throat, looking for injuries. “Did he bite you?”

“No. Laura tried to tear my throat out, but she just bounced off my shields. Was kinda funny.” I tried not to shiver at the sensation of Lex’s touch, but failed miserably. Reminding myself that I was supposed to be annoyed with him, I took a step back.

“Don’t let him bite you.”

“Why do you care?”

“Cat, I don’t want to fight.”

“Fine. I don’t intend to let him bite me,” I assured him. “I think he’s going to insist, though.”

“Don’t let him,” Lex repeated, more forcefully this time. “I’ll get you out soon.”

“But you can’t, they’ll kill Mac,” I protested.

“Mac?”

“Mac’s alive, he never got on the plane. The vamps took him as a bargaining chip, and they’ll kill him if I don’t listen to Harrison’s stupid plans.”

“Then I’ll get you both out.”

“But you don’t have your guardian magic, and I agreed-” Before I could continue a loud crack of thunder interrupted me, and the dream suddenly ended. I found myself wide awake, staring at the ceiling of my suite, wondering what to do. Though I couldn’t be certain, for a moment I thought I caught the faint scent of dying smoke lingering in the air.

Aside from last night’s rocky start, the bad guys were pretty much refusing to be bad, and it irked me. I was further irked by the idea of having dinner with a man who some trashy gossip magazine had proclaimed one of the most eligible bachelors alive. First of all, the man wasn’t alive. Second, I wasn’t looking forward to having the head vampire try to sell me some crazy plot to take over the world between dinner courses. I wasn’t buying. Period. I didn’t care how rich he was, how handsome, polite, powerful, dangerous, blah blah blah. I wasn’t my father’s daughter, I wasn’t going to be swayed to the Dark Side by a good sales pitch and an enticing benefits package. I’d rather serve coffee to cranky people in the Three Willows and barely scrape by than sell my soul to Mr. Sexy Corpse. I’d get out of this, both Mac and me.

Unless, of course, Lex charged in and rescued us. Honestly though, I knew he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t have legal grounds to barge into the Harrison building, and I knew all too well how unwilling he was to break the rules on my behalf. I’d voluntarily agreed to stay, more or less, and if I did manage to escape I’d make myself an oathbreaker in addition to being a kinslayer, which would pretty much ensure that no one in magical society would want to deal with me ever again. No point in being Titania if no one would talk to me.

I stood in front of the wall o’ clothes in the walk-in closet and wondered what the hell I was going to wear to dinner with Dracula. There were several dresses, ranging from airy sundresses to formal evening gowns, but there was no way anyone was getting me into another dress so soon after Portia’s stint as my Extreme Makeover Fairy Godmother. Not a single pair of blue jeans to be found in the whole mess, which I thought was proof of Harrison’s un-American activities. It appeared as though I would have to settle on a suit of some sort. There were plenty to choose from, so I picked out a deep blue suit jacket and matching conservative skirt, pairing it with a semi-ruffled white silk blouse.

Unsure of just when Harrison was going to drop by, I settled down in front of the beautiful giant television and started flipping channels. It had every channel imaginable-movie channels, sports channels, pay-per-view, everything. My heart sank as I flipped past the Game Show Network, wondering if Portia was perched on my couch right now trying to figure out the mysteries of the remote without me. It sank further at the thought that Tybalt would never again sit next to his sister, enthralled by the television.

Out of the five million channels I picked a special about baby tiger cubs in an animal refuge. Harrison arrived as the young tigers were gnawing on the legs of the refuge owner’s kitchen table, and I barely waved at him in greeting, mesmerized by the cuteness in high definition in front of me.

“I trust you find the room to your liking?”

“It’s very nice. I hope you’re not billing my charge card for it though, you’ll put me right over my limit.”

The vampire crossed the room and sat next to me on the couch, watching the screen with a bewildered expression on his face. “What are you watching?”

“Baby tigers.” He frowned at me, and I rolled my eyes at him. “What? You know there is life outside of FOX News.”

“Apparently so. What would you like for our dinner this evening?”

“I’m not on the menu, right?”

“I have no intention of harming you, Catherine,” he assured me.

“That’s avoiding the question, since I know full well you could bleed me and not cause any harm.” Harrison refused to dignify that with a reply, and I shrugged. “What are my options?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“So if I asked for a Big Mac and fries, we’d eat McDonald’s for dinner?”

The question seemed to throw him. I doubted Zachary Harrison had ever eaten McDonald’s in his entire life. He had been born into money, coming from a long line of wealthy businessmen with a somewhat sordid reputation-think “robber baron”. “If that’s what you wanted, yes.” He nodded firmly after a moment’s thought.

“Do you even eat? Vampires, I mean.” I tilted my head to the side as I regarded him. I knew they needed blood to survive, but I’d never found out if they were completely restricted to that liquid diet. Did they gain weight? Were there fat vampires out there somewhere, binging on doughnuts after feasting on the blood of the living?

“We can eat, but food no longer provides sustenance and isn’t easily digestible. Most consider it a nuisance and only eat when an occasion calls for it to keep up a mortal appearance.”

“A mortal appearance?” I snorted. “Oh, please. You’re not immortal. You’re just harder to kill.”

Dracula did not look pleased by my comment and again decided not to justify it with a reply. Apparently he’d been brought up better than I had. He definitely was more well spoken. Harrison sounded like the narrator for Masterpiece Theatre, and I sounded like a guest on Jerry Springer. Well, maybe not Springer, but something on daytime television.

“I don’t suppose we’ll be leaving the building for our dinner experience?”

“No, we’ll be dining in this evening.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“You’re not going to attempt a hunger strike, are you?” Harrison raised an eyebrow, appearing amused by the idea.

“No, I’m not.” Though my hips could certainly stand a day or two without food, the only person I’d be hurting with a hunger strike would be me.

“You disapprove of the company then?” The vampire actually appeared hurt by that idea, and I blinked at him in surprise. I was hurting Dracula’s feelings? Go me. No, I meant bad! Bad Kitty! I needed to be on Harrison’s good side if I wanted to remain alive and in one piece. The problem was I didn’t think I had it in me to be nice to him. Sure, he was the prettiest man I ever did see, complete with good manners and a pleasant voice, but he was still a damn vampire. The best I could handle was to not light him on fire or stab him in the chest with a leg from one of the expensive wooden end tables.

“Why do you hate all necromancers?” he asked. The bluntness of the question made me pause.